Through the Red Door Blog

My oldest friend died almost exactly a year after my daughter's first steps. I traveled to San Francisco many times to help Sarah and care for her. I was able to see her for the last time just twelve hours before she died. We got to have our last goodbyes.

I was devastated. Old people die, not childhood friends, not at 33 years old. Some six months after her death, I was sad, depressed, and lonely. They were dark days, and I went to see a counselor.

In one of our first few meetings, she asked me if I drank alcohol. She knew that I was on medication and was not supposed to drink while taking it. I answered, "Occasionally.”

The truth was I watched the clock every day for my husband to come home so I could have my first glass of wine. I was drinking two? three? More? glasses but never when I was alone with my daughter but, in truth, since Sarah's death, I had noticed that I felt I had to have those glasses.

My counselor asked me to see a friend of hers for an alcohol assessment. My issues were not alcohol, I thought. I didn't drink and drive, I never "had too many” (although I did at a party a few weeks before and had thrown up (something I had never done, not even in college). I didn't consume alcohol during my pregnancy, though it really annoyed me. I went to see the woman just to prove to my counselor that I didn't have a problem with alcohol.

Randy said she would meet with me three times and then give me her assessment. Towards the end of the first session, she announced that she did not need to see me two more times.

Vindication! I thought. See, I'm not an alcoholic; I don't have a problem!

But what she said stunned me. "You are heading down a very dangerous road. You're drinking rather than dealing with your feelings and life. It appears that chemically speaking, you still may have a choice about drinking. You might keep that choice for some time but because of all you have told me about your family's history of alcoholism and alcohol abuse, especially your mother, I am concerned for you. It's my opinion that if you continue to drink, the disease of alcoholism will take over and you will lose your choice and your body will make you drink even if you don't want to. It may not happen tomorrow, you may have perhaps four more drinks, or four years, but it will happen.”

"My advice: stop now while you still have the choice. You may think that you will know which drink in the future will be the one to create complete chemical dependency. Do you think you are clever enough to figure out which drink it will be? Just before you take that drink though, the sky will not open, and God will not make an announcement alerting you that 'This is the drink'."

I was silent. I knew she was right. Would I take the chance of destroying my life, my daughter's life, and my husband's life for a glass of wine? I saw in an instant that I wasn't smart enough to know which drink would take my choices and my life away from me. I didn't want to be an alcoholic mom, like my mom. I didn't want my daughter to look at me with pity and anger.

I could see that for me drinking was like playing Russian roulette with my life and hers. If l stopped now, I wouldn't have to wait to see which chamber the bullet was in. Perhaps, I could start a new family legacy of sobriety and health.

In AA they speak of "reaching your bottom," the point where you are given the gift of realization that you must quit. Like an elevator in a skyscraper, the elevator lets you off on any floor. I didn't want to go all the way to the basement.

The sky did open that day. It wasn't like in the movies. God didn't grab a drink out of my hand and stop me. God doesn’t work that way—at least not in my life. The voice that I heard came from an older, petite woman with kindness in her eyes. Her voice spoke to the quiet knowing part inside of me. God gives us a choice. We must make it and keep it. I did hear God and I got off the elevator and stepped into a new life. It has made all the difference.

Libbie S - from her book - God Shots: Moments & Lessons, A life in Recovery, Motherhood to Covid

Sometimes I like to hold on to things. 

This is especially problematic when those things are my defects of character. I do this even though, deep down; I know they hinder my progress in becoming the person I believe my Higher Power has created me to be. I have a remarkable ability to resist change, even when it's for my well-being and growth.

In the sixth step, I read to be "…entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character." This step calls for a genuine openness to let go of my self-defeating behaviors and attitudes. As the Big Book of AA emphasizes, "When ready, we say something like this: 'My Creator, I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad'" (Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous). For me, willingness begins with acknowledging the need for change and recognizing that my Higher Power can guide me toward growth and healing.

What hinders my ability to be willing? Often, it is the relentless grip of my ego, that little voice within that tells me I don't need to change or that my defects somehow define me. I may fear losing control or mistakenly believe holding onto certain behaviors or relationships provides security, comfort, or validation. However, true freedom lies in releasing my attachments to these false sources of stability. By surrendering to the process, I open myself to the possibilities of a more fulfilling life, liberated from the chains of our defects.

