There was a moment during the COVID-19 pandemic I will never forget. I was in my car, a few blocks from my house, returning from a quick trip to the office. Sitting at a stoplight, a thought struck me: “There is literally nowhere on planet Earth I could go right now, to get away from this global catastrophe.” Even in places that were less affected by the contagion than others—even in places that took it less seriously than others—the pandemic was on everyone’s radar, all at once. It was truly universal. In some senses, the entire world felt like a city under siege during that season. The logic was irrational; obviously, I have never visited the entire world. But the weight of that fear was all too real.  

I think about that anxiety-inducing experience from time to time, particularly when life gets more stressful than usual. Circumstances can get claustrophobic. D you know what that is like? Or sometimes I think about a friend of mine, who once exclaimed that it seemed as if her whole life was on fire. That struck a chord with me, and I am willing to bet that it resonates with many of you.   

In those times of overwhelming life-weight, we often wonder what would happen if we dropped everything and just ran away. Away from responsibility and obligation, from relationships and opportunities, or maybe from reality itself, if that were possible. Fear is a corrosive fuel source, but drive us it can—fast and far. Fear tempts us to flee, to hide, to abdicate, to renege. Fear can offer what looks like a safe haven or an easy escape. But fear is a liar and a gas lighter. Fear haunts our steps and follows our tracks. It will never leave us alone if we heed its hollow, wheezing whispers. It will only isolate us and eventually smother us mentally, relationally, emotionally, and spiritually.  

Quite an uplifting intro for a blog post about solitude, don’t you think? I mean, what is this, the preface to the new R.L. Stine novella? There is method to the madness, though; at least, I hope so. Consider this: We need to reframe the tension between isolation, which I would define as being well and truly alone, and solitude, which I would describe as being, well, almost alone.   

When fear entices us toward isolation, we become convinced that it is our only option. Truth offers an alternative. Not isolation, but solitude. Fear wants us to believe that we are backed into a corner, but in fact, that is hardly ever the case. Consider Psalm 46, an ancient song composed by a group called The Sons of Korah. You may know of it—you have probably hummed and sung songs based on it—but I dare you to read these words out loud, with feeling:   

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. (Selah)  

“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day. Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; he lifts his voice, the earth melts.  

“The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. (Selah)  

“Come and see what the Lord has done, the desolations he has brought on the earth. He breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire. He says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.’  

“The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Selah)  

[Psalm 46:1-11, NIV].   

Whether you actually read that psalm aloud—again, with feeling—is between you and the Lord. I’ll never know. But even if you merely rehearsed them mentally, did your heart rate rise a little bit? Could you feel your soul swell with faith as you read each line? These verses are more than a three-thousand-year-old church tune. They are the living, active Word of God (cf., Hebrews 4:12). If we let them, they can revive and renew us for the epic struggle that unfolds inside us day after day, season after season, global catastrophe after global catastrophe. This psalm is about the battle between fear…and faith. And how faith wins that battle every time.  

Yeah, I know. It’s cliché. I tried every way I could think of to get around it. Maybe the next blog poster will be a better wordsmith. But maybe not—maybe the battle between faith and fear is cliché for a reason. Maybe it is so basic and so fundamental to spiritual reality that the cliché is unavoidable. Fear is a slippery enemy. It will even use platitudes to confuse our faith. Remember, fear is a gas lighter—it will try and convince you that you have something to be afraid of, at every opportunity.   

So we must also remember that fear is a liar. Isolation and solitude are not synonyms. Isolation leaves us alone with our fear. Solitude leaves us alone with everything that makes us afraid—and with God.   

This is the X-factor, the game changer, the clincher. It makes the difference between succumbing to fear and isolation and embracing solitude in faith. Solitude is not about being quiet and passive, all by your lonesome. Solitude is active. Solitude is a group project with God! “Getting alone with God” is real, and it is life changing. I can get alone with God when it seems there is no escape. I can get alone with God when it feels like my life is on fire. I can get alone with God when I am anxious or when the entire world is operating like a city under siege. Psalm 46 tells me that—and Psalm 46 tells me how it works.   

I just wrote that solitude is not about being alone, it’s about being almost alone. It is about getting alone with God. And if it is not passive but active, what action should we take when we seek to fortify our faith in the spiritual discipline of solitude? Psalm 46 offers at least three exhortations.  

1. Simplify: Rehearse the fundamentals (vv. 1-3, 7, 11).  

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging (Selah)…The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress (Selah)…The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Selah).  

