The white collar was much too tight. Pastor Erik Sheridan tugged at it, feeling the pressure constrict his throat. He sighed, looking at his reflection in the mirror of his study at St. Mark Lutheran Church. The creases in his forehead deepened as he thought about the loneliness that had been gnawing at him for months. It wasn’t just the collar that felt suffocating; it was the isolation of his Divine Call.
Every day, Erik poured his heart into his congregation. He visited the sick, comforted the dying and the bereaved, and prepared sermons and Bible studies he hoped would touch the souls of his parishioners. Yet when the sun set and he returned to the empty parsonage, the silence was deafening. The sense of loneliness was like a dark cloud—ever-present—despite the warmth and love he extended to others. It was a shadow that followed him, like an unyielding specter—a darkness that clung to his being despite the brightness he brought to others.
One Friday afternoon, as Erik sat at his desk trying to finalize his sermon for Sunday (on his day off, of course), a soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see Pastor Tim Werner, his old seminary friend and fellow pastor in his circuit, standing in the doorway with a warm smile. He was a towering figure with broad shoulders and a voice as deep as the roots of an ancient tree, but his eyes were kind and full of light, like a warm hearth on a cold winter’s night.
“Tim! What a surprise,” Erik exclaimed, standing to embrace his brother.
Tim returned the hug, then held Erik at arm’s length, his eyes full of concern. “I was in the area and thought I’d drop by. Based on what you said at our casuistry at the last Winkel meeting, I thought you could use a friend.”
Erik nodded, the façade of composure cracking just a bit. “You have no idea,” he admitted, sinking back into his chair. “I’m still having difficulty dealing with loneliness, which is weird, because I’m constantly serving my people.”
Tim pulled up a chair and sat across from him. “You know, Erik, I’ve been there too. The loneliness of the pastoral office can be overwhelming. But we don’t have to bear it alone. Remember—and I know I’m preaching to the choir here—God is with us, even when it feels like we’re alone.”
Erik sighed deeply. “I know that in my head, but sometimes it’s hard to feel that in my heart.”
Tim nodded understandingly and leaned forward slightly. “You know, Erik, we often think we have to carry this burden alone. But that’s not true. The pastoral office can be isolating, yes, but it’s also meant to be a reminder that we rely on God and each other.”
Erik nodded, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “It’s just… sometimes it feels like I’m failing. I try to be there for everyone, but when I need someone, it feels like there’s no one to turn to.”
Tim sighed, his eyes reflecting compassion. “Erik, the Enemy loves to make us feel isolated and inadequate. But remember what Jesus said, ‘I am with you always, even to the end of the age.’ He spoke these words to His disciples, yes, but the work He sent them out to do is the ministry of reconciliation He has called us to continue—making disciples by baptizing them and teaching them Christ’s commands. There could be a lot of reasons why Jesus always sent His disciples out in twos—probably practical reasons—and I think one of those reasons is that He knew they’d need a companion—a brother in Christ to help them bear the burden of ministry. In that respect, sole pastors like us have it the hardest, because we do our work alone, which means we need to try harder at supporting one another—something more than just our once-a-month Winkel meetings. The whole point of the Winkels is so pastors have a pastor, but we don’t seem to be doing a very good job with that.”
Erik’s gaze fell to his desk, and his fingers nervously twirled a pen between them. He couldn’t bring himself to look up as he struggled to find the right words.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “I guess I’ve been trying to be strong on my own, just like I had to be in my childhood and my entire adult life before I received my Call. But it feels like it’s getting harder every day.”
Tim reached out, placing a hand on Erik’s arm. “How about you and I try a lot harder to support one another, like back at the seminary? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten a beer together anyway.”
Erik chuckled. “Thanks, Tim. I think that’ll really help, and I’ll think on everything else you said.”
Tim smiled. “Anytime, brother. Now, about your sermon. Preach from your heart this Sunday. Don’t entirely ignore it, but don’t worry so much about exegesis and historical context. Talk about your struggles and how God is present in the midst of them. It will resonate more than you know.”
The sun peeked over the horizon, casting a warm glow on Sunday morning as Erik stood before his congregation. The pews were filled with familiar faces, their eyes fixed on him with eager anticipation and curious wonder. Some wore expressions of eager anticipation, while others were already almost falling asleep. But despite their differences, they all came together in this moment, united by their shared faith and trust in Christ.
As Erik began to speak, his voice boomed through the church like thunder, commanding attention and stirring hearts. “Brothers and sisters in Christ, today I want to talk to you about something deeply personal—something many of us might struggle with: loneliness and the feeling of God’s absence. As I stand here, I confess there have been times in my ministry where I’ve felt deeply alone. The weight of the pastoral office can be heavy, and the silence of the parsonage can be deafening.
“In these moments of loneliness, we might feel like God is far away—like we’re abandoned, like the psalmist lamented, ‘Why do You stand afar off, O LORD? Why do You hide in times of trouble?’ This is a very real struggle, and it is not just limited to pastors. Many of you might have experienced similar feelings in your homes, your workplaces, or even here in this sanctuary. In fact, I know some of you have, for we have a few widows and widowers in the room.
“But what does Scripture tell us? Let us turn to Psalm 34—a psalm that has become dear to my heart: ‘The LORD is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.’ It might feel like God is far, but the promise is that God is near; and as you well know, God always keeps His promises, which we see whenever we gaze upon a crucifix.
“Yet, as Lutherans, we understand Law and Gospel must be rightly distinguished. The Law tells us of our shortcomings, our sin, and our separation from God. It shows us our feelings of loneliness are often tied to our human condition—our fallenness. We are reminded that on our own, we are indeed alone and lost.
“But then comes the Gospel—the Good News that, despite our sin and separation, God has bridged the gap through Jesus Christ. He is Immanuel, ‘God with us.’ In Christ, we are never alone. Jesus Himself experienced the ultimate loneliness and abandonment on the cross, crying out, ‘My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me,’ so that we would never have to experience such final separation from God.
“In Romans 8, Paul writes, ‘For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’ This is the Gospel, folks—the assurance that God’s presence is with us always, no matter how we may feel.
“Beloved, in moments of deep loneliness—when the silence feels overwhelming—remember God’s presence is not determined by our feelings but by His eternal Word. Reach out to Him in prayer, lean on your brothers and sisters in Christ, immerse yourself in His Word, and receive His Means of Grace at the altar where He has promised to be present till the end of the age.
“Today, let us embrace this truth together. Let us lift one another up, remind each other of God’s promises, and find comfort in His eternal presence. You are not alone. We are not alone. God is with us, now and even to the end of the age.”
Crossing himself, Erik concluded, “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Throughout the sermon, Erik had looked out at his congregation and saw a mixture of tears and nods of affirmation. He realized he had not only preached to them but also to himself, which he remembered a pastor should always do. The loneliness he had felt was now shared, transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit into a renewed sense of community and holy companionship.
The Lutheran Column 