Through the Red Door Blog

Years ago I read a wonderful book called, “Your God is Too Small” by J.B. Phillips. In it he wrote about how most of us struggle with faith because we keep making God too small—we make or imagine him kind of like us or maybe like a human being with super powers. But even if God was a human being with the powers of the whole Justice League of America—it’s still a human construct and hence, according to Phillips, too small.

I thought about that this week in a conversation with some folks in recovery. This was a smart, well-read bunch and we were discussing some ideas about how God may intersect with physics and …yeah, that kind of talk.

At one point I said, “But what about a personal God?” and I got THE look, and someone said, “Well, I used to believe in a personal God but then I studied…” The message was basically that believing in a personal God was kind of juvenile or unsophisticated.

I sense that slight judgment in other places as well. That look or word that suggests that those who (still) believe in a personal God have not matured in their spiritual development. There’s a kind of spiritual condescension, “Oh, I’m past the personal God thing. Now God is a cosmic force or a New Physics God…blah, blah.

But then after confessing to my very personal God that I feel small cause I’m not making Him/Her big enough, start to think, “Whoa, isn’t making (perceiving) God as a distant, cosmic, force of the universe just another way to make God too small?” (Yes, irony: in making God so big we make him small again.)

Can’t God be a galaxies-wide, loving, impersonal cosmic force and a personal shepherd at the same time? Why can’t God (we are talking GOD after all) be BIG and small at once?

Think about this: If we really grasp the Trinity and if we swear that we believe in this three-in-one business, then why not a God who is all: all forms, all types, all sizes, all styles, all dimensions simultaneously? That’s a Higher Power worth having around.

Step one was problematic for me. I could not imagine myself powerless over alcohol. After all, I said mass, counseled individuals, couples, and families. I paid my bills, took good care of my car and my dog. I finally got it through my head that the problem was when I picked up a drink, I had no idea—no matter what I said—if I was going to have one drink or a bottle. Once that door was opened, I realized the concept of unmanageability.

Step two was a whole other story.  After much thought and research as to why “God” was not in step two, I concluded that folks in 12 step programs seldom, if ever, received Unconditional Love, Forgiveness or Trust. This is what we receive in the meetings and from one another. This is a Power greater than me that could keep me sober.

Step Four was problematic. I did not have any defects of Character until a sponsor had me tell him what I thought of a particular AA member, and I did. Then he said: “What you see and like in another is also in you. What you see and don’t like in another is also in you, but you don’t want to think about it.” True. Now it was much easier to see what I had not seen for some time. It was time to stop pointing my finger at others and look at the three pointing back at myself.

Step Five was the best confession I had ever done in my life, and it was not to a priest. There was joy over one sinner finding peace of mind.

Then, in making a list of all the people I had harmed, I thought of all the friends and acquaintances I had. Slowly my mind began to see life from a different point of view.  I had used many of these people, took advantage of their kindness and generosity. It was painful to think that I had hurt anyone. I considered myself, and was often told, I was the life of the party. Making amends opened my eyes to much more than I could ever have imagined. I had put people’s life in danger. I learned that much of what I did was in a blackout. That’s not an excuse.

Then, taking a daily inventory helped me put a filter between my brain and my tongue. “Does it have to be said?” “Does it have to be said now?”  “Does it have to be said by me?” I wish I could remember who taught me this. It sure helped keep my mouth quiet and me out of trouble.

“Sought through Prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God was we understood Him(Her). Bill Wilson wrote: “Sometimes when friends tell us how well we are doing, we know better inside. We know we aren’t doing well enough. We still can’t handle life, as life is. There must be a serious flaw somewhere in our spiritual practice and development. What, then, is it? The chances are better than even that we shall locate our troubles in our misunderstanding or neglect of AA”s Step Eleven – prayer, meditation, and the guidance of God. The other Steps can keep most of us sober and somehow functioning. But Step Eleven can keep us growing, if we try hard and work at it continually.”[As Bill Sees It. 264]

When I first read this, I could not help but think, “This is coming from a man who was an atheist.” I had grown up with God, prayers, etc. but not this way. What fascinated me as I practiced prayer and meditation is that in Kindergarten, I memorized the definition of prayer - “Prayer is the raising up of the mind and heart to God.”  For the next thirty some years I ignored that definition until I was reminded of it in recovery.

