By Mary Tracy
Since the pandemic began, so much has been written on the importance of socializing to mental health and child development, and people of all ages have learned to be grateful for mindful socializing. And yet, very often group settings have created as much frustration as delight, as much conflict as communion, and the paradox only seems to get more intense as the Age of COVID-19 continues.
For better or for worse, the human animal is social. One of the harshest punishments of the old world was banishment from society; it was tantamount to a death sentence. Even today, solitary confinement remains a contentious punishment considered by many to be too cruel for any of God’s creatures. So what do we do when socializing remains potentially dangerous because of infectious disease, as well as the pre-existing dangers of bullying or trolling?
At least for myself, I have started to answer this by acknowledging the worthiness of the struggle itself. It is worthwhile to find a way to safely socialize even as we continue to vaccinate and wear our masks. I have worked to cultivate an intentional balance between the noisy business of serving others and becoming silently present to our loving, restoring God.
Lately I find myself wondering if Jesus ever felt lonely. Did he feel alone in a crowd of people? Did he feel discouraged by the people who had forgotten the importance of mercy, had forgotten the joy of empowered service to others, or had forgotten their own inherent dignity? Did he feel angry or just exhausted by the divisions within his community?
Jesus had many unpleasant social encounters, especially when his friends fell asleep on him as he wept in the Garden of Gethsemane. I think of this not just in my quiet moments of conscious prayer but also in the fearful moments: facing an angry or soul-weary colleague, feeling the disappointment of conflict in a normally supportive social group, sensing the fault lines just below the surface in debates about masks or vaccination.
One of the social settings that has made me feel closest to God’s mercy during the pandemic has been a behavioral health spirituality group. Once a week, I facilitate this discussion for in-patients who are managing schizophrenia, major depressive disorders, substance use disorders, bipolar disorder, cognitive decline, and a range of other challenges.
While adjusting medications and other treatments, they usually have time to engage their mind and spirit in a range of creative, therapeutic topics. They bring a variety of painful experiences, values and priorities as well as hopes. Initially it may seem like there are irreconcilable differences. One week, one person declared that Jesus is the only way, while another asserted just as passionately that Loki was his great support. But shortly after the group ended, I saw them engaged in convivial conversation as they sat together at dinner.
In another more recent group, marked by a noticeable variance in age, race, spirituality, and gender, we discussed for over two hours how to practice self-compassion and why this is entirely consistent with the Christian assertion that God is love and that God made us from that great outpouring of love.
And there it was. It dawned on me as if I had never before read the Bible or trained as a chaplain or as a person baptized into the death and resurrection of our beloved God. It is so easy to forget that we are made in God’s image and likeness, and that we are therefore made of love itself. My husband calls me a hippie whenever I say it, but he also knows I stand on solid ground. So, I will say it again: we are made of love itself.
All these divisions I see at work, in my neighborhood, in my friend groups, in my family conversations, and especially within myself – they lay bare how much we all need exactly what Jesus wants to give us: love. We need to hear it spoken out loud with authority and faith. We need to know it is inside us already. With nothing but a tiny ray of moonlight through a crack in the wall, the love that is our core being is set ablaze all over again.
It used to puzzle me how each spirituality group seems to work a kind of magic on the people who attend, regardless of how far apart the participants’ social locations, behavioral health issues, or spiritual practices might be. But it is slowly dawning on me that each participant is aware of their need for such care and then trusts that such care can be found there. Only God, that is, love, can turn our need into openness, and our empathy into actual healing.
I am not sure how to incorporate this kind of trust-building into the random encounter at work or the grocery store or the interminable Zoom calls that are still with us. But I do know that I am much more resilient against an absence of love when I have been regularly encountering God’s love, both in silent presence and in meaningful conversations with others. It gives me more chance of responding from the solid ground of being loved and therefore having the power to be loving. I pray that we all remember the solid ground of love from which we spring.
Mary Tracy, BCC, is director of pastoral care at Cleveland Clinic Marymount Hospital in Garfield Heights, OH.