Like most mothers, my mom had a tendency to repeat herself. That is why all three of her children will be able to recite Proverbs 15:3 from memory for the rest of our lives: “The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding both the evil and the good” (emphasis mine). Mom preached that to us every weekend before we left to hang out with our friends. It was her preacher’s wife way of saying, “Don’t do anything to get yourself on the news—and don’t be late for curfew.”   

But twenty years later, I can tell you that repetition is the mother of all learning (see what I did there?). The sons of Korah understood this, and their famous song backs it up. The major sections of Psalm 46 either begin or end with the poem’s main theme: The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Like an Old Testament Gregorian chant. What a mash-up that would be.   

The things we celebrate, we repeat. The things we repeat, we remember. The things we remember, we embody. It’s why so many people are always trying to relive the glory days or reinaugurate the “good ol’ days.” From a biblical perspective, though, there is a way to redeem that aspect of the human condition: Rehearse the fundamentals. Get back to the basics of your faith. The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.  

Do you believe that? Do you celebrate that—and how do you know? Will you let it affect, not just the way you feel, but the way you think? Past your feelings and your fears, the echo of its veracity needs to sink deep into your soul. Then, and only then, will it start to alter the way you live. Because fear often knots up our brainwaves with complexity and seemingly innumerable scenarios. We overthink, our adrenal glands start pumping, and we tumble into a stress spiral.   

But if—no, when—you get alone with God, when you allot significant chunks of time to retreat yourself away with the Lord; then, He can help you untangle that web of confusion and worry. And solitude does not require you to fully disconnect from your everyday environment. Solitude can happen in your car or in your office, in your kitchen or in your bathroom. Anywhere, really, as long as you can concentrate on this foundational truth: The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.   

Cultivate the discipline of thinking deeply and consistently on that truth. Train your mind and posture your heart daily to embrace the reality that God is ever-present, His strength is overwhelming and reliable, and no trouble can make Him tremble. Cut through the clamor of confusion with the regular reminder that God really and truly is in control. Simplify: Rehearse the fundamentals.  

2. Slow down: Replenish yourself in God’s presence (vv. 4-6).  

“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day. Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; he lifts his voice, the earth melts.  

It was sixteen years ago this fall that my wife and I started dating. And while I wish our love story was one of those “I came, I saw, I conquered” tales, the truth is slightly more humble. She and I were friends, and we both secretly liked each other. I was just too afraid to do anything about it. One Sunday night after church, a small group of us college students went bowling. The girl I liked and one of her friends shared a lane with one of my buddies and me. He and I were on a team, and she and her friend were on the other. It doesn’t matter who won. Not relevant to the story.  

I had driven us all to the alley that night, so we all rode back to their campus together. (I went to a different school, a few miles away.) The other three got out; I drove away. I was alone; well, almost. Suddenly, it was as if time slowed. The presence of God filled my Nissan Sentra, and I stopped the car. The Lord spoke to me emphatically: “Turn around. Go tell that girl how you feel about her. Now.”   

The fear of rejection, which had held me back for months, suddenly had no grip on me. Without (over-)thinking, I grabbed my non-smart, slide phone, and I texted the girl who would one day be my wife, to see if she could come back outside to talk. She did—how horrible would this story be if she had said “No, thanks”? Without much preamble, I blurted out, “I like you!” To which she replied, “I am also interested in you.” We’re still shopping the screenplay rights to Hollywood. Phone ain’t ringing. Regardless, that moment remains an all-time best “yes” for me.   

What if the things we fear are not horrors to be escaped—but invitations to holy adventure? Of course, we love to find refuge in God’s presence so that we can achieve a new measure of peace. We are afraid, anxious, worried, upset and unsettled; God’s presence resets our souls with His goodness and love. Amen! But stop and think for a moment why God’s presence gives us security and rest.  

Fear can’t follow us into God’s presence because fear is afraid of God.   

God is fearsome. His fierceness and His strength are the twin banks of the stream that flows out from Him, to make glad His city, His holy place where He dwells—where we are invited to abide. God is within us, and as we rest in this reality, we will not falter or fail. Nations are in uproar, and kingdoms fall every day. Just you wait. When God lifts His voice, the earth itself will melt (cf., 2 Peter 3:10).  

God draws us near to Him, not only to chase away the bad dreams, but also to flood our hearts with fresh courage. He calls us and equips to stop being chased into dark corners by the fearfulness of this dark and broken world—and to start chasing fear into the light of His presence. Faith isn’t this dainty, fragile thing we’ve been conditioned to believe it is by our soft and sensitive culture. (Re)read Psalm 46, and discover that faith makes us unshakeable. Not because of anything inherent to us, but because of God’s manifest ability to turn the darkest night into a daybreak deliverance, again and again.   

