On October 11, 2025, a rare gathering unfolded within the Vatican’s ancient walls. About 50 Italian hermits—men and women who have chosen lives of solitude, prayer, and silence—sat together with Pope Leo XIV for the Jubilee of Consecrated Life. The scene was, in many ways, a striking counterpoint to the frenetic, hyper-connected world outside, where parents often raise children in isolation, education standards are in decline, and even emergency alerts can fail in moments of crisis. What does it mean, in such a world, to seek solitude? And what lessons might these modern hermits offer to a society grappling with loneliness, fractured communities, and a longing for deeper connection?
Pope Leo XIV, addressing the assembled hermits, made it clear that their retreat from the world was not an act of escape but a conscious, courageous form of engagement. The pope told them, “This call to interiority and silence, to live in contact with oneself, with one’s neighbor, with creation and with God, is needed today more than ever, in a world increasingly alienated by the media and technology.” According to Catholic News Service, he described their lives as a “regeneration of the heart, so that it may be capable of listening, a source of the creative and fruitful action of the charity that God inspires in us.”
It’s a message that resonates far beyond the walls of the Vatican. As Louise Perry wrote in The New York Times, modern people “like to imagine ourselves as autonomous individuals, but in the natural human life cycle we spend a large proportion of our lives dependent on others.” Perry notes a particular ache among “college-educated, relatively affluent Americans who moved away from their extended families in pursuit of career opportunities.” Many of these parents, she observes, feel a “longing for something like a village.” They crave the kind of community support that, ironically, hermits—by living at the edges of society—can sometimes illuminate by contrast.
Yet, as Perry points out, “even though forming communities would solve many economic and practical problems, particularly in raising children, few people actually make the attempt.” The result? Families left to navigate the challenges of childrearing alone, often without the safety net of extended family or a close-knit neighborhood. This sense of isolation is not just emotional; it has practical consequences, from the stress of balancing work and childcare to the increased vulnerability during emergencies.
Indeed, the cracks in America’s social infrastructure have become starkly visible in recent years. Kelly McKinney, writing for the Los Angeles Times, highlighted the failures of the U.S. emergency alert system following the January 2025 wildfires in Los Angeles. The “after-action report on the January wildfires confirms what has become increasingly clear in recent years, as we witness failure after failure: We don’t know how to execute emergency alerting in this country,” McKinney wrote. Despite the nation’s technological prowess and wealth, “Americans face a dangerous future with hundreds of cumbersome, inconsistent and dangerously slow state and local systems duct-taped together. Unless we face this head-on, more will needlessly die.”
This theme of fragmentation—whether in families, education, or emergency preparedness—runs like a thread through the current American experience. Idrees Kahloon at The Atlantic described the past decade as “one of the worst in the history of American education,” noting that the decline began even before the pandemic. Kahloon points to “smartphones and social media” as likely contributors, but also highlights a “pervasive refusal to hold children to high standards.” Schools, he writes, “have demanded less and less from students—who have responded, predictably, by giving less and less.” The result is a generation at risk of sliding toward illiteracy, a crisis that cannot be blamed solely on recent disruptions.
So where does this leave American families, especially those raising children in a society that too often feels atomized and unsupported? Gleb Tsipursky, writing in The Hill, offers a pragmatic solution: encourage more remote work. “If the Trump administration and cultural conservatives want more babies, they should encourage more remote work,” Tsipursky argues. “Working from home trims commutes, thus returning valuable hours to households. A parent can handle a pediatric visit without blowing up a shift schedule. Mom can breastfeed without logistical relays. Dad can cover school pickup without hiring a costly nanny.” Ultimately, he says, “people want support that makes everyday life with kids workable.” It’s a call for flexibility and practical support—something that, in its own way, echoes the hermits’ search for a life attuned to deeper rhythms and real human needs.
Back in Italy, the hermits themselves are a diverse group. According to Avvenire, the newspaper of the Italian bishops’ conference, there are about 200 religious hermits in the country. They live in a variety of settings: isolated shacks in the mountains, small huts on monastery grounds, or tiny houses tucked away in cities. Some are members of religious orders, others are diocesan priests, and still others are laypeople who have made a formal commitment to solitude. While their daily lives are largely spent in prayer, study, and manual labor, many also open their doors—if only briefly—to visitors seeking spiritual direction.
Pope Leo XIV was careful to clarify that “distance from the world is not separation from it, because prayerful solitude generates communion and compassion for all humankind and for every creature, both in the dimension of the Spirit and in the ecclesial and social context in which you are placed as leaven of divine life.” In other words, the hermit’s solitude is not an escape but a vantage point—a way to cultivate empathy and solidarity with others, even (or especially) in troubled times.
The pope urged the hermits to “enter into the mystery of Christ’s intercession on behalf of all humanity, accepting to ‘place yourselves in the middle’ between creatures, fragile and threatened by evil, and the merciful Father, the source of all good.” He encouraged them to “stand in the breach with your hands raised and your hearts alert,” reminding them that their calling is not just personal but profoundly communal. “Keeping your gaze fixed on Jesus and opening the sails of your hearts to his Spirit of life, sail with the whole church, our mother, on the stormy sea of history, toward the kingdom of love and peace that the Father prepares for all.”
In the end, the hermits’ example may offer a subtle rebuke—and a gentle invitation—to a society struggling with loneliness, declining standards, and the fraying of communal bonds. Their lives, grounded in silence and attentive listening, remind us that true connection—whether with God, family, or neighbor—requires both intention and openness. As Anya Jaremko-Greenwold reflected in her October 14, 2025, essay, the longing for community is not a sign of weakness but a fundamental human need. Perhaps, in looking to those who have chosen solitude, the rest of us might rediscover the courage to reach out, form new bonds, and rebuild the village we so desperately miss.