The quote in the title above, which a friend attributes to Archbishop Sartain of Seattle, points toward the following question: In what ways do I experience God reaching out in my loneliness--and how do I respond?
At different times, the following paradoxical experiences resonate with my sense of God's invitation to a deeper intimacy with him:
- Sitting alone together. Distracting devices and relentless noise have the potential to fill all of my waking hours: I must resist the temptation to hide behind being "plugged in" and so wait for "God-with-me" to draw near...
- Embracing accompanied abandonment. Betrayals and devastating rejection marked the final days of Jesus' life: I must cultivate eyes to see the Father of lights beckoning tenderly to me precisely when things seem most dark...
- Listening to silence speak. Pascal famously remarked that "All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone": I must resolve to reverse humanity's problems by letting the Lord's still, small voice echo in the one human heart I'm responsible for cultivating and nourishing...
- Finding the desert water. Dryness, aridity, withering heat, and lifelessness seem to be the world's default mode: I must ask for ears to hear the living water bubbling up in silent springs throughout the wasteland...
- Exploring interdependent individuality. The myth of isolated individualism is hard to shake since my fallen human nature longs to do it "my way": I must remember--re-collect the deeper insight--that isolated individualism is an artificial construct and that interdependence defines who I am, where I have come from, as well as where I'm going...
- Finding fragile strength. St. Paul says that "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Phil 4:3), which clearly implies that he cannot do all things on his own: I must have the courage to confront my greatest weaknesses since they are hinges of hope which help me embrace a strength from a source greater than my easily aggrandized ego...
Dorothy Day famously titled her autobiography The Long Loneliness. Rather than trying to wish away my loneliness, perhaps I should dare to ask for even more of it. While the world literally seems hell bent on making me feel "complacent in my finitude" (Bp. Barron), longing alone for the infinite creates the condition for the possibility of a deeper Personal encounter.
This intimate encounter, alone and together, makes all things new.
