Congregational Development

In AD 305 (or then abouts), St Anthony emerged from 20 years of “self-isolation” inside a ruined fortress in Egypt. He had had his food thrown over the wall by friends and had spoken to no one – except the Devil at whom he was heard shouting. Athanasius reports that the substantial crowd, who had gathered to observe his emergence, were very surprised to see that he was both healthy and sane. This is most encouraging!
Sara Maitland

Sara Maitland has lived as a solitary for many years. Today's enewsletter from All Saints Margaret Street put me onto her article on isolation and solitude in the Tablet. Here are a few paragraphes.

I was 70 last month, so I am now self-isolating, but in fact because of my personal lifestyle the major difference it will make to me is that I will save money on petrol: some other poor soul will have to bring any shopping I need up my hill for me and Mass, 25 miles away, has been cancelled. (I am sure you will all be relieved to hear that St Mary the Harlot in the fourth century was canonised despite never going to Mass and receiving Communion only once in her life.)

The first thing I would suggest is very simple: change the vocabulary. We are not going to experience isolation but solitude. ... "Social isolation", even "social distancing", sounds rather bleak; talk of "supported solitude" sounds very different. Isolation feels connected to loneliness and to compulsion; solitude to spiritual growth and creativity. Jesus may have been solitary through his fast in the wilderness, but we do not think of him as "isolated". When at the end of a long hard day we lock the bathroom door against even those we love and sink into a hot bath, we enjoy our moment of peace and solitude, rather than feel isolated or lonely. In fact, we know that a certain amount of solitude is good for our mental health - and because of its connection to "solo", solitude has an ambience of courage and adventure.

Actually, the idea that most of us are going to be "isolated" is simply untrue. We wake alone in the night and reach out for the light switch - and we are not isolated, we are instantly connected to a whole lot of people who are generating power to enable our solitude. When we turn the tap on, wait for the post, even put on a warmer jersey, we may be alone but we are not isolated; we are part of a huge complex social web. Most of us have telephones - 85 per cent of UK households have a landline - and many of those who do not use a mobile. Many are also connected to the internet and services such as Skype. We are not isolated as people used to be. And that is before we even begin on prayer.

Solitude is very good for prayer. This presumably is why Jesus was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted. We all know that solitude, and its accompanying silence, is good for prayer. How many of us begin each Lent planning to build in some solitude, to go on retreat or take a day out of our "normal" routines, and realise, come Holy Week, that for yet another year we have failed again! This Lent we are being given retreat time, for free. We can even feel rather noble and "caring for others" about it - both for medical staff and for those more vulnerable than we are - while in fact occupying some space we have failed to use before despite our good intentions and our knowledge that it works.

I only met Sara once, sometime in the early 1980s. She was the then highly respected feminist, writer, Anglican, friend of Ken Leech, and spouse of a parish priest in Shoreditch, London. A few of us from the Order of the Ascension went to the parish's first communion mass, Benediction, and backyard cookout on the suggestion of Ken. That's the four pictures above on the right.

They invited us to join them in the rectory after the celebration ended. I vaguely recall a lot of scotch, cigarette smoke, and brilliant conversation.

Solitude in Surrey