Seeking the Lost and Lonely
No one is immune to loneliness. Young or old, married or single, surrounded by family or living alone, rich or poor, we can all find ourselves touched by its presence. It has become one of the quiet pandemics of our modern age.
Think of the young person who comes home to a house where nobody seems to care. Think of the elderly person who sits beside the telephone, hoping that an adult son or daughter might find a moment to call. Think of the lonely housewife whose partner is out enjoying an evening with friends while she sits at home, longing for a little company.
Then there are those who appear to have hundreds of friends on social media but, when they reach out for genuine companionship, discover that very few are willing to sacrifice an hour of their time.
Sometimes loneliness is imposed upon us by circumstances beyond our control. At other times, perhaps we contribute to it ourselves. There is a quiet sadness in how easily we become absorbed in our own lives, commitments and interests, often failing to notice someone nearby who is quietly longing for a little human connection. Yet there is another side to this: in opening our hearts and welcoming others into our lives, we sometimes encounter those who mistake our kindness for an opportunity to serve their own selfish interests."The kisses of an enemy are deceitful" the proverb tells us.
Life has taught me that, over time, such people can become like lepers in our eyes—not because we lack compassion for them, but because their repeated untrustworthiness makes it difficult to allow them close. We may still wish them well, but we learn to keep a distance, for trust, once repeatedly betrayed, is not easily restored.
At times, we need to ask ourselves an uncomfortable question: How kind and loving are we really? Do we make room for others? Are we prepared to give something that is increasingly precious in our busy world — our time?
In addition, many spend outdoors with their heads between earplugs or headphones absorbed in music or audiobooks only to find that as the grow into adulthood, they freeze when someone speaks to them since they cannot communicate well. Communication requires practice and practice builds confidence and confidence prepares one for the life ahead.
With this growing awareness of the loneliness pandemic, I decided to travel into Glasgow on Friday. I was experiencing a little cabin fever myself and felt the need to get out among people. As is my custom, I resolved to strike up a few conversations along the way.
My first encounter was on the train into the city. I found myself sitting beside an elderly couple, and before long we were exchanging thoughts about walking in the great outdoors. It was lovely to discover that we shared such a deep appreciation for nature and the simple pleasure of exploring the countryside.
Later, in a department store, I found myself chatting with a young Arabic man. Our conversation turned towards languages and the beauty of language itself. There is something wonderful about discovering a shared interest with someone whose background and life experiences may be very different from our own.
After a while, my weary legs demanded a little rest, so I made my way to Princes Square for a coffee.
At the table beside me sat an elderly lady. I asked her if she was from Glasgow.
"Yes," she replied.
That simple question opened the door to a conversation about the Glasgow we had both known in the earlier years of our lives. We reminisced about the city and the changes that time inevitably brings.
Just then, another lady approached. She was from East London but now lived in the Highlands. The café was busy, and she asked if she could share my table.
"Of course," I replied.
Before long, the three of us were deep in conversation, exchanging thoughts about life in the beautiful rural communities of north-west Scotland.
Eventually, I left them together, still talking. As I walked away, I found myself wondering whether these two ladies would ever have met or spoken had I not happened to be there as the go-between.
Perhaps they would. Perhaps they wouldn't.
But it struck me how easily a little willingness to engage with another person can create an unexpected moment of companionship. We sometimes imagine that friendship requires an introduction, a shared background or some special occasion. Yet it can begin with nothing more than an empty chair and a willingness to say hello.
My final encounter of the day came as I made my way back towards the railway station. I decided to take a walk around St Enoch Square, where there appeared to be some sort of funfair taking place.
Among the crowds, I noticed a refugee mother, possibly Syrian, with her three children. The youngest was crying inconsolably. I reached into my pocket, took out some Haribo sweets and asked the mother if I might share them with her children.
Two of the children were excited, but the youngest remained distressed. The mother explained that he was autistic. I suspected that the noise, crowds and general commotion might have been overwhelming for him.
I felt for the little fellow and his mother. Sometimes, what appears to be an ordinary day out for one person can be an exhausting and distressing experience for another.
It reminded me of something deeply rooted in our Christian faith.
When God gave Moses the Mosaic Law, He specifically instructed His people to show kindness and consideration towards the stranger and the foreigner living among them. They were to remember their own history and how they had once been strangers in a foreign land.
There is a profound lesson here for all of us.
If we look back far enough into our family histories, we may discover that we are all descendants of people who, at some point, had to leave somewhere familiar in search of safety, opportunity or a better life. History is full of people fleeing persecution, poverty, conflict and war.
And what loving parent would not do everything possible to escape a war-torn country if it meant keeping their children alive?
The refugee family I encountered that afternoon were not simply strangers passing through Glasgow. They were a mother and her children, just like any other family, trying to find their way through life. They deserved the same dignity, patience and kindness that we would hope others might show our own families.
Eventually, it was time to catch my train home.
As I reflected on the day's encounters, I realised that I had not done anything particularly remarkable. I had prayed to God before I left home and asked him to send people my way. And for my part, I had simply talked to people. I had listened, shared a little of myself, offered a sweet to a child and made room at a table. And that is the way life should be. Don't you think?
We live in a world where people can be surrounded by thousands of others and still feel desperately alone. Technology connects us across continents, yet we can struggle to connect with the person sitting a few feet away. We have become remarkably good at communicating, but perhaps we have forgotten something about conversation.
We cannot solve the loneliness pandemic in a single afternoon. Nor can we take responsibility for every lonely person we encounter. But we can make a difference in the small spaces where our lives intersect.
We can notice the elderly person sitting alone. We can make time for a family member who rarely receives a telephone call. We can welcome the stranger, speak to the newcomer and show patience towards the person whose behaviour we might not immediately understand.
Most importantly, we can resist the temptation to walk past people as though they are invisible.
Jesus repeatedly demonstrated that the people who mattered were often those whom society overlooked. He noticed the forgotten, welcomed the stranger and gave time to those who were pushed to the margins.
We may never know what a difference these small encounters make.
But, in our own modest way, we can become seekers of the lost and lonely.
He executes justice for the fatherless and widow, and He loves the foreigner,
giving him food and clothing.
So you also must love the foreigner, since you yourselves were foreigners in the land of Egypt.
Deuteronomy 10:18