At first, I was not great at it. I held onto my old ideas of saying prayers, attending church, etc. As I listened to men and women share their experience, strength and hope through working this step, I agreed with Bill, “Step Eleven can keep us growing, if we try hard and work at it continually.”

Working at it continually has brought me to this day, another day of peace of mind and sobriety, another day consciously aware of the presence of God in my life.

Séamus D.

Séamus D is a retired Episcopal priest in New Orleans

The topic at a meeting recently was about U turns. Wow, did it get me thinking. There have been many in my life. Not getting the job I wanted after seminary made me want to give up ministry, but the U turn was that I found another job that had me moving to Seattle. Unfortunately, I was the victim of a crime just after I arrived. My friends in Boston thought I would make a U Turn and go back to Boston. I didn’t and would stay and thrive.

The new city had me taking U Turns all the time since I got lost so often and Google Maps hadn’t been invented yet. My best friend died, and I chose to deal with it by drinking more and more. A counselor finally told me I was on the road to being an Alcoholic and if I didn’t stop, I would become like my mother. She said I was playing Russian Roulette with my life and the life of my young daughter.

I needed a U turn, and a change of direction. AA was there to help me make the biggest U turn of my life. The fellowship provided me with Good Orderly Direction. I was no longer lost.

Sometimes I still feel lost and lonely, and I don’t know what to do. Then I remember that we aren’t lost, we need direction from a power greater than ourselves.

This prayer written by Fr. Tomas Merton is the one I go to whenever I feel lost:

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

 And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore, will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Fr. Thomas Merton

As far back as I can remember, I have felt different; less than, unworthy, and out of place. My childhood was marked by pain and confusion, shaped by the words and actions of those who were supposed to love me unconditionally. My mother, overwhelmed by her own struggles, often lashed out at me. When I was around seven or eight years old, she punched me in the face, leaving me with a black eye. She blamed me for her marital problems, telling me that I was the reason for her suffering. My stepfather reinforced this belief with his own brand of physical and verbal abuse. I learned early on that hiding my feelings and manipulating situations was necessary for survival.

These experiences left deep scars that carried into my adolescence and adulthood. I struggled to connect with others and often isolated myself. In high school, I kept my head down, rarely speaking to anyone. I longed to be accepted, but fear kept me from forming meaningful relationships. I felt sneaky, smarter than others, and convinced myself that bad things wouldn’t happen to me. These thoughts followed me into my teenage years, where I found an escape, alcohol.

I had my first drink when I was 16 or 17 while working at ShowBiz Pizza Place in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It was a party, a gathering where I desperately wanted to be noticed and accepted. I drank sweet wine, and though it made me dizzy and out of control, it stripped away my inhibitions. For the first time, I felt free. I don’t remember much about that night other than lying awkwardly on the floor, hoping someone would acknowledge me. No one did. I barely made it home, my vision blurred, my head foggy, but I shrugged it off as just another experience. I didn’t drink again for a couple of years, but when I did, it was the beginning of something much bigger than I ever anticipated.

On January 1st, 1988, I walked into a gay bar and ordered a Long Island Tea; the only drink I knew. This moment marked a turning point in my life. Alcohol and my identity became intertwined. Drinking allowed me to embrace my truth, but it also became my crutch. Soon after, I came out to my mother and stepfather. Their reaction was devastating. I was kicked out, told that I was an abomination in the eyes of God. My mother mourned me as though I had died, wearing black in my presence for nearly a decade. The rejection cemented my feelings of worthlessness, and alcohol became my refuge.

