When you work out that you’re an island

Today I was alone.

For much of my Christian life, I’ve also been isolated.

On both occasions, I’ve been surrounded by a lot of people.

Today, I was at a conference with a few hundred people.

But I knew no-one.

I attended a conference about the teaching of a subject where, at my school, I am the sole teacher.

So I attended alone.

And went to my sessions alone.

And ate lunch alone.

But, I’ll return to my school on Monday where I’ll be… solely the only one who teachers my subject and the only one who has ever taught my subject within my faculty.

It all feels a little familiar…

For, the longer I was a member of the oldest (by average age of the congregation) denomination in Australia, I was progressively isolated.

As I entered ministry, I regularly became the top-end of an emerging generation or the bottom-end of a generational abyss.

Within my faith communities, I often felt alone.

Few, if any were my age.

Even fewer were in my life stage.

Over the majority of the last two decades, vocationally, I’ve been an island.

While I could connect with others online (or lurk in places where those like me hung out), there hasn’t been someone in the coal-face whom I can gaze towards and see someone going through the exact same thing.

And, while this brings a necessary autonomy, this also breeds a fair dose of uncertainty.

Why?

Because the checks and balances of a colleague in-the-trenches is absent.

The oversight of an older and wiser sage isn’t readily available.

So, while I’ll do my best to pillage the best resources and consider deeply how/why I do what I do, being siloed off will just be something which I’ll have to deal with (at least until circumstances change enough to be within another’s area of influence or things develop enough for another to come and join me in my isolated patch).