Searching for God # 121

 There is a growing public awareness of and attention to the issue of loneliness. The WHO has even declared it an epidemic. Among those still attending churches, the issue is also prominent, especially given the stereotypical expectation that churches are places where one is ‘welcomed’ and where one can truly ‘belong’. 

First, these thoughts and scibblings are not intended as either scholarly or research-based in the formal and literal sense. These thoughts are unlikely to (and not intended to) prompt either theological or sociological scholars to undertake new probing of their respective fields. Let’s just call them the geriatric meanderings of an octogenarian who has spent too many hours, days, weeks and even months in churches in those decades.  

There are so many potential factors that might be correlated with people in pews experiencing loneliness in the church. Without attempting to rank or assign relative significance to any, let’s start with the fundamental notion that one’s relationship with God is a very personal, private, and highly revered and confidential feature of the individual’s life. In a social and cultural context inside the institutional ethos, in which the prevailing ‘theme’ is one of ethical and moral judgement based on a Christian self-righteousness, it would be highly probable and predictable that many might intuitively and perhaps even unconsciously feeling some ambiguity about their relationship with God and also psychically attempting to protecting themselves from any discussion or question for which they might not have a ‘ready-made’ answer. The social culture has some guidelines in this regard that could and likely would be considered to have crossed the threshold of the church: that there are two subjects to avoid in public discourse: politics and religion. A social bedrock of rules for how to get along without fostering conflict that insists on those two verboten subjects renders the ‘social’ or community aspects of the experience of attending and/or being a member of a congregation somewhat impaired. 

If ‘religion’ or church matters are mentioned at all, those comments might take the form of a casual observation like, ‘That sermon seemed a little more ‘intense’ or ‘boring’ or ‘lengthy’ or ‘brief’ or ‘potentially controversial’ than many of his/her previous ones.’ People in pews generally experience the homily first emotionally (they like or dislike it!), and depending on the looks on faces around them, in the narthex or church hall over coffee, some might make a conscious decision to find other ‘subjects’ to engage with others.  

Weather, sometimes local events, perhaps sports stories among the men or among the women, ‘how have you been since I last saw you?’ or ‘have you heard how X is doing after being ill?’ or ‘I am arranging this event and wonder if you might be able and willing to help?’  Potlucks, afternoon teas, occasional group outings, or perhaps even Friday night games are considered ‘conventionally appropriate socializing notions’ and therefore might have become somewhat stereotypical and sterile for some. 

The insertion of variety, creativity, spontaneity, impulsivity and humour by the clergy is a question begging for a serious reflection. Congruent with the spirit and intent of one’s (The clergy’s) theology ‘I have come that you might have new life and that more abundantly’ or not, juxtaposed with the traditional ‘teach me about the Bible’ and the ‘stories of Jesus’ offers a dynamic for creative ‘new wine’ each and every Sunday. Whether a novel application of some parable or biblical event, or a novel manner of presentation for whatever the theme is from the lectionary, there is an indisputable opportunity to generate conversation from the pulpit...even if as every clergy knows only too well, even posing a theological question for consideration over coffee will receive barely a mention in that setting. Silence prevails, even with the most creative and sincere invitations! 

It is not that silence is antithetical to one’s, or the community’s spiritual life...indeed, protracted periods of silence within the liturgy, and/or the homily for reflection might, by itself, prompt some conversation whether immediately following a Sunday service or even later in the week. 

The very well documented fact that humans are hard wired as social beings, not only open to but also in need of social interaction, and perhaps unconsciously ‘operate’ in that ‘gear’ during their working and family lives could be considered a factor in the bringing about silence many seek if and when they make the choice to attend a church service. The growing number of stimuli, turbulent moments in the life of the city or town, the pregnant schedules for millions, the attempt to fulfil expectations imposed by others (in jobs, in businesses, in professions etc.) and the ‘social’ component of a ‘programmed’ and ‘successful’ life all militate against more expectations among some to engage socially at church. 

These are not intended as excuses; they are not rationalizations; they are basic facts of modern life. It could be argued that even within the social settings and expectations of the job, the family, and the circle of friends, there are very few ‘deep, authentic, open, vulnerable, mutually reciprocal and non-sexually intimate’ relationships anywhere. Of course, there are billions spent daily on advertising this or that product or service as an enhancement of one’s social life, the building of friendships and the ‘mental health’ of such procurements. Indeed, to have many ‘friends’ has become another of the paint-by-number criteria that comprise a ‘successful’ mature adult life. Highly resonant of the adolescence of millions, this criterion, having and being with friends, is linked to maintaining and sustaining one’s youth. Both friendship and youth rank very high on the scale of values in a society and culture that reveres status, success and the empirical measurement (proof) of their attainment. 

Indeed, it could be argued, hypothetically, and without formal research backing, that the energy and commitment, the focus and ambition to achieve social status is one of the collective energies that either divides the attitudes of people who actually attend church from the attitudes of those don't or potentially even helps to account for the demographic divide in behaviour. 

And therein lies a social, psychic, political and both cultural and religious tension! That tension lies at the core of both the relationship of secular and spiritual for the individual and at the core of the church’s need to bridge the theological with the secular. Saying out loud and also operating in a mind-set that excludes nothing from the spiritual/theological, by church clergy, hierarchy and potentially laity is both relevant and tolerable, so long as the public’s political nerve is not ‘singed’ as it were.  

