What would you say is the greatest social problem of our time? Homelessness? Poverty? Unemployment? Certainly there can be no denying the pain that each of these causes, but let me suggest another problem, equally widespread and involving immeasurable pain. I speak of loneliness. We live in a world today where people are crying out for companionship, and I don’t just mean the elderly or housebound, though for these the problem may be most acute. It is true of people from all walks of life and all ages, condemned to increasing isolation in an ever more fragmented society. For some this means the agony of scarcely meeting another human being from week to week; for others the equal, if not more intense, pain of feeling utterly alone, even when part of a crowd.
The problem of loneliness was one I was acutely aware of throughout my time in the pastoral ministry, and I always made as much time as I could to visit those who spent countless hours by themselves. It was shortly after that time that I wrote the following reflection, for one of my earliest books, Are You Listening? As with all the reflections in the book, it takes the form of a supposed dialogue with God.
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Do your best to come to me soon, for Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica; Crescens has gone to Galatia, Titus to Dalmatia. Only Luke is with me. 2 Timothy 4:9-11a
Even when we came into Macedonia, our bodies had no rest, but we were afflicted in every way – disputes without and fears within. But God, who consoles the downcast, consoled us by the arrival of Titus, and not only by his coming, but also by the consolation with which he was consoled about you, as he told us of your longing, your mourning, your zeal for me, so that I rejoiced still more. 2 Corinthians 7:5-7
Another day
Another day, Lord,
another morning full of promise and opportunity –
or so they tell me.
Only it isn’t,
not for me –
it’s another day just like yesterday
and the day before,
nothing different,
nothing to look forward to,
just me,
alone,
again.
I’ll sit in the same old chair,
stare at the same old wall,
think the same old thoughts.
I’ll watch the television programme
I’ve no wish to watch,
read the book I’ve no desire to read,
knit the jumper which no one will wear,
all in an attempt to feel a part of this world –
a little less lonely,
a little less forgotten,
a fraction more important.
But it won’t work,
for what I crave is not words but company:
the touch of a human hand,
the smile of a human face,
the warmth of a human soul –
commonplace to some perhaps,
but for me priceless,
a gift beyond measure.
Another day, Lord,
and I know I ought to thank you for it,
but I don’t,
for once more I know I must live it alone.
My child,
you’re not alone –
never say that.
Whatever else, I am with you,
always,
to the very end of time.
There is nothing that can keep us apart,
nothing that finally can come between us,
for even when you do not see it,
when you have no inkling as to my presence,
I am there by your side,
watching over you,
reaching out,
waiting to bless.
But yes, I know you want more than that
you want flesh and blood, real as you are –
and that’s why I’m asking you to stop
and think for a moment not of your pain
but that of others,
for there’s a whole world out there,
feeling just as you do,
a multitude of yearning,
aching people crying out for love.
And it doesn’t take much to help them –
just a friendly word,
a gentle touch,
an outstretched hand,
and life can be different,
not just for them but you.
Pick up the telephone,
offer that invitation,
make the first move,
and the result may surprise you –
not just one prayer answered but two!
It’s up to you –
you can sit back feeling sorry for yourself,
waiting for someone else to make the first move,
or you can reach out,
and discover the new day I long to give you.
If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the furthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast. Psalm 139:8-10