As I navigated adulthood, alcohol became my constant companion. At first, it made me feel invincible. It silenced my doubts, fears, and pain. I believed I had control over it; that I could stop whenever I wanted. But over time, I became dependent. It was no longer just about numbing the pain; it became my reason for existing. I began drinking all day, every day. The lies, manipulation, and isolation I had learned in childhood became tools to maintain my addiction.

Alcohol robbed me of relationships and experiences. I had almost no friends, yet I convinced myself I didn’t need them. The few relationships I formed; Ed, my spouse; Kevin, my best friend; and Margie and Calvin, my friends from college, were strained by my drinking. I hid my struggles, pretending everything was fine while my life crumbled. My self-perception was distorted. I thought I was smarter than others, that I could outmaneuver consequences, but deep down, I knew I was falling apart.

I now understand that I am an alcoholic. The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous describes it perfectly: “The idea that somehow, someday he will control and enjoy his drinking is the great obsession of every abnormal drinker” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 30). I spent years chasing that illusion, believing I could find the perfect balance between drinking and control. But the reality is, I never had control. Alcohol controlled me.

Sobriety is now my greatest goal. I am committed to honesty, self-confidence, humility, and spiritual growth. The Twelve Steps provide a path forward, a way to make amends, and to live a life free from the chains of addiction. “We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 83). My past is painful, but it has shaped me. Through treatment and Alcoholics Anonymous, I am learning to let go of resentment, envy, and fear.

I know that recovery is not a destination but a lifelong journey. I am willing to do the work, to be honest with myself and others, and to surrender to the process. As I continue to write my story, I understand that the past will always be a part of me, but it no longer has to define me. Sobriety is my new beginning, and for the first time in my life, I believe I am worthy of it.

-Eric M

Works Cited
Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book. 2002. 4th ed. New York, NY: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services.

The other night, I was awakened at 4 A.M. by a loving recollection of my late wife who died 60 days ago almost to the day. Its appearance wasn’t a surprise, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

But returning to sleep can be difficult, but certainly not always.  Folks at my home in an assisted living medical facility tell me these wake-up calls continue but “stretch out as time goes on.”  I also was aware that she would “appear” during the day when I encountered long favored favorite sites or events.

As Christians and recovering alcoholics, how do we deal with these sudden recollections—what do Christ, and Bill W. and Dr. Bob offer to help us through these moments?

The offerings of Christ are clear: “Turn it over to Christ.” He’s there with us at that very moment. His love for us is clear. Sometimes when I’m hit with one of these episodes, I’m able to stop and recognize it was a dream.  As a human, I may try to solve this hurt myself. At my best, I ask for His assistance—and while I suppose it may sound flip, I try to go back to sleep or move on at the event.  But His basic teaching is just that, “Let Me have it and deal with it—so turn it over to Me.”

As for Bill W. and Dr. Bob? The Steps they wrote also clearly provide our roadmap:

Step 1- “We’re powerless” over the sudden appearance of these ills—they come and go, always. We don’t control their appearance or content, or veracity for that matter.

Step 2. “Greater than ourselves.” Oh we try our own remedies—self-pity, anger, resentment, blaming someone. Maybe we wake up and try to appear productive or move smoothly through the event, but sometimes our poor efforts are just that, poor and empty.

Step 3. “Turn it over.” Ah, the answer appears—He is there to receive and accept the hurt you feel. The Steps themselves call for us to do that—to reach for Him and seek His help and comfort just as we did when we surrendered our alcoholism.

Step 4.” Make an inventory.” Well, maybe there is something you can do to answer the hurt, perhaps rectify a past wrong, identify the accuracy of the guilt you feel. Was your Higher Power trying to say something to you? So, the next day, ask yourself, “Was she or our Higher Power speaking to me about something?”

