Reflection #113 (26th October 2025 at Essex Church / Kensington Unitarians)
We need each other. It seems such an obvious thing to say, doesn’t it? But when I look at the world around me it sometimes seems to be a truth we have collectively forgotten. Remarkably it’s 30 years now since Robert Putnam’s famous essay ‘Bowling Alone’ was published (the book that sprang from it came along a few years later). There was a time where this was being referenced left, right, and centre – the essay looked at the decline in ‘associational life’ in America in particular – but I think the same is true in the UK: we just don’t hang out with each other so much these days. And, I would guess, that trend has only accelerated in recent years, firstly as a result of austerity policies and public cuts, secondly due to the pandemic. A one-two punch that it’s hard to pick ourselves up from.
So many people are struggling. The cost of living is high and our margins are squeezed. Work, for many, is precarious. Many people are putting in long hours, or working multiple jobs, with unpredictable shift patterns, to make ends meet – this makes it hard to have much of a social life or regular commitments outside of work – there’s just not much time, energy, or money left for old-fashioned recreational activities at the end of the day. Many ordinary people have had to pick up more caring responsibilities too, or take on volunteering roles in the community, to try and make up for some of the lost support we might once have expected to get from our ailing public services. And almost everything is monetised these days; unbridled capitalism has robbed us of many of our public spaces.
When I look at the people around me, it is clear to me that too many are carrying too much. And they no longer have the capacity to nurture or maintain those crucial social connections that might actually help them to cope with everything they are carrying. I’m witnessing this personally – there’s a support group I’m part of – increasingly people are struggling to turn up to it, to give and receive the support that they crave, because life is just too demanding. It can feel impossible to set aside just an hour a week to care for self-and-others. Increasingly we’re too far gone to access the support we need. And as some crack under the strain, those who are still upright take on more responsibilities, which will likely push them further into overwhelm and isolation. It’s a vicious cycle.
Additionally, since Covid has been in circulation, it seems that people have (on average) become still more reclusive. The lockdowns left a lasting legacy. Far more of us are able to work from home these days, at least some of the time, and that’s feels like a good thing. I’m not knocking it! But it is another factor in increasing social isolation. This is not the only lasting effect of Covid though. Some of us are more conscious than we used to be about infection and managing risk – so we think twice about social gatherings. Some of us are still feeling the after-effects of infection and the chronic illness that results. Some of us have got out of the habit of socialising, or we’re in the grip of inertia, or we’ve fallen out of touch with old friends and feel awkward about reaching out to reconnect.
For a time it seemed as if social media would at least partly compensate for the decline in face-to-face interaction – people were migrating from in-person hangouts in the pub or club or café to Facebook and Twitter – but now these networks are regarded by many as toxic. They are no longer the virtual town squares that, for a time, they seemed to be. More and more people I know are walking away from social media for the sake of their sanity – it’s completely understandable – but that’s another channel of connection gone.
Research conducted this year, here in the UK, by ‘More in Common’ confirmed some of this picture. They reported that ‘the rise of social media and technology, the impact of the pandemic, the cost-of-living crisis and political fragmentation have all had lasting impacts on people’s relationships with those around them. [A] sense of distrust is particularly strong among young Britons, and those who feel economically insecure.’ People are feeling socially disconnected; they feel a loss of shared spaces and rituals. And all this yields a context ripe for populist voices to sweep in and sow further division.
As Sean Parker Dennison warned, in the reading we heard from David earlier, it’s all too easy to get into a negative feedback loop. He wrote: ‘The danger of hopelessness is that we can lose each other. In times of hopelessness, it’s easy to get scared of everything and everyone. It’s easy to start believing that your neighbour is the problem and that hoarding is a better strategy than generosity. The problem is that when community starts to break down, we lose the most important source of hope we have: each other.’
So far I’ve mainly been stating the problem – describing the situation we find ourselves in – but how might we go about resisting this dispiriting state of affairs – and pushing back on this trend towards isolation? I’m just going to highlight two actions that we might focus on – one requires a bit of inner work – the other we can only do together.