I recently reconnected with self-reflection as a powerful tool on this path. Taking regular introspection and honestly evaluating my attitudes and behaviors has allowed me to recognize patterns contributing to my defects. Through compassionate self-awareness, I've identified areas where change is necessary, and genuine willingness emerges from this place of honesty.

After 13 years in 12-Step recovery, I still seek support and accountability. Surrounding myself with individuals who understand my need to be willing and my resistance to doing so has made a world of difference. Engaging in recovery meetings, therapy, and support groups have allowed me to share my experiences, challenges, and triumphs with others on a similar path. I cannot overstate the importance of connection and support for my recovery. The adage "our secrets make us sick" rings in my brain as a reminder to get current when I am holding on to my character defects.

Letting go of the illusion of control and trusting in my Higher Power's guidance has been liberating and challenging. It's a continuous practice of releasing my grip on outcomes and having faith that I am creating space for positive change and growth by surrendering. Surrendering is an act of vulnerability and courage, but through this surrender, true transformation begins to unfold.

I read in Matthew 16 where Jesus addresses the outcome of not being willing to let go of the things that may stop me from becoming who I am meant to be.  

Then Jesus went to work on his disciples. "Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You're not in the driver's seat;  I am. Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me, and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What kind of deal is it to get everything you want but lose yourself? What could you ever trade your soul for?*

I have experienced the profound impact of unwillingness to let go of my character defects. I am never pleased with the results. However, when I am willing, usually after suffering and pain, I am rewarded with the peace and serenity of a new level of integrity. 

Now I have to be willing to let go.

By Shane M

*The Message Bible, Eugene Peterson

Recently I was reading a book for a study group I attend, and I read the following: “Concern for fostering good relationships with others and the ability to overcome prejudice and fear are essential ingredients for promoting the culture of encounter, in which we are prepared not only to give, but also receive from others. Hospitality, in fact, grows from both giving and receiving.”¹ I had little to no intention of fostering good relationships with others when I came into the Fellowship, and I certainly wasn’t prejudiced [except toward the British.]

I did what I had to do. I was invited to come early and stay late, to participate in the preparation and clean up afterward. I was friendly and yet kept most people at arm’s length. If I didn’t, they would get to know me, realize I was a skeleton, a fake, and know I was stupid. Best to keep them at a distance.

The Steps don’t work that way. When I finally experienced my spiritual awakening and took the program seriously, I discovered that step one is about “concern for fostering good relationships with others.” All my life I had hid in plain view. I’ve no doubt that people saw through me, but for most people, I was superficial.

Step one created a level playing field for all of us regardless of our socio-economic status or our place of employment. Step one opened my mind to the chaos I had created for myself and others. While I did not want to be an alcoholic or belong to this fellowship, I wanted what they had. I wanted what I saw in others with long term sobriety.

Step Four brought me face to face with my prejudices and fears. I was prejudiced against more than just “the Brits.” I was prejudiced against WASPS, Asians, and others with whom I had never had a conversation. I was prejudiced against myself. I had no idea who I was, what I believed. I was a stranger unto myself. I wanted company.

“Concern for fostering good relationships with others and the ability to overcome prejudice and fear are essential ingredients for promoting the culture of encounter…” First, I had to admit I was prejudiced; admit that I am human just like every other human on this planet, I made and make mistakes, have attitudes etc. Admitting that I am human brought me out of hiding, opened my mind and eyes to the goodness of “them,” of ‘those people” of whom I was one. It was essential that I begin to change my attitude and behavior in order to have an encounter with “them,” “us” and me.

The Fellowship, I discovered, is a place for a “promoting the culture of encounter.” I encountered people of all walks of life, all faith communities, all cultural backgrounds, all parts of the socio-economic ladder. I came face to face with them and they were me. This was no chance encounter. This was a real gut-level encounter that would not have happened in any other format—not even in church. This was a human encounter, a healing encounter, a spiritual encounter.

Our desire for fostering good relationships and the ability to overcome prejudice and fear broke down my walls and helped me encounter myself in a manner that no therapist had ever done. Steps one through five broke through my denial system and gave me the strength to reach out to others whom I otherwise would have judged or avoided.

I changed. Through working the steps and learning to live the program, I came to experience the promises coming true for me. I wanted what they had, and they gave it away freely by invitation and example: “Hospitality, in fact, grows from both giving and receiving.”