Steps 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9. Be specific about what in the past has awakened which you need to correct—the Big Book readily tells you how to go about that.

Step 10. “Continued” the process. People tell me that this is a non-ending thing and occurs years later. Perhaps its intensity lessens, but the surprise of it might bring a new sense of guilt or sorrow.

Step 11. Again, maintain a “conscious contact” with your Higher Power. It’s needed. Following Christ and His teachings is not a one trick pony situation—it’s an everyday proposition. “Why?” because we are human and our old ways of doing things reappears, like in those past days when our devil-ego told us that we were able to guide our feelings and our ways of life itself.

Step 12. Sharing how you are handling these sudden outbursts of sadness...” You ask, what do I do when it happens at 4 A.M?” Tell people how you handle this—don’t just play “wounded widow or widower.”  Be honest about the way out of this jam caused by that 4 A.M. dream.  

A final thought: As the episodes trail on, I have concluded that they are reminders of my wonderful loving wife. I’m learning anew why I loved her for 66 years. She seems to help me still by raising the question: “What would Judy do?”

So, you see, our Higher Power was there alongside Bill W and Dr. Bob, at that Gate House that Sunday afternoon and evening and again in the writing of The Big Book. Each brought to us the power to respond, always, to our devil-ego.

Jim A, St X Noon, Cincinnati

It was probably my third attempt at doing a fourth step when I sat down with a legal pad, a copy of the ten commandments and the “seven deadly sins.” But, on this occasion I had one more document—the Litany of Penitence of the Ash Wednesday service from the Book of Common Prayer (which is now online).

“We have not loved you with our whole heart, and mind, and strength. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves…” I easily checked these off. I didn’t love myself so how could I love anyone else?

“We have not forgiven others, as we have been forgiven.” In answering this I discovered how many grudges I carried; how much anger was knotted inside me. It’s embarrassing to remember that. At that time, I believed I had nothing to be sorry for. After all, whatever I did was “all their fault.”

“We have been deaf to your call to serve, as Christ served us. We have not been true to the mind of Christ. We have grieved your Holy Spirit.” Only too well did I know the mind of Christ – the summary of the ten commandments made it clear and I knew I had not lived up to them in a long time. I was not an example of being the Christian I promised to be in baptism and confirmation. Whatever service I did for others was self-serving, hypocritical.

“We confess…all our past unfaithfulness: the pride, hypocrisy, and impatience of our lives,” Oops. That was a lot to take in. I had grown somewhat since my first fourth step when I was in denial of my character defects. Now, I could write a few chapters on each one of these. When I came into the program I had no Character Defects, now I was looking at them written large in front of me—pride, using god, people, places and things, self-centered and absolutely no patience.”  

“Our self-indulgent appetites and ways, and our exploitation of other people.” Self-indulgence and using others—guilty as charged. Again, I could write a chapter on each of these.

“Our anger at our own frustration, and our envy of those more fortunate than ourselves, Our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work.” How often I wished I had what others had. If only I had what they had I’d be happy. I was lying to myself and others about how hard I worked, and I loved those “shiny things” of life.

“Our negligence in prayer and worship, and our failure to commend the faith that is in us,” Oh, I prayed, and I preyed. I worshipped but, as an active addict, I did not always remember being where I was.”

“Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done: for our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty…” It took me a while to acknowledge I had wronged others; that my talk about human suffering was self-serving in that it was all talk to let people know I had a command of all the suffering in the world and what they needed to do about it.

“For all false judgments, for uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors, and for our prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from us…” I should probably type this one in red ink. I still blush when I think of my judgmentalism, prejudice, and contempt.

“For our waste and pollution of your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us.” Just throw it out the window, the trash collectors will pick it up tomorrow. Cigarette butts, plastic cups and plates, God only knows what else I dumped here and there and in rivers and streams. The thought of those coming after me never crossed my mind except to comment something about social scientists digging up this stuff in another century or more and wondering what kind of folk lived here.

