Alone in a Crowd

Loneliness, Solitude, and Divine Reverberations

One of the most soul-crushing aspects of being a pastor - particularly a pastor who is committed to authenticity - is that the moment someone finds out I’m a pastor (whether they’re a Christian or not), their entire demeanor changes. Suddenly they’re on their best behavior, they’re watching their curse words, they’re making sure their jokes are clean.

When I meet a new person and they ask me what I do, I often don’t tell them I’m a pastor. I know there will be an immediate relational roadblock I’ll have to hurdle. I save that information until they trust my authenticity. In the meantime I tell them “I work for a non-profit” or “I lecture at …” and then immediately change the subject.

Yes, there’s a sense in which I don’t like these interactions because I know the stereotypes people have of pastors - inauthentic, morally arrogant, or hypocritical. But there’s something else I’ve realized. I don’t tell people what I do for a living because it makes me feel lonely.¹

When I’m having - or potentially having - a meaningful interaction with someone, the last thing I want to do is throw up an emotional roadblock between me and them where they have to become someone they aren’t, or where I suddenly am expected to be someone I’m not. I desire the communal, emotional, intellectual, conversational connection. The roadblock of my vocation isolates me.

I haven’t been able to articulate this feeling of isolation as loneliness until recently. I’m still exploring its implications. But I realize that I am often alone in a crowd. It may even be a crowd who loves me. But I’m alone. I don’t want to be asked to pray for the meal just because I’m the pastor. I don’t want to be socially singled out simply because of my vocation.²

I’m tired of being lonely in a crowd.

The last few months, I have participated in a mid-career clergy cohort specifically designed to lead us in practices of Spiritual Direction. I realized as these clergy from all over the world gathered, I didn’t feel alone because, even though I didn’t know any of them, none of them assumed I was anything special simply because of my job. Other than the initial get-to-know-yous, we eventually relaxed our postures around one another and have been enabled to see each other as-is. And it’s not always pretty. But it’s also not lonely

I haven’t done any research on pastoral loneliness, but I suspect one of the reasons for the mass exodus of clergy the last few years (since the COVID pandemic) is that in a time of social isolation, the loneliness that already existed went into overdrive.³ When the whole world struggles with loneliness, why take a job that’s guaranteed to make that loneliness more difficult to endure?

From what I’ve read in the spiritual “masters,” loneliness is a common occurrence. And, in an ironic twist, the way they recommend dealing with loneliness is by pursuing solitude. As I said, I can be lonely in a crowd, so simply being around people does not alleviate my pain. But entrance into solitude, where you’re alone with your soul and God, may enable you to pinpoint other points of pain that are contributing to the loneliness. You can hear the voice of the Spirit in solitude, pointing to the true self that has been lost in the expectations around the (vocational) false self.

I am not yet fully practicing solitude as a means of actively engaging my loneliness, but I’m increasingly convinced it needs to be my next step. I’m thinking about taking one morning a week and choosing intentional solitude and silence. Maybe I’ll go hiking, or I’ll just sit on my couch and stare out the window. I don’t know. But surrounding myself with people hasn’t alleviated this hollow feeling of loneliness. And it’s not likely to do so. But maybe I can find some subtle Divine Reverberations, some wooing into the community of Triune love that happens when I’m alone.

1. Photo credit Loneliness: https://stock.adobe.com/search?k=lonely+pictures

2. I do recognize there may be some element of privilege here. I know that many women are not appreciated and socially recognized for their pastoral vocation. My desire to not be recognized for my vocation is not a moral one (wherein I think I’m better than, say, women who want/need to be recognized). It’s simply a personal one.

3. I also recognize here that clergy are not the only ones who have difficult or emotionally taxing jobs. Our experiences may be unique to our vocation, but they’re not some kind of wholly other experience that no other vocation could ever possibly understand.