The light went off at a quarter to eight on a Saturday evening, and Ifunanya was not worried at first. Light goes off in Lagos. She went to start the generator and discovered that her husband, who was away in Port Harcourt for work, had forgotten to buy diesel before he left. The filling stations near their estate had been dry all week. Her two children were spending the weekend with their grandmother in Surulere. She was alone in the house.
She used her phone torch to find a candle. She sat down on the sofa and kept scrolling: the church workers’ group, the office group, a cooking video, a long argument on someone’s status. At twenty to nine the phone gave a small buzz and died. Her power bank, she discovered, was also flat.
For the first time in what she later calculated must have been several years, Ifunanya was completely alone, in silence, with nothing to look at.
She told me that the first thing she noticed was her own hand. It kept reaching for the phone on the arm of the sofa. She would pick it up, press the button, remember it was dead and put it down again. Bored, she found an old envelope and a pen and began to mark a line every time she did it. By ten o’clock there were fourteen lines.
The second thing she noticed was what came into the silence. Thoughts she had been outrunning for months arrived one after another. Her father had been ill in the village since Easter and she had not visited. A colleague at work had been promoted over her and she had smiled and congratulated him and gone home furious. She was the coordinator of the church workers’ department and she could not remember the last time she had prayed for anything except the next programme. Somewhere around eleven, sitting in the dark with a candle burning down on the centre table, she started to cry.
Punchline“I did not know I was so tired,” she said to me. “I did not know I was so far away. The noise had been covering it.”
What the silence exposes
Ifunanya’s evening tells us something important about solitude before we even open the Bible. Quiet is revealing. When the noise stops, we discover how much we have come to depend on it.
Most of us live with constant interruption. Notifications arrive every few minutes. We check our phones in traffic, in the bank queue, in the toilet and at the dinner table. Many people fall asleep scrolling and reach for the phone before they have opened their eyes in the morning. Silence has become strange to us, even uncomfortable. When it comes, we fill it immediately.
The noise does more than distract us. Often it numbs us. It keeps at a distance the thoughts and feelings we do not want to face: grief we have not processed, anger we have not admitted, guilt we have not confessed, a growing coldness toward God that we have not named. As long as something else is playing, we never have to listen.
This is why the first experience of real solitude can feel unpleasant. The quiet brings to the surface what was already there. That is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It may be the first sign that something is about to go right.
You do not need to be afraid of what surfaces. Nothing that comes up in the quiet will surprise your Father. David wrote, “O LORD, thou hast searched me, and known me” (Psalm 139:1), and he wrote it as comfort, not as threat. The God who meets you in solitude already knows the resentment, the neglected duty and the coldness you have been avoiding. He has not withdrawn His love because of them. You are His child in the dark just as surely as you are His child on Sunday morning in the choir. That is why it is safe to stop running. Solitude is simply the place where you stop pretending to the One who never needed the pretence.
The psalmist hears God say, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Stillness and knowing are linked. There are things about God, and about ourselves, that we will not learn while we are constantly moving and constantly listening to other voices.
He withdrew himself
If anyone had reason never to be alone, it was Jesus. The demands on Him were relentless. Luke describes what happened after He healed a man full of leprosy:
But so much the more went there a fame abroad of him: and great multitudes came together to hear, and to be healed by him of their infirmities. And he withdrew himself into the wilderness, and prayed.
“But so much the more went there a fame abroad of him.” Jesus had told the healed man to tell no one, but the news spread anyway. The crowds grew. “Great multitudes came together to hear, and to be healed by him of their infirmities.” This was ministry success by any measure. More people, more healings, more opportunities.
And Luke’s response is a single sentence: “And he withdrew himself into the wilderness, and prayed.”
The way Luke writes this verb in Greek suggests something ongoing, a habit rather than a single event. We might paraphrase: He kept withdrawing. He made a practice of it. And the wilderness is plural in the original, meaning lonely places, deserted spots outside the towns.
Notice the timing. The more the crowds grew, the more Jesus withdrew. We usually do the opposite. When demands increase, the first thing we cut is our time alone with God. We tell ourselves we will return to it when things are calmer. Jesus reversed that logic. The busier He became, the more He needed the wilderness.