The Fellowship is not a place for selfishness. Rather it is in this fellowship that I learned true “hospitality.” “It grows from both giving and receiving.” As Bill W. wrote: “Many of my dearest A.A. friends have stood with me… Oftentimes they could help where others could not, simply because they were A. A’s.”² I received so much initially that I did not understand. I was grateful for it, and I was selfish in the way I took it. In time I learned I too had something to offer, to share and it had nothing to do with currency or status—it was my experience, strength, and hope.

I came into this Fellowship as a stranger to myself and others and “too smart for your own good.” It was the genuine “Concern for fostering good relationships with others and the ability to overcome prejudice and fear’ [which created] ‘the culture of encounter in which we are prepared not only to give but also receive from others. Hospitality, in fact, grows from both giving and receiving.”

• 1)     POPE FRANCIS: A STRANGER and You Welcomed Me. Edit Robert Ellsberg. Orbis Books 108.
• 2)     AS BILL SEES IT.  303

Following his death and resurrection, Christ allowed His close followers to hide, to be afraid, to be angry that He was betrayed by one of His own, then tortured and hung on a cross to die with 2 thieves… and they did nothing to stop it. They hid in that room for 40 days, probably feeling sorry for themselves, fearful, not knowing what to do. Christ was dead but had risen. Could sadness be any deeper? The Risen Christ let them morn his death and let all the feelings of anger, guilt, fear, and so forth ebb and flow through the gathered. Christ waited. When He had waited long enough, He appeared to the hidden and told them what they were to do: He told them to move on, to leave their fears and pity pots, and go into the world and carry His message to all. He forced different languages on each, giving them access to foreign countries. He wanted these people in that room to carry his message of joy, of recovery of His Grace for all. So, I have no doubt Christ’s message today to those who hurt, those in deep sorrow and confusion, is, “Yes, morn, but at some point, you must pick up and move on, taking back your life.”

We recovering alcoholics know a thing or two about pity pots. For some that pot is the door opener to a return to one’s alcoholism— an excuse to drink. Sometimes the pot was deep— death in a family, divorce, any event having heavy emotional consequences— but for the addict, any size of pot will do. It’s just an excuse— you may know the game. “You’d drink too if you [fill in blank]” But the former active addict knows the Program, the Steps, the meetings, and his or her sponsor are there. He learns he’s not alone and that others have experienced the same feelings and have dealt with them by working the Program. They know from experience that they must get into action, take it easy, and perhaps the most obvious, to let go and let God.

Someone said to me when I was whining about some stupid sad feelings (I forget about what):

“Every day I need a good ol’ contact with other alcoholics to remain sober, a meeting, helping others, whatever. I do that to keep the Steps in my life. You need to do that too… Get off that Pot and get to a meeting. I learn something new every day that carries me to a serenity I thought I’d never recover. It’s an “into action” thing. Pity pots? When I feel one coming on, sneaking up on me, what do I do about the approaching flood of self-pity? Easy peasy. I get to a meeting, any meeting, and bring it up as a topic for discussion. Believe me. That takes care of it. It’s not a onetime deal. It gives me a way to continue the fight against that dark cloud. It tells me to be grateful and abandon that attitude of arrogance. Write a gratitude list— it’s a way off that dark cloud. OK? There you have it, Pity Pot bye, bye.”

Christ and the Steps essentially teach us to get outside ourselves, to work the Steps, to accept that which we cannot change and to seek His will and the power to carry it out.

Jim A St X Noon, Cincinnati

*Forgiveness sought for combining incidents in the first paragraph from different sources. JA

Well $#%@.

That was my immediate thought when I looked up this month’s recovery principle. I felt shame and guilt again because the word integrity has been destructive. In the past, integrity was the highest standard for an evangelical pastor. Pastors with integrity were super-Christians, who seemed to float into rooms, could preach up a storm, and see thousands of conversions. Integrity was directly related to results in ministry.

The inverse was communicated as truth as well. If I lacked integrity, my ministry was “of the flesh” and would not produce church growth and success. If your ministry was not fruitful, it was because of unconfessed sin, a lack of faith, or doing things of our efforts. I recall numerous conversations with fellow pastors who commented in negative ways about preachers who were not dynamic and how they equated that lack of “power” to a lack of intimacy with God.

