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They say loneliness is not the absence of people, but the absence of being known. It is a quiet, persistent pain that whispers in the night and lingers long after the world has gone to sleep.
Yet there is hope. We are never truly alone. Sometimes, all it takes is opening our hearts to the light. This week, in our Story of the Week, Samuel Barnaby searches for that light in an old, abandoned factory. Will he find it, or will the shadows of his loneliness hold him still?
Immanuel
By J.K. Stenger
Where loneliness reigns, the light still calls
Samuel Barnaby entered the abandoned factory every evening at seven. He had done so for years and hoped to continue, as long as time permitted. After all, he was already past retirement and his body was no longer as fresh as it had been in his youth. Still, guarding the old factory was about the only thing that seemed to give his life meaning.
He had started the work right after Amy died, some fifteen years earlier. She had been the light of his life and only after her passing did he learn, she had been the light of many others as well.
When she was still around, their house had been a hubbub of activity. She organized all kinds of gatherings: a book club in their living room for seniors, bingo nights to benefit the church and a quilt-making class where the latest gossip was shared.
None of that had been his cup of tea, yet he had always stood in the background, helping out. One thing was clear; the town liked her. No, they actually loved her. And so did he.
Despite all her busy activities and her gentle way with everyone, she had never neglected her love for him, a love he had always felt and cherished. Every morning, when she stepped out of their bedroom, she proved it again. Her nights were often difficult, plagued by arthritis and other ailments, but the mornings were heavenly. Her hair tousled from the sheets, her face lined from care, always bore a joyful, endearing smile that warmed his heart.
“Good morning, Samuel. So glad to see you. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”
Amy reminded him that life and God were good; a certainty she carried with her always. If anyone had a reason to greet the world with a frown, it should have been her. But not his Amy. She made every problem of the coming day feel like an excursion at summer camp. She was an angel.
The problem was, that he was not. Only after she was gone did he truly understand that.
At first, a few people still greeted him in the street, politely, reserved, without any real commitment. But after a week, even that stopped. Nobody cared anymore.
It bothered him. He wracked his brain, trying to understand why. He had not committed any particular sins, at least no more than anyone else in town. He had not committed adultery, was no thief, had not lied like Toby the milkman, and had not deceived like James the baker.
There was no explanation other than that people simply did not care. He might as well not have existed. Fine. No problem. He could do without the world. He steeled his heart, convincing himself that it did not hurt and that loneliness was not his companion.
But the night told a different story. In the night the hours dragged by slowly. Amy had called it, “the terror by night” and now he understood what she meant. When the lights went out, he was defenseless against the accusing voices of fear and loneliness. The whispers he heard in the darkness were always the same. They were like a dreadful broken record that played the same tune over and over: You are a worthless individual, the only one on the wide plains of this dark planet who has been forgotten.
That was when he took the job at the factory. It had not been abandoned when he first started; it still produced metal parts, clocks, tools, church bells and railway components, all things tied to time, order and purpose. They needed a night watch, and it was the perfect job for Samuel. This way, he would not have to face the voices at night. He could sleep during the day, since nobody needed him anyway. At night, while other citizens curled up in the arms of their wives, he could simply guard the factory. Problem solved.
But just as he was about to retire, the factory went bankrupt and closed its doors. Dreadful news. Then he heard they were still looking for a night watch. The building, already in the shady part of town, would likely become a magnet for hooligans, illegal parties, homeless folk and drug users. That would harm the town’s good name, and someone needed to keep watch.
But who would volunteer for such a lonely job without pay? The choice was easy. Samuel knew the ropes and he didn’t need the money.
Night after night, he continued his routine, the quiet sentinel of an empty factory. There, amidst discarded machines and broken tools, with memories hanging like cobwebs around him, he sat beneath the tiny light that guided him to the lavatory.
And there was a clock.
The faithful old clock, always there, ticked its comforting rhythm from the moment he arrived until he stepped out in the morning light and locked the door. He imagined that it had ticked long before he was born and would continue long after he was gone. Time, to Samuel, was the stormy stretch between the darkness before his birth and the darkness that awaited him below with the worms.
Tick-tock… tick-tock.
The faithful drum ticked away the minutes, the hours and the days until both he and his loneliness would be long forgotten.
Amy had talked about God, but he wasn’t so sure there was one. How could there be a God in a world of woe, where fear and loneliness reigned with King Self as its rulers?
“Immanuel,” Amy had said, “is another name for Jesus. It means ‘God with us.’”
He had not understood. It made no sense. Things you couldn’t understand weren’t right. You should be able to explain them, prove them, before you could trust them. You wouldn’t cross a stream on a bridge made of rotten planks. You’d surely fall in. Yet too many people insisted that the bridge of faith was safe. They said, you just needed faith in order to cross and it would carry you to everlasting shores. Sure. Good luck!
Immanuel… God with us.
Would it make any difference if he knew God existed somewhere? What good would that knowledge do? He would still be a lone star, drifting endlessly through a vast, empty, chillingly cold universe.
Tick-tock… tick-tock.
Only three more hours, and he could lock up and retreat under the blankets in the miserable comfort of his bedroom. Then he would return at seven for another long night, while time crept relentlessly onward. Samuel closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift.
Tick-tock… tick-tock.
Time takes its flight.
O Samuel, I call to you again in the night;
I’ve been at your door for so long.
Please open your heart to my song…
Samuel opened his eyes again. What a strange poem was flowing through his mind. A poem? Come on. He was no poet. Never had been. Was he losing his mind? Probably. At least that would speed things up.
Still, he could not shake the strange poem. What did it even mean? Who was calling him in the night, and who stood at the door? What door? And how could he open his heart to a song he had never heard?
Immanuel… God with us.
The thought was persistent. He let the sound of the name drift through his mind, whispering the words to himself: “Immanuel… Immanuel…” A nice name, come to think of it. As he repeated it, a peculiar warmth welled up somewhere in the pit of his stomach. The name sounded like music. It almost stirred in him a desire to sing.
Ridiculous, of course. He was just fantasizing, slowly losing his mind. But the warmth… the sound… so lovely.
Immanuel… God with us.
And then, unexpected and overwhelming, something broke in his barren, cold heart. Like a dam bursting, light, warmth and an unexplainable sense of belonging rushed in. It did not come from within, yet it flooded the barren fields of his heart in an instant. Every particle of his lonely life was immersed in a joyful warmth that spoke a single, undeniable truth: Samuel, you are not alone. You never were, for I have always been with you and I always will.
Samuel’s whole body shook with unexpected, uncontrollable joy. Tears welled in his eyes as a laugh escaped him, a sound he had not made in years. He lifted his arms to the sky, his voice trembling as he sang with all his heart: “Immanuel, God with us!”
He could not explain it. He did not understand it, and he did not need to. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was there. He was not alone. Never had been. He had simply not understood, his heart long shrouded in a mist of self-pity, doubt and fear.
Tick-tock… tick-tock…
His eyes fell on the clock. He could hardly believe it. Already seven? It was time to quit. Where had the hours gone? He needed to lock up and step out into the sunlight of a new day. He no longer felt bound by time, almost as if he had caught a foretaste of eternity.
It was true after all. Somewhere beyond the reach of time, Amy was safe and he would be too.
As he locked up, the sun on his face, he kept repeating the name Immanuel. It carried a wondrous melody. What joy! No longer in the dark valley of loneliness, the light had touched his heart.