Lonely

Lonely

By Ed Vasicek

A 71 year old man in Detroit spent most of his time playing solitaire.  In ten years, he played 132,400 games and recorded the results of each game in six ledger books that sit on his desk.  That was his way of fighting loneliness.

As the holidays approach, many people feel an inner pain because they suffer an intense form of loneliness.   As we contemplate the thousands of families who experienced the loss of a loved one in the 9-11 attack, our hearts bleed.   Many will feel an intense and helpless grief, part of which includes loneliness.

Grief is one major catalyst for loneliness.  There are many others.   

Loneliness strikes all sorts of people.   We've heard tell of the loneliness which results from being "on top" of the executive totem pole. The loneliness of success is legendary.   Six weeks before he died, an interviewer asked Elvis Presley if he was happy.  Elvis unhesitatingly responded, "No."   He then went on to elaborate about his strong sense of loneliness.

All of us have felt lonely at times.  We have experienced that sense of being solitary, isolated, and remote from others.   One theologian wrote, "Being alive means being in a body-a body separated from all other bodies.  And being separated means being alone.   This is true of every creature, and it is more true of man than any other creature.   He is not only alone; he also KNOWS that he is alone..."   Indeed, one Biblical description of hell is "outer darkness," i.e., being alone forever.

Those of us who believe in a personal God claim that we sense God's presence in our lives; yet even we must admit that sometimes we experience loneliness. Some of us have concluded that some loneliness is actually good for us.   One sage wrote, "The main difference between loneliness and solitude is your attitude."  Lonely time can be transformed from down time: it can be redirected toward examining one's life and contemplating the deeper things.   Yes, some loneliness is good, but more is not always better.

People have always experienced intense loneliness as a consequence of tragedy.   Physically handicapped people have traditionally been homebound as thought burdened with ball and chain (although this is happily changing); elderly widows or widowers have found themselves frail and restricted.   

What has changed for the worse, however, is that more and more people set themselves up for intense loneliness.  They are needlessly alone.

Like watching the reruns of a classic TV show, I have seen a drama play itself out repeatedly.   A person (we'll make it a woman in this example) withdraws from social life; she no longer chats alongside the water cooler, becomes infrequent in club or church attendance, does not pitch in for the family holiday meal, or no longer participates in civic activities.    As a result, others assume she does not want to socialize with them, so they leave her alone; she is viewed as arrogant and cold.  She has sabotaged her chances for connecting to others.

If that's not enough, she then blames anyone and everyone else for her resulting isolation.   "People are not friendly and accepting," she protests.    The thought that no one wants to hug an ice cube evades her; others can only view her based upon her actions.

George Barna, in his book, "The Second Coming of the Church," puts it this way, "...the potential for developing a network of church-based relationships is undermined by the lack of time people devote to church activities, their poor relational skills, and their disinterest in establishing a deeper commitment to the churches they attend..."   The same is true in other social arenas:  lonely people frequently do not show up consistently to meetings or gatherings, are not committed to serve, do not participate in family matters,  and do not know how to relate to others.

It is sad to see lonely people who are truly the victims of circumstance.  It is even more tragic to observe lonely people--who need not be lonely-because they sabotage their opportunities to connect to others by playing the victim.