As an active addict at that time, I ate that up. I knew the hypocrisy with which I was living. I knew that on any given Sunday, I was preaching a sermon prepared during a time of acting out in my sex and love addiction. Even when I was “clean” from those things, I always felt my integrity didn’t meet God’s expectations because I was in denial about being gay.

The church I identified used integrity as a synonym for holy, pure, and virtuous. While the Biblical word certainly can be used for those meanings, I believe such a definition reinforces a culture of shame and guilt that keeps others compliant or locked in abuse. Shame and guilt are often the catalysts for acting out as addicts.

It is time to view integrity differently as people in recovery.

Is it possible that integrity occurs when what others see on our outside mirrors what we know to be confirmed on the inside? In recovery, I embrace the synonym of “honest” as a replacement for integrity. Step five breaks the power of the secret life through disclosure. After taking inventory of my moral defects, having another human being who listens to my darkest deeds without flinching breaks the hold shame has over me. For many of us, this is the first time we are congruent in our private and public selves.

I wonder how much internal and external congruence would impact our churches. Imagine clergy that set aside the urge to be perfect in the pulpit and were transparent with their struggles with addiction, insecurities, and self-will. Imagine marriages and partnerships in which ego takes a backseat to the integrity of being honest with those we love. Dare we embrace this as a culture? Well, $#%@ that sounds like heaven.

-Shane M

In the current issue of PARABOLA*, Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee writes: “Time speaks in many voices, many different images and sounds…Time itself has become a standard, isolated, no longer able to communicate, to share its ancient knowledge…In today’s world the hectic, stress-inducing demands of time are often answered by the spiritual teaching that only the moment of now exists…But within each moment are all the rhythms of time, the patterns that flow from this still center…Each moment is both outside of time and also contains time, for, as .S.T. Eliot writes, “history is a pattern of timeless moment.””

“It’s time.” “What time is it?” “Time to get up. Time to go to bed. Time to go to work. Time to play. Time to pray. Time to eat. Time to get dressed. A time for everything under heaven. A time to be born, to die.”

One of the things I missed most in my years of active alcohol and drug abuse was Time. I never had time for those people, places, and things I now consider important. I thought I ‘managed’ my time well as I got my work done, kept appointments, made sure I looked good, etc. The problem was I was not there at the time. I was in a Blackout for just about all of my drinking/using years.

When I think about time, I think of my adolescent/young adult years when I would take my bicycle and ride around the countryside. I had all the time in the world. I loved the smell of new mown hay. I loved the aroma of the bog and the turf. I had time to stop with a neighbor—whether or not I knew them—and talk about the day, the weather, etc.

Then came the combine harvester and “real work” began. Gone were the days of turning over rows of hay for it to dry. The owner of this machine came early in the morning, turned over the hay, bailed it and spit it out for us to pick up and take to the shed and then go to the next farm to do the same. There was less and less ‘time’ to play, to visit, to sit around and play poker.

Then came college and a frightening new world of Bud Stupid, James Jemison, Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, and friends. And time vanished. They took up a lot of my time even when I was not actively drinking. They gave me courage, strength, a belief in myself that had not existed before. I drowned myself in their presence and time was not important except for them. I always had time for a drink.

After I came to grips with my powerlessness and the unmanageability of my life due to the influence of mood-altering chemicals, including alcohol, I had to make time to reflect more seriously on my life as an active alcoholic. During those years I buried my emotions, I had a split screen on God—one I believed in, the angry one; and the Loving God about whom I talked to others.

Sobriety was a time-consuming process of relearning to say, “I feel…” and learn words other than “fine” or “Great” and to avoid “You made me…” I skipped through steps four and five and then had to make time to take a fearless and moral inventory of myself. The more time I took to reflect, the more honest I became.

By the time I reached the eight, nineth and tenth steps I was beginning to appreciate the program and its “demand” for rigorous honesty.” It was time to grow up. It was time to take my life seriously.

The next step was to seek “through prayer and meditation to improve my conscious contact with God as I understood him.” I was good at saying prayers, prayers I had learned by heart as a child. But “Prayer is the lifting of the heart and mind to God.” And, to do so, is to become more consciously aware of God in my life. God’s time is Now, the here and now of everyday living. I didn’t have to stop and say prayers. I could look around me and see the presence of God in the sun, moon and stars, in the rain and storm, in the peace and quiet of a beautiful day. The world became for me “God’s art gallery.” As I walked or drove through God’s art gallery I witnessed the changing of the day, the changing of the weather, the changing of the seasons. God was present all around me. I was living and being alive in God’s time.

