Solitude, Silence, and Jesus
One of the myths floating around these days is that connectedness requires constancy—to give, and give, and give of ourselves. We equate presence with accessibility, and as a result, our time and attention become easy prey to what Charles E. Hummel named “the tyranny of the urgent.” [1] Every email. Every text message. Every request for a snack from children capable of opening the pantry themselves. The stream of demands can be endless.
When I worked in residential life, college students would burst into my office at all hours of the day, frantic over a roommate issue or over the washing machine on the second floor that had stopped working. While genuine crises did surface from time to time—mental health struggles, friends gone missing, an experimentation with drugs gone horribly wrong—most concerns were not urgent. Yet, the expectation was for me to drop everything and to fix the problem.
Thank goodness I had Brandon. Although I was his supervisor, Brandon was the one who possessed a gift for delayed reaction. I was often tempted to rush in and play the hero (a response that only fed my beast of pride), but Brandon calmly assessed and stood firm. I’d often hear him tell students, “An emergency on your part doesn’t constitute an emergency on mine.” I learned much from Brandon—and the waiting seemed to do everyone some good.
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When time is viewed as a tyrant rather than a means to tend the soul, we give in to every need, every request. However, slowing down is about not only pace but also presence. It’s about turning down our internal noise so that we can live deeply connected to God and to each other. And while we know that it is not good for man to be alone—sometimes, it is.
In his book Anatomy of the Soul, Dr. Curt Thompson observes,
“Even two people who are emotionally connected need their space. […] Limits are necessary to create the structure you need to function. Setting boundaries is part of any close relationship, whether between employers and employees, teachers and students, coaches and athletes, pastors and congregants, or wives and husbands.”
As much as we need to be together, we also need time apart. A life of presence is not about inundating every moment with relationships, but rather, posturing ourselves to interact with authenticity and love. To lean in, we must also step away.
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Jesus himself embraced solitude and silence.
His public ministry began only after a period of solitude in the wilderness, where for forty days he resisted every lure the enemy threw at him.[2] For those uncomfortable in the quiet, we can take solace in the fact that silence was no party for Jesus either. A barren desert and the devil is not the “spiritual retreat” most of us imagine, and my hunch is that Jesus emerged more physically exhausted than when he began. Yet, those forty days alone launched three years of public ministry that changed the world and bridged the gap between the earthly and the eternal.
Jesus also chose solitude when he was overwhelmed or exhausted. During these moments, he pulled away from the crowds and leaned into the quiet for intimate moments with the Father.
Probably the most well-known example is the night before Jesus was crucified. Having just shared the bread and the wine with his inner circle, Jesus went into the garden of Gethsemane feeling the weight of what was to come. With knots in his stomach and sorrow pressing in, I imagine the Savior’s knees in the dirt, head in his hands. The words he offered broke the silence with both a plea and a surrender: “If it is possible, let this cup pass from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”[3]
Three times the Son of God uttered this prayer alone in the garden, and in the moments that followed, he was arrested. He was led away to be whipped and stripped naked, beaten and mocked, until finally his body was mercilessly hung on a wooden cross. Jesus’ solitude was followed by suffering (which isn’t incredibly comforting to the rest of us). But what we cannot miss here is that every time Jesus stepped away, God the Father met him—not always with words or a shift in circumstance, but with presence.
The quiet became a place of communion—a necessary pause for what came next.
We, too, need that time away, not in the name of pampering but of preparation. We need space to wrestle with our humanity, remember who we are, and reattach our souls to the Father. Surrender is born out of the silence, and solitude gives nourishment so that love can deepen and grow. Only then can we give from the best of us, rather than what’s left of us. Only then can we embrace a life of connection, where the deepest recesses of our souls echo the words of Jesus, “Yet not as I will, but as you will.”
A life of presence requires a measured absence, and in the quiet, we both lose ourselves and find our way.
He stilled the storm to a whisper,
and the waves of the sea were hushed.
They rejoiced when the waves grew quiet.
Then he guided them to the harbor they longed for.
—Psalm 107:29–30 (CSB)
REFLECT:
What’s one way you can implement more silence and solitude into your daily life?
NEXT POST: Three simple ways to cultivate quiet in a noisy world
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NOTES:
[1] This phrase originated from a 1960s booklet published by Charles Hummel called The Tyranny of the Urgent.
[2] Matthew 4:1–11
[3] Read Jesus’s prayer in the garden in its entirety in Matthew 26:36–46 and Mark 13:32–42.
feature image by Cameron Stow via Unsplash
