Have you ever been struck by a statement so sobering and yet so true, it brought you no sadness—only peace and acceptance? I recently had that experience reading Larry Crabb’s book, Encouragement.
The book shared plenty of practical advice about stepping beyond surface-level chitchat and speaking directly to the fears of those hurting in your church. In the process, Crabb said something that spoke straight to my hurt. He laid out a picture of what happens when we pursue the goal of sacrificial service and ministry to others—what it looks like to lean on God for our strength and lay down the very human desire to be ministered to. Not every once in a while, but as the rhythm of our lives as Christians. He didn’t mince words.
He described that goal leading to feeling “profound loneliness.”
There was something so powerful in reading those words—and not just because two weeks before I read them, I’d described a recent season with the same phrase.
Crabb had my attention. I’ve certainly experienced the tension of feeling called by God to act in moments when I have an empty tank. I kept reading to see what I could expect to happen next.
Apparently, the profound loneliness deepens. I know what you’re thinking—why has this book never topped the bestseller lists?! Jokes aside, there’s a refreshing wisdom to hearing a pastor’s counsel that the Christian life will be lonely. Perhaps, not chronically, but certainly in some seasons.
“There’s a refreshing wisdom to hearing a pastor’s counsel that the Christian life will be lonely.”
Thankfully, Crabb didn’t just leave me with a sense of being understood in an emotional valley. He went on to describe this loneliness as “that surprising opportunity to know God.”
From experience, my first reaction to loneliness is to fill my calendar. I do what I can to avoid it, whatever the cost. Crabb’s advice is certainly a perspective shift, and I’ve been wrestling with the application. The next time I experience loneliness, how can I channel that discomfort into my relationship with God? He’s first and foremost concerned with discipling me to be like Christ. I shouldn’t run from that.
Frankly, when we examine Jesus’ life, we can’t ignore the fact that He experienced loneliness. Luke 5:16 says, “But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” Isaiah 53:3 describes Him prophetically this way: “He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.” And, of course, on the final night before His crucifixion, Jesus was betrayed and abandoned by His disciples.
Friend, we have a great high priest who understands not just the war being waged between flesh and spirit in our lives. Jesus understands human emotions, too.
Personally, every time loneliness has reared its head in my life, I’ve felt like a spiritual failure. I’d remember passages like Psalm 68:6—“God sets the lonely in families…”—and think, “Where’s mine?” I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve prayed, “Again, God? Why does this keep happening?”
“Jesus understands human emotions, too.”
I wouldn’t wish that sting of loneliness on others—long-term isolation is such a damaging thing. But it was in lonely places that I felt the weight of my sin and devoured God’s Word. It was when I felt crushed and hopeless that I began to grow.
So often, I’ve missed the true blessing of loneliness, as Crabb defined it: “that surprising opportunity to know God.” Instead of seeking the comfort and peace of God, I tried desperately to find it everywhere else.
Moving forward, I’m learning to see loneliness as discipline—like trimming the wick so the light of love in my heart and the desire to build healthy community can shine brightly. And for the right reasons.
