Tempted towards Departure

The devil wants us to be isolated

Feb 19, 2024

Then he said to them: My soul is sorrowful even unto death; stay here and watch with me.

Matthew 26:38

*Christ in Gethsemane*, Heinrich Hoffman, 1886

In my life, I have often found that the beginning of Lent lines up with the greatest moments of what I call ‘temptation towards departure.’ It is a temptation brought on by the four great impairments of human judgment — hunger, tiredness, stress, and loneliness — which for me all line up right around Ash Wednesday, and often stretch through the season.

The temptation towards departure is a temptation to leave what I know, believing that by leaving I might find something better; or at least, something less difficult. Because the temptation towards departure, like all the greatest weapons of the enemy, is founded on a truth — that life is hard.

It’s a romantic temptation, in some ways, the subject of country songs and poetry throughout human history (or, at least, American history). Wake up one morning, take whatever you can’t live without, aim your pickup truck West, and leave everything behind. Throw away your phone, delete your email accounts and social medias, cancel your credit cards, change your name, and arrive somewhere new and start over. What a wonderful idea.

Yet it is a temptation. Because the devil wants us to be isolated, and that is truly the only thing that would come of leaving in that way. Isolation.

The Grass is Always Greener

On the one hand, the temptation towards departure is driven by a belief that wherever I could be (there) is better than where I am (here). Perhaps there is less busy, less stressful, less expensive; perhaps the people are more friendly, the town more quaint, or the culture more understanding. If only I could be there, then I would have the things that I lack here.

But the merits of there are not earned; they are just reactions to the problems of here. There, I could avoid awkward coffee shop encounters with exes; there, no one would know the embarrassing stories about me; there, I could present myself as who I truly am, and not have to play the part assigned to me here. It’s not that there is so great, but that here is so insufficient.

If I could only be there, I would be where I belong; because I certainly don’t belong here.

Impostor Syndrome par excellence

On the other hand, the temptation towards departure is founded on a belief that I am only making here worse, and by going there I would benefit everyone I leave behind.

It’s the belief that everyone around me knows what they’re doing, and I’m the only one figuring it out and making it up as I go; the feeling that every compliment is insincere, and every critique characterizing; the sense that I am merely being allowed to participate in the greater community, out of pity more than anything else.

It’s the recognition that I am wounded, and that my wounds don’t just touch me, but everyone around me. It’s the knowledge that I have hurt people, scarred their souls. It’s seeing that the awkward encounter with my ex is far worse for her than it is for me.

If I was there, I would not be here; and everyone would be grateful for that.

The Price of Freedom

Both of those reasons can be summed up as false freedoms.

On the one hand, if I was there, I would be ‘free’ of my past, my reputation, my responsibilities, my mistakes, my pain, and my difficult relationships.

On the other hand, if I was there, the people who remained here would be ‘free’ of my presence, my incompetence, my ingratitude, my disagreeability, my cynicism, and my demands.

Strictly speaking, those are true statements. But they don’t use the term ‘free’ correctly, because freedom isn’t an absence, but a presence. To be truly free is not a lack of obstacles, but rather the presence of self-control and recognition of reality. And the simple truth is that freedom is full of responsibilities and discomforts, exactly of the kind that I listed above.

Freedom, properly understood, is the ability to choose the good, which almost always requires sacrifice. Giving in to the temptation towards departure is not a pursuit of freedom, but a forsaking of responsibility. I’m not going there for what is present there, but to leave behind what is present here.

That’s not freedom. That’s fear.

We are not meant for Isolation

The temptation towards departure becomes strongest when the desire for solitude rears it’s head, because departure almost always means solitude. If I was there, I would be by myself; because anytime you arrive in a new place, you begin alone, no matter if it’s a cabin in the woods or Los Angeles.

That’s what the devil wants. When we isolate ourselves, we play right into his hands.

And he whispers things that we know to be true — community is uncomfortable, interacting with other people risks being hurt; and especially in love, we run the risk of heartbreak, the worst pain of all.

Leave it all behind. You can’t be hurt if you’re alone. Your heart can’t break if it never leaves its box.

But that’s not life.

Living is about making mistakes, about forming relationships, and yes, about getting hurt. Living is about picking yourself up off the ground, again and again if necessary, and putting one foot in front of the other. Living is about loving, and loving can’t be done in isolation.

Will we get hurt? Absolutely. Will it be worth it? I won’t lie — it won’t seem that way at first. But in the long run, absolutely.

Humans are relational beings. We exist to be in relationship — with God, and with those around us. The devil wants us alone because we can so easily get trapped in our thoughts; it’s community that pulls us back to reality.

The World is thy Ship, not thy Home

The temptation towards departure is built on the true fact that we are uncomfortable staying in one place for too long. We develop roots, and flawed relationships, and reputations, and we feel that there is something wrong with that.

And in a way, there is. We are not meant for this world, and our souls know that, even when we don’t recognize it. We long for the “greener grass” because we have been promised verdant pastures, where we will lie down and rest in the only Source of Rest — the heart of the Trinity.

Recognizing the temptation towards departure as a desire for heaven helps us put things in their proper place, and we come to a stark realization: there may be better than here, but it will never satisfy us. No place we could go, in a car, plane, boat, or rocket ship, would ever fulfill our desire for heaven. We would end up in the same state just a few years down the line, and do it all over again.

Be Who You Are, Where You Are

S. Francis de Sales, my illustrious and prolific patron, once said “Be who you are, and be that well.” It’s important to understand that, as created, physical beings, our physical location has to do with our identity. We are shaped by our location, and we shape our location in return.

So when we set out to truly ‘be who we are,’ we must include a recognition of where we are. The place that we are in, and the people around us; it is through those that we are brought to God.

To be who we are, we also have to be what we are. Humans are defined by relationships — father, mother, brother, sister, son, daughter, friend, etc. It is by living out those relationships as relationships of love that we are brought to perfection. And, as anyone can tell you, relationships (be they between parent and child, husband and wife, or two friends or roommates) are filled with difficulty.

Yet they are still so good.

To begin is easy; to Persevere is Sanctity

There is a certain sense of resignation involved in holiness, I think. The feeling of releasing your control over a thing brings with it an acceptance of what is to come. In my experience, there is a particular inevitability to God’s Will. It is when I am overcome with weariness and finally sit back that he takes over and guides me to what I could never have imagined anyway.

I need to recognize that my holiness is not achieved by my efforts. That holiness is a work of God, and that I just as often get in his way as help him along.

That requires an endurance that my temptations try to draw me away from. If I were to just up and leave, well, at least I would be doing something. But sometimes I don’t need to do anything. I need to persevere.

Stay here and watch with me

This Lent, I beg the grace of remaining. That is what overcomes the temptation towards departure.

I need to live in today, in this place, with these people, even — especially — when it’s difficult to do that. Because God isn’t holding grace for me somewhere else, or sometime in the future — he is offering me grace now.

Let me recognize you in my today, Lord. Let me recognize you in my here, and let me recognize that here is where you want me to be.

In Jesus name.

אמן

Wrap-Up

Thanks for reading this far! These past few days I’ve been struck with some melancholy and the aforementioned desire to get out of town, and I thought I would give you an insight into my wrestling with that, a little stream-of-consciousness as it were. Perhaps you’ve also felt the temptation towards departure; feel free to share in the comments! In the meantime, I will be remaining exactly where I am, praying that God gives us all the grace to remain.