Our friend, the one with cancer, is all moved in with us now. Actually, it's been nearly 2 weeks since the last stuff came over. The adjustment is ongoing.
One byproduct of her arrival has been the concurrent arrival of the man who would be her suitor. We've known him for several years, and have known of his desire for our friend. He is disabled by Parkinson's Disease, but still lives independently--driving, cooking, etc. Some days are better than others for him, but he does OK. In addition to carrying a torch for our friend, he is the father of another friend of ours. It's all very interwoven, but my current interest in the subject has to do with his tireless pursuit of companionship.
I don't want to use his name, so let's call our lonely friend Pete. I suppose my deciding to write about this is related to how we as people of faith handle our loneliness. And it's not just how the lonely ones handle their loneliness, but how the observers--those of us who get that they're lonely--handle it.
Pete has had to deal with a lot, just like his would-be girl friend (for crying out loud, let's just call her Betty; I'm sick of trying to come up with analogous phrases). He lost his wife when he still had kids to raise. He has a crappy disease that's slowly robbing him of life and quality of life. He is somewhat estranged from his family. (As an aside, don't go banging on the family too hard. I've discovered over the past few weeks that he can be difficult to deal with.) It's been a tough go for him.
As I watch him diligently pursue Betty I am struck by the ultimate futility of it all. She has been very forthright with him in telling him that she does not want a relationship other than a strictly Platonic friendship. He says he has accepted that and is fine with it, but that cannot be true. His loneliness trails behind him like an open parachute. The wind has caught it and he struggles to move ahead. Life, people, streak past at break-neck speed.
We are promised by God that he knows us; loves us. He implores us to release our cares to him; to allow him to bear our burdens--our loneliness. We cannot do it, though. Almost never do we remit our vanity to him. And I think it is vanity. We wear our loneliness like a martyr's shroud. We let it wash over us and through us as we covet the sympathy, empathy, of others for our condition. And as we watch the lonely and make the dance of sympathy for them we secretly celebrate our superiority because we know that we truly do rely on God to strengthen us in our times of loneliness. All the while holding our golden martyr's statues high above our heads for all to see so that they can pay homage to our courage and perseverence.
My God. Am I really that cynical (isn't that a small island nation)? Or is that really what I see; what I've seen in my own life over the years? I know I've worn the shroud sometimes. It feels good to sink into that place where self-absorption rules the day and the pain and suffering of those around us can be ignored. The place where we can feel justified in being completely focused on ourselves. It's quiet there most of the time. Only the little voice that tells us how brave we are--how misunderstood we are--gets through. Such a comfort, that little voice. Oh how we love to listen to how evil and lucky those others are; those others who don't know our pain; those others who shuffle about stupidly oblivious to their own sinful and futile lives. We revel in our own anguish. We eagerly crave the overwhelming waves of self-pity. We drink it; we gorge ourselves on it. God is sad. We have lost our way. The trap is sprung.
Fellowship is God's response. Fellowship with him; real fellowship, not a potluck dinner. The kind of fellowship that realizes that we share in the very nature of the divine (Peter's words, not mine). We are partners with, sons and daughters of, the uncreated creator of the universe. That kind of power, access to that kind of holiness, does not lend itself to loneliness and self-pity. Nor does it allow for hypocritically glaring down our noses at a lonely brother. It demands patience, forebearance, kindness, humility--it demands love. It demands love. It demands love.
Reach out in love. Our fellowship with God, if it is real, demands it (John's words, not mine).
Pray
Mike
