The Loneliness No One Sees

I first recognized loneliness as a child in Newton, Kansas.  

Forced to move again, I told myself, “There’s no point in making friends.” I was in fifth grade and had already attended four different schools—from Washington to Michigan and beyond. Stability seemed out of reach for this eleven-year-old boy.

When my parents told me we were moving again, I felt overwhelmed with loneliness. The friends I longed for didn’t really know me. How could they, when our average stay in any one place was only three to six weeks?

But there is another kind of loneliness too: being visible, yet unseen.

Many of us live surrounded by people. We attend gatherings, serve on teams, exchange greetings, and carry on conversations that feel full. Yet, underneath all that activity, a quiet sense of isolation can still linger. It’s the loneliness of carrying questions you’re unsure you’re allowed to ask.

The loneliness of feeling responsible for others while unsure who is responsible for you.

The loneliness of believing that strength requires silence.

For many pastors and Christian leaders, this loneliness often deepens over time. Leadership—especially spiritual leadership—can narrow the space for honest self-disclosure. Expectations, spoken and unspoken, begin to shape what feels safe to share.

But this type of loneliness isn’t exclusive to leaders.

Many people in the Church—faithful, serving, committed—bear it as well. They show up, contribute, and care deeply, all while quietly wondering if anyone truly sees who they are.

Scripture does not shy away from this reality.

From the opening pages of Genesis, we hear God say, “It is not good that the man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18, ESV). This declaration is not merely about marriage; it reveals something essential about human life. We are created for shared presence—for life together.

And yet, somewhere along the way, many of us learned to equate faithfulness with self-sufficiency.

We learned to believe that asking for help signals weakness.

That spiritual maturity means fewer needs.

That leaders, especially, must always be composed, confident, and available.

But Scripture tells a different story.

The writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us, “Two are better than one… For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow” (Eccl. 4:9–10). The assumption here is not if we fall, but when. The question is not whether we will need one another, but whether we will allow ourselves to be known when we do.

Even Jesus—fully faithful, fully obedient—did not walk alone.

He gathered disciples not just to teach them, but to share life with them. He invited Peter, James, and John into moments of both glory and grief. In Gethsemane, on the night before His crucifixion, Jesus said words that still stop us short: “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death” (Matt. 26:38).

He did not say this to a crowd.

He said it to friends.

There is something profoundly instructive here.

If the Son of God did not carry sorrow alone, why do we assume we should?

For leaders, loneliness often arises not because others don’t care, but because the role itself subtly discourages vulnerability. For congregations, loneliness can take hold when belonging is mistaken for attendance, and connection for activity.

The Church, however, was never meant to be just a group of well-organized individuals. It is the body of Christ—interdependent, attentive, and mutually caring.

The apostle Paul describes this shared life with clarity and tenderness: “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together” (1 Cor. 12:26). This isn’t an idealized view of community; it’s a calling to presence.

Loneliness loses its power—not when it is explained away—but when it is met with faithful companionship.

This does not require oversharing or forced intimacy. It begins with simple practices: listening without fixing, praying without performance, allowing space for honesty without fear of consequence.

For pastors and parishioners alike, this may be an invitation to rethink what strength looks like. Perhaps strength is not the absence of need, but the courage to be known within the care of Christ’s body.

And perhaps the Church’s quiet witness in a lonely world isn’t found in its programs or polish, but in its willingness to stay present with one another—especially when words are few and burdens are heavy.

Take a Moment to Reflect

You may wish to sit with one or two of these questions prayerfully:

1.  Where do you notice loneliness showing up in your life—subtly or openly?

2. What expectations (spoken or unspoken) shape what you feel free to share with others?

3. When have you experienced genuine presence from another person in a difficult season?

4. How might the Church grow healthier if honesty were met with care rather than correction?

5. What small step toward shared life might God be inviting you to take?

Walking Forward Together

These reflections are part of RPM Ministries’ ongoing work—offering intentional soul care to pastors, leaders, and learners seeking to follow Christ faithfully in demanding seasons. 

If you’d like to learn more about this ministry, hold our work in prayer, or stay connected as this series unfolds, you’re warmly invited to visit richardparrish.org.

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You may wish to share this blog post with someone who is experiencing loneliness and needs encouragement. And, if a line or two resonated with you, I’d love to hear what it was—feel free to leave a comment or send me a note. Sometimes your simple response helps others feel less alone.