The Hermit is wise.
I am beginning to understand and accept that I truly am a spiritual hermit. I am a solitary. I have always been this way, and fighting it only leads to unhappiness. I’ve tried many spiritual paths in the nearly 55 years I’ve been in this body, but on all of them, the solitary way felt most natural to me.
Now that I’ve returned to Christianity, I’m finding that certain words trigger aversion and distaste in me. One of those words is “fellowship.” Good Lord, I am tired of that word.
I love coming to church to worship on Sunday mornings, and it’s actually nice for me that Cat’s in the choir, because it means I get to sit alone in my pew, and I don’t have to talk unless someone approaches me. My instinct is to be silent and reverent before the service, but that’s not shared by many, and often people will stop by my pew to chat. I don’t mind it too much, and sometimes I actually enjoy it. It’s pleasant to be liked, and I’m not too proud to admit that. And I do feel genuine regard and affection for my fellow parishioners. There is a peace and comfort that comes from gathering together for “corporate worship,” as they call it. (I don’t care for that term as it reminds me of business, of work, but I digress) I sometimes sense the “communion of saints” quite strongly, and I treasure that, and am glad to be part of it.
“Fellowship,” though, is something different. I get just about all the “fellowship” I need from actually attending worship services. I don’t like coffee hour afterward and generally skip it unless Cat and I are hosting it, or I have something specific I need to speak with someone about. But I have no interest in hanging around chatting after the service. So I usually don’t.
Our church is really big on “fellowship” activities. That’s great, for the people who enjoy them. “Knock yourselves out,” I want to tell them. “Don’t take it personally that I don’t want to come to your meeting/party/dinner/excursion.”
There is something that I’m taking personally, though, and that’s the fact that I can count on the fingers of one hand, or half the fingers of one hand, the number of times I’ve heard any kind of recognition or support from the pulpit for those of us who prefer to worship and serve quietly. There is constant encouragement to be “in community,” to “come together” for things, to offer your gifts of time and service in social ways. I love our rector, I truly do, but I think she overlooks the quiet ones, the ones like me who aren’t always talking, or trying to get attention, or making their presence known at every single event that happens.
Truthfully, it hurts a little. Maybe more than a little. “I’m a Christian too,” I want to say. “I’m here. Where is the support for people like me? Where is the recognition and appreciation for those of us who write checks without fanfare, and bake cookies and buy socks and food for your different programs, but who drop them off to go home and pray, in solitude, for the success of those programs? Why don’t we have a quiet room in the church, where people can go to pray and meditate in peace without being approached for conversation? Why isn’t there more support and love for your contemplatives?”
I did attend a meeting last week. It’s not that I never participate in anything, it’s just that I need to be very selective about what I choose to do. It was a study session for those considering joining the Order of the Daughters of the King. One question posed to everyone was, “What are your stumbling blocks?” I decided to speak up. I said, “I am going to go out on a limb here, and tell you that one of my biggest stumbling blocks is the constant emphasis on fellowship and community. My spirituality is of a more solitary and contemplative nature, and I don’t have the energy to be with other people all the time.” It was hard to say that. But to my pleased surprise, I was met with understanding and acceptance, and one woman said, “I know exactly what you mean. I’m an introvert, and while extroverts gain energy from being with people, I get recharged by being alone.” And that led to a thoughtful discussion about the differences between introverts and extroverts, and the need for balance and how each type of person has something to offer. It was wonderful. I expected to be told that I need to learn to be different, but that didn’t happen. So there is hope, I think, and perhaps if I continue to speak up, I can increase awareness and understanding so that the quiet members of the church can feel appreciated and supported too.
That said, though, I’m learning that I can’t look to others for validation of how I am. It’s just not going to happen. I had high hopes for developing a friendship with the fellow who ran the contemplative prayer classes, but he seems uninterested in communicating much with me. He told me I was welcome to email him, but when I did, it took him over a week to answer, and he’s never responded at all to my second email. So much for that. But I’m finding there are lots of resources out there. Lots of excellent reading material about the calling of a Hermit. You can even manage it while living in the world and having to go to a job and be out among people every day. The more time I spend in solitary contemplation and prayer, the more confident I feel about it.
It would be wonderful if the church could be more supportive and appreciative of its introverts. I’ll work toward bringing that about, as I’m able to, in my quiet way, for the sake of others like me who might be feeling “less than” because of the way they are. I don’t want anybody else to feel hurt or inadequate because they just aren’t up for the constant fellowship activities. We are all members of the mystical body of the church. And the quiet backbone that nobody ever notices is just as important as the noisy mouths and the busy hands.
So don’t feel inadequate just because you’re not a social butterfly. You don’t have to be on a bunch of committees, or go to every church supper that comes up, in order to serve and contribute. Your quiet prayers matter. Your “behind-the-scenes” contributions matter. Your presence in your pew on Sundays matters. You matter!
