Nestled in the Gospel of John is an earthy, unsettling story--one that begins with judgment, turns to mud, and ends with healing.
It starts with moral mud-slinging when Jesus and his friends encounter a blind man. Prone to the same sort of judgmentalism that plagues us today, Jesus' disciples asked, "Why was this man born blind? Was it because of his own sins or his parents' sins?" It's worth pausing to notice that today we buttress the same question with the power of media (social and otherwise) at our whim. We so easily personify the suffering of the world by ascribing it to some person or group of persons, so long as it's someone else.
Jesus waved off that question, then made a different sort of mud by spitting on the earth. And if our stomachs start to turn a bit with this picture, it gets worse when Jesus scoops up his newly created mud and spreads it on the blind man's eyes. Our muddled friend was no doubt relieved when Jesus told him to go wash himself off in the nearby pool.
The story has a happy ending.
"The man they call Jesus made mud and spread it over my eyes and told me, 'Go to the pool of Siloam and wash yourself.' So I went and washed, and now I can see!"
Sometimes the greatest transformations in life require enduring some mud.
Like the blind man in John’s Gospel, we, too, have been stumbling in a haze—not just individually, but culturally. Loneliness has clouded our vision, leaving us isolated and disconnected. If we want to heal, we have to start by acknowledging the mud. And then, washing it off.
The Mud
With its deadening lockdowns and social seclusions and quarantines, the COVID-19 virus rippled through our world with all its variants, and in its wake a deep loneliness settled in, reminding us that we are not made to be alone.
Where did we turn?
To social media, of course, where we learned to be even more depressed, neurotic, narcissistic, and lonely.*
And to our polarized news sources where we became highly skilled at mud-slinging. People were lonely before the COVID-19 pandemic, but now it's worse.
Here's what we know from the latest research:
Those living in individualistic cultures, such as the United States, tend to be lonelier than those living in collectivist cultures, such as Guatemala.
Men are lonelier than women in adulthood, though in a school-age sample, teenage girls have now surpassed teenage boys in loneliness.
Loneliness is highest among the young.
Among adolescents, loneliness has increased strikingly since 2012. (The first iPhone was released in 2012, and the first Android the following year.)
The average US resident now spends 7 hours per day on screens, mostly mobile ones.
Countries where people spend less time on screens score higher on the World Happiness Report.*
Every practicing psychologist and minister will tell you that people are lonely. And hurting. And unsure how to make it better.
Washing it Off
I mentioned Wendell Berry a couple blog posts ago, though I didn't offer one of his most compelling paragraphs among the many thousands he has written:
"A community is the mental and spiritual condition of knowing that the place is shared, and that the people who share the place define and limit the possibilities of each other’s lives. It is the knowledge that people have of each other, their concern for each other, their trust in each other, the freedom with which they come and go among themselves." (Berry, The Long-Legged House, p. 71)
Berry reminds us that true community is not just about proximity—it’s about connection. It’s about the ways we shape, challenge, and care for one another. But how do we rebuild this in an era of isolation?
Here are a few modest suggestions…
Reach Out. Remember that old pre-COVID friend that made you smile? Maybe it's time to reach out and suggest a coffee shop conversation.
Cross a Divide. Political and ideological differences divide us in every direction we look. Perhaps it's time to be bigger than our differences, to express care and love for someone whose ideas are different than your own.
Practice. Not surprisingly, our social skills have suffered with chronic loneliness. Let's work to improve these skills again. David Brooks's book, How to Know a Person is a great way to start.
Look for "Third Places." These are low-pressure spaces where people gather. Even if you're going alone, try heading to a library, a café, a public park, a community center, a place of worship. If you're feeling bold, see what happens when conversations spark.
Start a Book Club. I'm married to a person who starts a book club everywhere we live. It's a great way to interact with others around ideas, big and small.
Talk about Loneliness. If the former US Surgeon General is right, and I suspect he is, then being lonely is as bad for our health as smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. Loneliness may be the new silent killer, unless we stop making it so silent. Maybe it's time we talk about this openly with one another. Let's confront this as the problem it is.
Eyes that See
Eyes are so important.
When we wash off this mud and begin to see clearly, we'll start to remember how precious it is to see how our friends' smiles are as evident in their eyes as in the shapes of their mouth.
We'll notice the moisture that shows up in those same eyes as they talk about the losses they have endured.
As we start co-constructing the stories of our lives again, we'll remember how precious it is to see ourselves through the eyes of another.
Healing loneliness starts with small, intentional steps. Let’s reclaim friendship, reach across divides, and embrace the richness of shared stories. Because when we truly see one another, the world becomes a little less lonely.
*These paragraphs are paraphrased from An Invitation to Slow, which I co-authored with Lisa Graham McMinn. We cite a number of social science studies in the book to support these conclusions. One chapter is devoted to the topic of loneliness and community.