He did not withdraw because He was unloving or unavailable. Luke has just shown Him touching a leper, something no one else would do. He withdrew because His ministry flowed from His fellowship with the Father, and He would not let the crowds take that place. If the eternal Son of God, sinless and full of the Spirit, needed regular solitude with His Father, how much more do we?
Before the day began
Mark gives us a closer view of one of these moments. It comes at the end of a long day in Capernaum, after Jesus had taught in the synagogue, cast out a demon, healed Peter’s mother-in-law and then, after sunset, healed many more as “all the city was gathered together at the door” (Mark 1:33):
And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed. And Simon and they that were with him followed after him. And when they had found him, they said unto him, All men seek for thee. And he said unto them, Let us go into the next towns, that I may preach there also: for therefore came I forth. And he preached in their synagogues throughout all Galilee, and cast out devils.
“And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed.” Jesus made a decision about solitude before the day’s demands began. He did not wait for a quiet moment to appear. He created it, rising while the town was still asleep.
This passage is often read as a lesson in saying no, and it is one. But look first at what came before the no. Jesus went out to a solitary place and prayed. Whatever passed between the Son and the Father in those dark hours, He came out of it with clarity. When the disciples found Him with the urgent message “All men seek for thee,” He was not swept along by their excitement. He already knew what He would do: “Let us go into the next towns, that I may preach there also: for therefore came I forth.”
The phrase “followed after him” in verse 36 is a strong one. It suggests pursuit, almost hunting Him down. The disciples could not understand why He would leave when the whole town wanted Him. That is often how solitude looks to other people. It can seem like wasted time, or even irresponsibility, when there is so much to do.
But notice where the passage ends: “And he preached in their synagogues throughout all Galilee, and cast out devils.” Solitude did not make Jesus less active. It sent Him out into a wider and more fruitful ministry. The quiet place was not an escape from His mission. It was where His mission was clarified and renewed.
NuggetSolitude with the Father is not time taken away from your calling. It is where your calling is kept clear, so that the loudest demand does not quietly become your master.
Come ye yourselves apart
Jesus did not only seek solitude for Himself. He led His disciples into it as well. Mark records what happened when the twelve came back from their first mission, after He had sent them out two by two:
And the apostles gathered themselves together unto Jesus, and told him all things, both what they had done, and what they had taught. And he said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while: for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat. And they departed into a desert place by ship privately.
Picture the scene. The apostles return full of stories. They had preached, cast out demons, anointed the sick with oil and seen them healed (Mark 6:12-13). They “told him all things, both what they had done, and what they had taught.” They needed to talk it over. And they were exhausted, because “there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.”
Jesus’ response is gentle: “Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while.”
Notice three things. First, this solitude is shared. It is apart from the crowds, but not apart from Jesus or one another. Solitude in Scripture is rarely about being utterly alone. It is about withdrawing from the noise in order to be with the Lord. Sometimes that means being physically alone. Sometimes it means a small group stepping away together.
Second, it includes reporting back. The disciples “told him all things.” Part of what happens in solitude is that we bring our lives to Jesus, our successes and failures, what we have done and what we have taught, and we let Him help us understand them. Many of us never debrief with God. We move from one activity to the next without ever pausing to ask Him what it meant.
Third, it is “a while.” Solitude here is temporary and restorative. The goal was not to live in the desert. It was to rest so that they could return. And indeed, as Mark goes on to tell us, the crowd followed them, and Jesus, moved with compassion, taught them and fed five thousand people. The rest made room for the next act of love.
Alone with grief
Matthew adds something tender to that same moment. He tells us that just before Jesus withdrew, He had received terrible news. Herod had beheaded John the Baptist, His cousin and forerunner, at a drunken birthday feast. John’s disciples buried the body “and went and told Jesus.” Then Matthew says, “When Jesus heard of it, he departed thence by ship into a desert place apart” (Matthew 14:13).
Jesus withdrew to grieve. He was fully human, and the death of John cut deep. He needed space. The crowds followed Him even there, and He had compassion on them and fed them. But as soon as that was done, He returned to His need:
And straightway Jesus constrained his disciples to get into a ship, and to go before him unto the other side, while he sent the multitudes away. And when he had sent the multitudes away, he went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, he was there alone.
“He went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, he was there alone.” Jesus had postponed His solitude to serve the crowd, but He did not cancel it. He made sure He got there in the end.