As we come to the end of this Litany of Penitence hopefully feeling guilty and with some remorse we turn to our Higher Power, To God as we understand Him/Her, and ask: “Restore us, good Lord, and let your anger depart from us; Accomplish in us the work of your salvation, That we may show forth your glory in the world.” Despite all that we have done we know that God will and has forgiven us and will use us to show His mercy, love, compassion for all.

And finally, we pray: “By the cross and passion of your Son our Lord, Bring us with all your saints to the joy of his resurrection.” In other words, let me learn to die-to-self, open my mind and heart so that I too become alive. Amen.

Séamus.

Séamus D is a retired Episcopal priest living in New Orleans

My mother was a by the book Roman Catholic. She followed all the rules. As I child I didn’t really understand what difference it made if I went up to the altar for communion and it was 3 minutes BEFORE the exact time of fasting was met. If we went into any church and forgot or did not have a hat, my mother would use a Kleenex to put on her head and the head of my sisters and me. So much about church was weird to me.

Ash Wednesday was one of the weirdest to me. I was thinking about it this past week and how it didn’t connect me to anything as a child. In fact, it scared me. I didn’t go to Catholic school, so I didn’t have the nuns trying to explain what Ash Wednesday was about. We would go to get ashes at the early mass, before school. It seemed that it was a rule that you couldn’t rub off the ashes on your forehead, so I was teased at the public school I went to. There were a few of us Catholic school kids at my school. When we looked at each other on that day I imagined that they felt the same way as me – embarrassed. I couldn’t answer the question – “why do you have that stuff on your forehead” because I didn’t really know.

Oh- I did know “From dust you came and dust you will return”. I thought it meant – I am dirty, and I will die! Dying was nothing I ever thought of. I was a kid, old people died.

Then there was the “giving things up for Lent” that followed. Again, I didn’t really understand. When I was in my teens and very critical of the church, I watched my mother “give up” alcohol for Lent.  She had a loophole though. Sundays were part of Lent but not days of abstinence. So, she drank on Sundays and would explain it by the rubric. The next year she decided that she would only drink wine and then the next year she just drank. I was beginning to understand that she had a problem with alcohol.

This year I found myself reflecting on what Lent could mean to me as a recovering person. Mardi Gras is an alcoholic’s dream. Let’s have a party for days and days, knowing that when Wednesday came you could change your ways and repent. Such a dream for me. I will have fun AND then I will stop drinking. But I rarely did.

When I found AA, the model of Mardi Gras and Lent became something else. It could be a celebration and then a change of heart and mind. The hole in me that would not be filled with more alcohol but rather with my higher power’s help. Giving things up became a time to do more 4^th and 10^th step work so I would rid myself of my more glaring defects. I could also reach out to others who might be struggling with their disease.

I am dust, we all are, and to dust we will return. Now that I am much older with many years of sobriety, I know this to be true. What will we do with this one precious life? I went to church last week and was blessed and given ashes on my forehead. Now it is a symbol of humility, gratitude and grace.

I appreciate this Ash Wednesday Reflection from Kate Bowler:

Today we begin our journey.

The first day to stop pretending.

To sit with what is fragile.

To let grace sneak in through the cracks

Libbie S.

In case you have not noticed there are political divisions among us that continue to tear at the fabric of society and civility. Political polarization is intensifying, with each side pushing against the other, often in ways that challenge the values we hold dear. The sense of unity and common purpose is hard to find, leaving many wondering where all this division will ultimately lead. These threats to our social cohesion are real and serious, raising serious concerns about the stability of democracy itself.

Global warming is becoming more and more apparent. We see the increasingly erratic weather patterns, rising sea levels, and the growing threats to ecosystems that provide essential resources. This does not bode well for the future. That’s some serious insecurity.