Getting alone with God has more to offer us than a sense of escape. Solitude slows us down When fear tempts us to run away, faith gives us strength to turn around, face up, and march back into the fray. So, the next time you retreat into the presence of the Lord, don’t just stay long enough to feel better. Stay long enough to regain your spiritual composure; let Him help you gather yourself for the next stage of this spiritual adventure we enjoy, in Christ. Slow down: Replenish yourself in God’s presence.  

3. Be still: Rely on God as He fights for you (vv. 8-10).  

“Come and see what the Lord has done, the desolations he has brought on the earth. He breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire. He says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.’  

My family moved near the end of my fourth-grade year. Nine weeks before summer break, I had to be the new kid in class, get used to a new teacher, and learn the ins-and-outs of a new school school. Thankfully, it was a small school in a small town and, as it happened, I wasn’t the only new student in my class. Our teacher, Mrs. Simons, sat me right next to the other new guy, at the back of the room. Maybe she thought we could band together, become fast friends, and forge ahead together.   

 Swing and a miss, Simons. Ryan (not his real name) decided that the best way for him to establish himself in our new class was to bully me into isolation; then, he could have all the new friends to himself. He called me names, played on my insecurities, and mocked me mercilessly. I wanted to hit him by the end of the first day, but I had been taught never to start a fight. So I deflected as much ridicule as possible, and I avoided him when I could.   

Ryan’s favorite time to pick on me was before school, when our class—and the other fourth-grade classes—lined up in the main hallway, waiting for our teachers to invite us into the room. He loved to catch me at the back of the line; he would take something of mine and taunt me with it. No grown-ups watching. This went on for a few weeks. I was not enjoying my new school.   

Then, one morning, Ryan met my twin brother. He was in the class next door to mine, and our paths did not cross very often. But my brother’s class also lined up next to mine, and on a random day, he ended up at the back of the line with his class. He was next to me, and Ryan saw an opportunity to bully two people who looked like me, at the same time.   

Now, my twin and I were raised in the same home, by the same parents. They taught him the same life lessons they instilled in me. But my brother had never really been picked on, and he did not take to it kindly. Ryan started in on him by taking his spiral notebook. He jumped back into our line and dared my brother to come and get it back. My brother walked over, pinned Ryan against the cinderblock wall, wrenched the notebook out of his hand, and proceeded to smack Ryan across the head, numerous times. My brother looked at me and said, “Does he do this to you?”  

“Pretty much every day.”  

(My brother, looking at Ryan) “Every time you pick on him, I’ll use this notebook on you again.”  

Like the Lord, my brother stood up and fought for me. I enjoyed my new school a lot more, from that moment on.  

Fear is a bully. It wants us to think we are helpless and cut off. It tempts us to isolate, and then when we do, it terrorizes us incessantly. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The suffocating burden of worry and doubt, anxiety and insecurity begin to break us down.   

But all the while, the Lord Almighty, our fortress, our strong tower, is right there with us. He brings desolation to His enemies. He breaks bows, shatters spears, and burns shields. It’s how He exalts His Name among the nations, how He spreads His fame throughout the earth.   

The Lord goes to war. And He always wins.   

The modern American Church has turned Psalm 46:10 into watered down coffee shop wall art. We stitch it on throw pillows and emboss it on rear window decals. Contrast that with Jesus, who very well may have it engraved on the sheath of His sword. He is our Firstborn Brother (cf., Colossians 1:18), and He does not take kindly to bullies.   

What if we read this psalm for all it’s worth? What if we embrace the vigor of its lyrics, even the violence of its imagery? What if we come into God’s presence when fear tries to back us into a corner; we lay out its lies before the Lord, and we allow ourselves to be still and know? What if we call upon the Lord Almighty and invite the Most High to rain down desolation upon the heads of our spiritual foes?   

That’s what solitude is for. This is one pivotal purpose for getting alone with God: Winning the battle between faith and fear. It’s one of the ways we bring the fight to fear, rather than running and hiding from it. You don’t have to make solitude the only weapon in your arsenal. I don’t think that’s the issue. We have our Bibles, we have our prayer lists, and we have our worship songs. All well and good. But if we let psalms like the one given to us by The Sons of Korah do their work, we will approach our spiritual disciplines with a new mindset. And the next time fear comes knocking, we can fight back with fresh faith.   

Not alone—almost alone.   

Simplify. Slow down. Be still.   

The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.  

EDITOR’S NOTE: Tyler, his wife Traci, and their two boys live in northern Kentucky, where Tyler serves as the director of a Christian school. He has over fifteen years of experience as a pastor in the local church, and he is passionate about Scripture and following Jesus. His top priority as a minister, as a leader, and as a writer is to help people take the next step in their own discipleship journey. 

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