The first is to embrace our own neediness (and our capacity to help meet other’s needs). Both/And. In the game of give-and take, perhaps some of us tend to lean more one way or the other (or we might veer between the two poles at different times in our lives). And that’s OK; we’ve all been dealt different hands in life and some of us will just have more needs – will require more support – and others will have more resources to give. As Benjamin Zephaniah says, ‘people will always need people, to talk to, to cry and rely on’. Yet some of us will shudder at the thought that anyone would think of us as ‘needy’.
These days we hear a lot of warnings about codependency – this word is mainly used in the context of enmeshed personal relationships where there is a distinct ‘giver’ and a distinct ‘taker’. The giver routinely sacrifices their own needs and well-being for the other – they can end up exhausted and resentful – and their care and attention can end up harming the one on the receiving end too. What I hadn’t heard so much about until recently though was counterdependency – this is a dynamic where someone has a desire to be hyper-independent, self-reliant, apparently invulnerable – and such people won’t acknowledge they have any need of others and they won’t ask for help.
There has got to be a way between these two extremes – enmeshment on the one hand and determined isolation on the other – and that middle way is interdependence. Something we come back so often – it’s a key spiritual insight in many religious traditions. We can acknowledge our own needs, and acknowledge the needs of others too, and accept that there will be a life-long dance of give-and-take, where we will sometimes need to reach out and ask for help, and sometimes need to respond when others call on us, in turn. Remember, as Erik Erikson said, ‘Life doesn’t make any sense without interdependence. We need each other, and the sooner we learn that, the better for us all.’ So let’s not be frightened to reach out to each other – to ask for help – and offer help.
I wonder what came up for you in the meditation. Who needs you? Who do you need? I wonder if one side of that question came more easily to you than the other. Maybe you could share your reflections with a trusted friend to see if you’re missing anything.
It’s not always possible for us to meet another’s needs – or for someone to meet ours – maybe our needs are incompatible – maybe life is so overwhelming that we need to attend to our own survival and we haven’t got any capacity to help others right now (think of the well-worn analogy of putting your own life-jacket on first – that’s valid). But we can tend to all our varied relationships – ‘nurture supportive connections’ as we often say – so that we are more securely embedded in a network of mutual caring when the going gets tough. We need to show up for each other in good times and bad.
And that brings me to my final point (you may have seen this coming). We need you. I need you. The existence of this congregation is dependent on the presence and the efforts of each and every one of us. Though I’m the one who gets paid to stand up here on a Sunday morning (and do all the other things that are on my job description) there is only so much I can do without the active engagement of other people who care. It’s not just about the obvious volunteering roles – greeting, making coffee, co-hosting, putting the chairs away – but the decision making and the paying of bills – turning up to support events, welcome newcomers, look out for people who are struggling. For this church to be here when you need it – it needs you – we need you – to get stuck in. To make a commitment to the community and show up in whatever ways you can.
Churches like ours are a wonderful place where we can practice give-and-take, hopefully get some of our own needs met, and help meet the needs of others. Given all that we’ve said about the rise of social isolation it seems vital that we do all we can – together – to increase our capacity to be a space of welcome and connection.
I am going to close this reflection with an echo of the words of George Odell. Perhaps we can use them as a guide for the sort of space we’re co-creating here, and the needs we might hope to meet for each other, in this beloved community.
We need one another when we mourn and would be comforted.
We need one another when we are in trouble and afraid.
We need one another when we are in despair, in temptation,
and need to be recalled to our best selves again.
We need one another when we would accomplish
some great purpose, and cannot do it alone.
We need one another in the hour of success,
when we look for someone to share our triumphs.
We need one another in the hour of defeat,
when with encouragement we might endure, and stand again.
We need one another when we come to die,
and would have gentle hands prepare us for the journey.
All our lives we are in need, and others are in need of us. Amen.
Reflection by Jane Blackall