This matters for those of us who are grieving. There is a kind of busyness that helps us avoid our sorrow, keeping us so occupied with arrangements and visitors and work that we never actually mourn. Jesus did not do that. He served others, and He also went up the mountain to be alone with His Father in His grief. If you have suffered a loss, you may need to give yourself the same permission. Some of the most honest prayers ever prayed were spoken in the dark, alone, by people whose hearts were breaking.
The voice after the fire
The Old Testament gives us one of the most moving pictures of solitude in the story of Elijah. After his great victory on Mount Carmel, Jezebel threatened his life, and Elijah ran. He collapsed under a juniper tree and asked to die. God did not lecture him. He let him sleep, and sent an angel with food and water, twice. Then Elijah travelled forty days to Horeb, the mountain of God, and hid in a cave. There the Lord met him:
And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD . And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD ; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so , when Elijah heard it , that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, What doest thou here, Elijah?
Wind, earthquake and fire: the kind of dramatic display Elijah had seen on Carmel. “But the LORD was not in the wind... the LORD was not in the earthquake... the LORD was not in the fire.” Then came “a still small voice.” Some translations render it as the sound of a gentle whisper, or a thin silence. Elijah heard it and wrapped his face in his mantle.
God often speaks in ways that are only audible when the noise has stopped. That does not mean He never speaks through dramatic events. He sent the fire on Carmel. But the most personal conversations tend to happen in quiet places.
And notice what the voice said. “What doest thou here, Elijah?” God asked him a question. In solitude, God often asks us questions. He does not lack information. He asks because He wants us to see ourselves honestly. Ifunanya’s evening in the dark was full of questions like that. Why have you not visited your father? What are you really feeling about that promotion? When did you last talk to Me?
Then God sent Elijah back. He gave him work to do and people to anoint, including Elisha, who would become his companion and successor. He told him that he was not alone after all: there were seven thousand in Israel who had not bowed to Baal (1 Kings 19:18). Solitude restored Elijah, and then it returned him to community and calling.
Solitude or escape?
Here we need an honest guard-rail. Not every withdrawal is healthy. It is possible to use solitude, or the language of solitude, to run away from people and responsibilities that need us.
Scripture gives a clear example in Jonah:
Now the word of the LORD came unto Jonah the son of Amittai, saying, Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and cry against it; for their wickedness is come up before me. But Jonah rose up to flee unto Tarshish from the presence of the LORD , and went down to Joppa; and he found a ship going to Tarshish: so he paid the fare thereof, and went down into it, to go with them unto Tarshish from the presence of the LORD .
God told Jonah to go to Nineveh. Jonah went in the opposite direction, “from the presence of the LORD.” He found a ship, paid the fare and went down into the hold, where he fell asleep while a storm raged around everyone else. Jonah was alone, and he was quiet, but his solitude was a flight. He was hiding from God’s call and from the people God had sent him to.
There is a man in my church I will call Shehu, who told me how he came to see this in himself. Whenever there was tension at home about money or the children’s school, Shehu would announce that he needed to pray and go into the spare room and lock the door. Sometimes he stayed there for hours. His wife would be left to deal with the issue alone. For a long time he believed he was being spiritual. Then one evening his teenage daughter knocked on the door and said quietly, “Daddy, Mummy is crying. Please come out.” He told me it was as though he had been woken in the hold of Jonah’s ship.
How can we tell the difference between restorative solitude and avoidance? A few questions can help.
Am I moving toward God, or away from someone? Jesus withdrew to the Father. Jonah withdrew from the Father.
PunchlineWho is carrying my responsibilities while I am away? When Jesus withdrew, He did not abandon anyone in danger. When Shehu withdrew, his wife carried the weight he should have shared.
What happens when I come back? Healthy solitude returns us to people with more love, more patience and more clarity. If we come out of our “quiet time” colder, more irritable or more withdrawn than we went in, something is wrong.
Is my solitude temporary? “Rest a while,” Jesus said. A pattern of steadily increasing isolation is not a spiritual discipline. Scripture warns against “forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is” (Hebrews 10:25).
And sometimes withdrawal is a sign of something that needs care. If you find yourself constantly wanting to be away from everyone, losing interest in things you used to enjoy, sleeping far too much or too little, or feeling a heavy hopelessness, please do not simply call it solitude. These can be signs of depression or exhaustion. Speak to your pastor, to someone you trust and to a doctor. Seeking help is an act of wisdom, and God often brings healing through people.