Personal anecdote: Shortly after the election of the Mike Harris government, I preached a sermon in a north Toronto parish, in which I argued openly and without malice, that ‘some will have to restrain the government from its intent to defund Wheel Trans, the transportation system on which disadvantaged individuals relied to access work, health, education and basic needs and services. On the return of the parish rector, I was told, parishioners protested strongly that, “We can’t have a clergy disputing the government of a premier we have just elected!” Their comments were never made directly to me. 

And therein lies another of the social, cultural constricting and potentially linking forces that, like early morning fog, slithers in the doorways, the kitchens, the dining and board rooms, the local schools, hospitals and also churches: the human insatiable appetite for, magnet of and dispenser of ‘gossip’. Hillman argues that this propensity, habit, (need?) is one of the more important ‘glues’ or connecting bands that hold the society together. And while there is some demonstrable evidence that his view has relevance, the cauldron of malicious gossip seems to far exceed the beaker of compassionate, empathic, and supportive motive and content of authentic interest in personal connectivity. And the church has had and continues to have a direct influence on the human proclivity to/for gossip. The archetype of the Judgement Day hangs over the religious and spiritual aspects of individual lives, as well as the social and cultural machinations of Western culture. Morality, the subject over which the church has claimed ‘authority’ (with the compliance of the law, and the social conventions), offers a plethora of opportunities for everyone to judge the life and attitudes of others....and to be able also to ‘hide behind’ the self-righteous conviction that God either or both approves and rewards my participation in the judging of others. Many people actually refuse to become engaged in church membership to avoid such scrutiny. And of those who do engage, many have already been ‘wounded’ by such venom, either publicly or secretly and as reported by ‘friends’ and have vowed to abstain. 

Let’s take off our collective shared Masks! 

We are all complicit in participating in gossip; the churches and their hierarchy, clergy and laity are all complicit. There is not a single human group, family, class, institution or ecclesial institution that is exempt from malicious gossip. And that social reality is one each of us breathes in, exhales, breathes in again and exhales hourly, daily, irrespective of our social, political, economic, academic or spiritual rank or status. The notion that malicious gossip might be a deterrent to hurtful, harmful and malicious behaviour might have some relevance, although it might be very difficult to prove empirically. Doubtless, the fear of malicious gossip likely hangs over each person even if only at the unconscious level. On the other hand, the practice of supporting, observant and relevant appreciation, even if not available directly to the subject, offers a social and cutural antidote to the ‘virus’ of malicious gossip. 

Confounding the very thought of offering support, praise, and appreciation, (not merely gratitude for a specific contritbuion) is the notion of another conventional ‘cultural cornerstone of religion’ and that is the sin of pride, hubris and any act that might contribute to that potential. Indeed, neither praise nor condemnation are expected in a social, or in an ecclesial setting. And the notion of relationship that does not depend on either form of communication seems to evade the imagination of many in an extrinsically driven, empirically motivated and cognitively and culturally addiected to ‘extrinsic’ stimuli. 

Getting to ‘know’ a person is a process not either contained or fulfilled in learning the data of a biography. Getting to know a person, like getting to know oneself, is a process of beginning to notice, really notice not for some highly polished delivery of a skill or talent (although that need not be excluded) but to take an interest in another (also the self). It takes patience and time and being in the same physical space, prior to being in the same ‘emotiona’ or ‘psychic’ space. And it is such spaces, likely at universal moments of trial, tribulation, pain and trauma, when another is most needed and potentially appreciated. 

It is, however, precisely, for those moments that none of us is really prepared, either for our own experience or for the empathic and connecting sharing of such an experience with another. Ironically, although we have been taught so intensely about the rules of social engagement, politeness, respecting privacy, social distance, and intrusive and abusive language both verbal adn body, there is really no formal training necessary to be present with another in a moment of personal crisis. 

Although I have reported this true story in other places, it perhaps bears repeating here. 

A fahter of an eleven-year-old daughter was sitting in a solarium alone, grieving his very ill daughter who was dying of leukemia. Another man, a complete stranger, came along, sat down beside the grieving father, in silence, for an extended period of time, perhaps over an hour. At the end of his available time, he rose, shook hands with the grieving father, without having uttered a single word, and departed. Following the death of the little girl, that grieving father remembered only one experience of the period of his grieving; the silent presence of that stranger. 

No formal or informal training was either needed or expected by either of the men in that story. Merely their silent, respectful, shared space was enough to generate a memorable connection; it was supportive without attempting to fix or to provide, or to attempt to identify with the grieving father in some overt manner. The look on the face and the shape of the body of the grieving father were more than enough to convey the depth of the sadness, the impending loss and the hopelessness of the father, without the details of his daughter’s condition or current state being needed or shared. 

We al have to be both cognizant and careful that our social ‘formulas’ and ‘political correctnesses’ and professional constraints and restraints are not permitted to inhibit, or worse, to preclude our humanity, our compassion, our empathy and our profound respect for the suffering we see as close as the man we might pass in the solarium. 

It is such ‘silent, authentic and respectful presence’ that each of us is more than capable of prividing, if we give ourselves both the confidence and permission to extend it when the opportunity arises. And those opportunities are never going to be exclusively inside a sanctuary, or a hospital, or a classroom, or a playground. They are everywhere and always. 

Are we open to our potential gift in such moments?