Then there’s the war in Ukraine, which threatens not only the global food supply but also the economy and global stability. The ripple effects of this conflict are felt across the world, as economies face inflation, shortages, and unrest. As nations pick sides and tensions rise, we wonder how long it will be before the world faces even greater consequences of war.

There seems to be no end to the gun violence either. Since 2014, the United States has averaged more than one mass shooting a day, with 4,011 recorded incidents in that time. It’s hard to ignore how pervasive and widespread gun violence has become, and many feel vulnerable, unable to escape the constant threat of harm.

And then there’s the rising addiction crisis, claiming more and more young lives. Mental health issues are escalating, and suicides have risen by 30%. These challenges, combined with the growing pressure on individuals, families, and communities, make it feel as though our safety nets are fraying, and our sense of security is slipping further away.

I don’t remember a time when life felt as insecure as it does now. In Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, security is the second most important need, after food and water. It is essential for our well-being and peace of mind. Without security we can find ourselves driven to all kinds of coping mechanisms, from substance use to unhealthy behaviors, in an attempt to escape the pressure of constant insecurity.

Faith is the only place I know to go when things are hard. My fears and insecurities can feel overwhelming, but my faith calls me to look away from those threats and trust in something far greater than anything that can harm me—including death itself. It’s only in God that I find ultimate safety and security, regardless of the chaos that may surround me. So, when the weight of the world feels too much to bear, I breathe deeply, look up, and remember that I am held in love, knowing that in God's hands, I am truly secure.

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
     from where will my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
     who made heaven and earth.

Psalm 121-1-2 NRSV

Beyond a reasonable doubt, the typical active alcoholic simply drinks way too much every day and is intoxicated whenever and as often as he or she wishes, regardless of the consequences.  Their ever-present drunken ego joins the frolic and unconditionally releases him or her from that person’s moral standards:

“So, what if I collapsed into a stupor, vomiting on the kitchen floor or on my   spouse, or if I lost a job because I was drunk and lied about a contract. Divorce? You bet, she just didn’t understand nor did the kids and at last I can live without all their nagging and crying.”

Looking back, at some point, the active alcoholic may have entered a phase where this promise was made to a spouse, the kids or boss or judge, and perhaps made to all simultaneously:

“Never again will I drink.”

It was uttered with seriousness, perhaps it was really meant ... then.  The commitment may have lasted for a period, but too frequently, it was broken.

This is the reality of our alcoholism, a path as clear as can be.

The alcoholic may be aware of this reality but just can’t seem able or willing to quell its power and apparent inevitability.

The terrible fact is that he or she need not ride the car to the bottom of that canyon for he or she can get out of their “drunk-mobile” before it crashes and burns. Part of the tragedy is that the alcoholic probably knows that truth and nonetheless continues the ride down.

The Program’s sunshine tells us that all this horribleness can be stopped, eliminated from our lives. But it calls for drastic changes needed to reject the seductive calls of our alcohol-loving ego.

Make no mistake. Christ came because of the sinner ... we sin, always.  But He reaches out to us the sinners, to the downtrodden, to the prostitutes, the tax collectors. He offers His hand to assist us. At “the place of the Skull,” He reached for a thief hanging beside Him.

It’s said that Bill W and Dr. Bob, after they seemed to have found a way out of their own drunkenness, went to the hospitals in Akron and asked if there was “any patient who might be suffering from alcoholism”, and sure enough, they met and carried the Program’s message found in the Twelve Steps:  

Those steps cannot be clearer:

Steps 1,2 and 3-We’ve tried everything, we’re at the bottom, it’s “do something about it or die”. We turn to our Higher Power maybe not knowing what it is, but admitting that whatever it is, at a bare minimum, it - perhaps, maybe, dare I hope - will be “better for me” than the bottle.

Steps 4 through 10 provide a detailed step-by-step path to rid our minds and our darkness of the past, to remove it from our being, to make amends where appropriate and possible.