Making room in a noisy life
How do we practise solitude in a city like Lagos, where many people share small flats with extended family, where the generator drones next door and where a quiet place can feel almost impossible to find?
Jesus gave a simple instruction about prayer: “But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret” (Matthew 6:6). The word closet referred to an inner room, perhaps a storeroom, in an ordinary house. Jesus was not asking for a mountain retreat. He was asking for a door that could be shut.
Your closet might be your car, parked for fifteen minutes before you go into the office. It might be an early walk before the household wakes. It might be an empty church building during your lunch hour, or a bench in a quiet corner of a staff canteen. It might be the bathroom, with the door shut and the phone left outside. A mother of small children may find that her only solitude is ten minutes at five in the morning or after the last child is asleep, and that is enough to begin.
The phone is the first door to shut. Put it in another room, or switch it off completely. If that feels impossible, notice how impossible it feels. That is useful information about how much the phone has come to rule you.
Begin small. Fifteen or twenty minutes is a good start. Many people find that the first few minutes are restless, as Ifunanya discovered. Let that pass. You do not need to fill the time with activity. You can read a short passage of Scripture slowly. You can pray honestly about whatever surfaces. You can simply sit in silence before God and tell Him you are there. You can write in a notebook. Sometimes the most important thing that happens is that you stop running long enough to notice what you have been carrying.
Over time, you might add a longer period: a Saturday morning once a month, or a half-day once a quarter, when you go somewhere quiet with only a Bible and a notebook. Some churches organise retreats for this purpose, and they can be a great help.
And remember that solitude in the Christian life is never truly being alone. On the night before His death, Jesus told His disciples that they would scatter and leave Him by Himself. Then He said, “and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me” (John 16:32). That is what we are learning in solitude. Not the absence of people, but the presence of the Father. We step away from the crowd so that we can hear the One who has always been with us.
Ifunanya’s light came back at about two in the morning. The fridge hummed to life, the fan began to turn, and her phone, plugged into the wall, lit up with forty-three unread messages. She did not read them. She switched the phone off, went to bed and slept more deeply than she had in months.
The next week, she did three things. She took two days’ leave and travelled to the village to see her father. She asked her pastor to find someone to share the workload of the workers’ department. And she made a decision about Saturday evenings.
Now, every Saturday at eight o’clock, whether the light is on or not, Ifunanya switches off her phone and puts it in a drawer in the kitchen. Her husband knows. Her children know that for one hour, Mummy is in the bedroom with the door shut, and they are not to knock unless something is really wrong. She lights a candle, not because she needs it, but because it reminds her of the night it all began. She reads a psalm slowly. She talks to God honestly. Some weeks she says very little and simply sits.
She still has the envelope with the fourteen lines on it. It is tucked into the back of her Bible. “I keep it to remind me,” she told me, “how quickly I reach for noise. And how much I would have missed if the generator had worked.”
Teaching Companion
For Reflection
- When did you last spend a significant period of time alone, without your phone or other distractions? What did you notice?
- What thoughts or feelings might you be using noise and busyness to avoid?
- Jesus withdrew more as the crowds increased. What tends to happen to your time with God when your life becomes busier?
- Is there any way in which your times of withdrawal have become an escape from people or responsibilities, like Jonah or Shehu?
- Where could your “closet” be this week, a place where you can shut the door, even briefly?
This Week
Choose one period of at least twenty minutes this week and treat it as an appointment with the Father. Switch off your phone completely and put it in another room. Go somewhere you can shut a door, or find a quiet spot outside. Read Mark 1:35-39 slowly. Then sit quietly for a few minutes and notice what comes to the surface. Talk to God honestly about whatever you find. Keep a piece of paper nearby, and if you like, mark a line each time you reach for something to distract you. At the end, write one sentence about what you heard and one thing you will do in response.
A Prayer
Father, thank You that I am never truly alone, because You are with me. Forgive me for filling my life with so much noise that I have stopped hearing Your voice. Teach me to withdraw as Jesus did, not to escape the people and responsibilities You have given me, but to be renewed in Your presence. Give me courage to face what surfaces in the quiet, and grace to bring it honestly to You. When I am weary, call me apart to rest a while. And when I have rested, send me back with clearer eyes and a more loving heart. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.