The New Poverty of Togetherness
We’ve convinced ourselves that being in the same room is the same thing as being connected. If someone shows up—sits next to us, poses for a picture—we assume the relationship is fine. But being physically close is the easiest part of love. A person can sit an arm’s length away and still treat you like comfortable furniture.
God called out this kind of fake closeness with His people: they showed up to worship, said the right words, but their hearts were nowhere near Him.
Our world has normalized the bare minimum—the presence of a body without the presence of a heart. When proximity replaces actual love, loneliness becomes a quiet roommate nobody wants to talk about.
The Gift That Never Became Love
Parents often pour themselves out to provide good things: stable homes, vacations that look amazing in photos. But a child can enjoy a theme park and still not know what their parents value or feel. A curbside hotdog shared with laughter builds more relationship than a silent trip to Japan with people who never ask how you’re doing.
God has always rejected gifts that come without affection. He tells us love is more than sacrifices—it is the giving of oneself. If the only thing holding us together is the itinerary, then to hell with Japan.
If the bond breaks just because the vacation ends, we never had a bond at all. We just had a shared distraction.
Beauty That Distracts Us from Each Other
Couples can be experts at staging intimacy. Fancy restaurants, photos of the food, the perfect vibe. But if the place gets more attention than the person, the whole evening becomes a show. One partner thinks effort equals love, while the other sits there feeling like a prop beside the centerpiece.
Love in Scripture is about knowing and being known. If the memories are more important than the person across the table, the relationship is already starving.
If a beautiful date makes someone feel irrelevant, then to hell with the romance. To hell with the “perfect vibe.”
The Museum Without Laughter
Friends and siblings fall into this trap. We go to the same places and call it connection. But real connection requires warmth—shared jokes, eye contact that says, “I’m glad you’re here.” When someone is more interested in the right way to experience the culture than in the human beside them, the relationship becomes a silent performance.
It’s okay to miss part of the exhibit. But if the painting gets your soul and I only get your silence, then to hell with the art.
Quiet Love and the Danger of Distraction
I know some people love differently. For a few, simply sharing space is their way of saying, “I like being with you.” And some work hard to provide a good life, even when they’re too tired to speak. I don’t want to dismiss those efforts.
But I still struggle with this: if the work becomes more important than the one you’re working for, what relationship are you actually building?
Quiet love is real—but if the heart never turns toward the other person, then we’re just doing things side by side. And if stripping away the activity reveals that we have nothing to say to each other, then to hell with the activity. We are just hiding our distance behind being busy.
Invitations That Forgot Who They Invited
I’ve been invited to events thinking someone actually wanted me there—only to realize they just wanted another body in the room. They would have enjoyed the night just as much if I wasn’t there at all.
Even when I was young, friends came to my birthday and had a great time with each other. I might as well have been a houseplant. God knows that ache too—when people come near Him and never give Him their hearts.
It hurts to be present and unseen. And if that’s the invitation, to hell with the party.
The God Who Tears the Veil
This matters because God refuses fake closeness too. His people filled the temple, but He told them, “Your hearts are far from Me.” So He tore the veil to show He wasn’t after attendance. He was after affection.
Maybe the loneliness we feel in rooms full of people is a small reflection of what God feels when we show up without opening our hearts.
We need to stop pretending that “shared interests” are the same as “shared lives.” If our connection depends entirely on the movie, the meal, or the trip—and vanishes the moment those things are gone—then we are strangers with matching tickets.
If a relationship never becomes real connection—if bodies gather while hearts hide—then with God’s own priorities behind us: to hell with it.
What matters is not a body in the room, but a heart willing to be known.