Eleven tells us not to sit on our fannies once we have “worked the Steps” for, as humans, we must recognize that we will always be attacked by our egos and risk returning to ego’s dark days. Step 11 calls us to rework the Steps, to deepen our reliance on a Higher Power who calls us to look for “that next right thing” in our daily lives.

And then comes Step 12 ... it politely says, don’t relax and feel comfortable with yourself...carry the good news. You found folks at the AA Clubhouse who responded to you when you reached out. Do the same for others in the same straits as you were.

It’s just as Christ always does for us...we reach for Him and His hand is there ... always  

Jim A, St X Noon, Springboro Noon, Wednesday

“The spirituality of the Twelve steps, and of A.A. as a whole, is clear and powerful. Hope, truth, honesty, letting go, acceptance, loving others as a way of loving self, gratitude—these are spiritual realities that are part of the culture of A.A.”* I am grateful that no one told me the above when I came into the program. All I was told, or probably remember, was “keep coming back.” And, truth be told, that was all I really needed to hear.

You see, I looked at the 12 steps and concluded that with my background in theology and the fact that I was an addictions counselor, I would be a significant help to this group. I would be a great asset. {an ass, yes}

After four and a half years on a dry drunk, I finally had my spiritual awakening and saw that I really needed to start over again.

“The spirituality of the Twelve Steps and of A.A. as a whole is clear and powerful.” When I had my mind and heart opened, I came to realize I had to relearn about spirituality, God, and a lot of humility. I was not one of those who came to the program and “got it.” I didn’t get it because of my pre-conceived notions and the fact I did not believe myself to be an alcoholic.

I heard what I needed to hear. “Keep coming back.” And I did. I listened to stories that almost matched my own, but I could not tell that to the speaker. It was my ‘dirty little secret” to be kept inside of me.

“Secrets will kill you,” I heard. Not me. I knew how to handle them with food, nicotine, and unhealthy relationships. “Truth, honesty.” I had this image of myself as being truthful and honest. Listening to stories, unable to not deny them to myself was making it clear that something had to give, something had to change. Going to the meetings and reading the Big Book was not enough. I had to be truthful to someone else. I had to be honest to myself, god, and others.

Emily Dickens once wrote, “Tell the truth but tell it slant.” In other words, not all of it and, in a way that is acceptable. I tried that and it didn’t work. This is an honesty program and “half measures availed us nothing.”

I had to let go of it all. Tell the truth and hope I won’t be rejected; hope I won’t be laughed at. One night I took a risk and told the group that thoughts of suicide had been running through my head. My face was flushed. I felt hot like I was running a high temp. It was nerves and what I had said could not be retracted. It was ‘out there’ and all heard it. One by one each told of thoughts of, and/or attempts of suicide before and after recovery. Better still, after the meeting all gave me a big warm hug. The “letting go” had begun. Gratitude came in its own time also. Gratitude for the Program, gratitude for the Fellowship, gratitude for Life, and for the new life I was beginning to breathe.

Acceptance came. I am an alcoholic. I am a drug addict. I have other addictions. I am a Child of God. “I am a child of the Universe, no less than the trees, or the stars in the sky, I have a right to be here.” Self-acceptance

“ . . .these are spiritual realities that are part of the culture of A.A.”  Spiritual realities. Why had I not been told this in my formative years instead of the guilt trips? Another thing to let go of. I’m not responsible for the decisions or opinions of others.

The fellowship has taught me a way of living that demands rigorous honesty and for this I am grateful. The Fellowship has given me a new life and a new lease on life and for this I am grateful. Today, I have experienced the “promises” as being a reality for me and that is a wonderful feeling. I can look back, as through a glass door, see where I came from, what happened, what I am like now, and give thanks to my Higher Power for another day of living sober and with peace of mind.

Séamus D.

Séamus is a retired episcopal priest in  New Orleans

* Twelve Steps to Religionless Spirituality. Ward  B. Ewing