I don’t know when or where it happened but, in living the program, I found a new meaning of time and having time especially for those in need.

Séamus P Doyle
Séamus is a retired Episcopal priest in the greater New Orleans area.

* (Summer 2023 Vol 48.NO 2. 25-29. “Sacred Time: The Seasons and the Cosmos.”)

Yes, I was. This time it wasn’t “Film at 11.” I was scanning the news stories and happened on one that seemed to have broken within the hour. The video from that school was on the internet, more becoming available.

I watched as her dirty van entered the school parking lot. Later, I saw Audrey Hale’s picture, and she looked as your high school teen would. She parked and I watched her, dressed in camo pants and a red baseball cap jauntily worn backwards. Walking to the school’s locked doors, a semi-automatic machine gun in hand, she blasted the glass and entered the hall. She strolled about looking for people to kill.

Then I heard other voices from outside: “In in in,” “There, there,” “Go, go,” “Clear!” Each harsh, stern, focused--shotguns and rifles pointed. They moved fast, room by room, closets, bathrooms.

Suddenly we hear gun shots, heavy, solid, angry. Then cries, “Upstairs-up, up, up.”

Then it was quiet as these men slowly walked down the hall leading to the room where the shots came from--no sound. Suddenly 8 shots …bam …bam …bam…bam ….bam …bam …bam …bam. It was over.

This killing of children and teachers wasn’t any different from other shootings. For me it was, as this time I saw and heard all if it, almost as it happened--intimate, in color, with voice. Have I reached a level of familiarity of the killing of school children such that I just earnestly pause, pray for parents and survivors, then put it aside and go on my way?

What would Bill W and Dr. Bob say in these moments of deep tragedy. Well, the first thing they’d say is our Higher Power was there just as He was for all of us, for as sinners, we were always welcomed into the Program. Perhaps we weren’t aware of His presence but at this depth of our lives, we weren’t alone.

So it was that day in Nashville.

“Wait a minute,” I’m thinking, “even with her, can that be true? That’s hard to accept. We can empathize with the shooter, but she pulled the trigger, so she pays the price!”

God’s infinite power is beyond us, unfathomable, incomprehensible. Our minds can’t assimilate that. Can we limit that power? We know our Higher Power was with us through our final drink at the depths of our being. We didn’t earn His Grace and the question isn’t how serious our sins might have been. It is God’s love for us that we’re speaking of. We’re not required to earn that Grace or His love.

The Program gives us much--how to live life, acceptance, letting go, and more. Our ego intercepts this serenity and seeks to steer us away. We are always wrestling with our ego. He appears in many forms, and here our ego's plea was to ignore and disavow Christ’s presence with Audrey at the moments of the depths of her very being.

I must recall Christ’s Grace as the sinners we are and yes, I believe His Grace reaches Audrey Hale, and “yes,” in the words of the hymn, “He was there.”

May the peace of God, the serenity of the Program, be always with us.

Jim A, Traditions, Lebanon, Ohio

My favorite theologian was only 2'2" tall.

Of course, I speak about Yoda, the Jedi Master from the Star Wars movies. In The Empire Strikes Back, Yoda warns his young apprentice, Luke Skywalker, "Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering." I missed the spiritual truth of that line as a teenager. Now, after beginning my recovery journey, I not only understand that truth, I feel it at a cellular level.

My addiction and being in the orbit of an alcoholic have taught me the role Fear plays in my life. I never knew if my dad was drinking or the mood he would be in once I returned home from school. I lived in constant fear of being discovered, fear of having my most current acting-out partner show up at work, and uncleared search histories of being found. I lived in hyper-vigilance, constantly assessing the risk level of any given person, place, or thing.

In recovery, we can choose to fear as a catalyst for our work. By that, I mean that Fear, the unpleasant feeling triggered by the perception of danger, real or imagined, can paralyze, or energize us. In active addiction, I remained paralyzed by my fears of being alone, not being loved, a lack of validation, and rejection. In my relationships with alcoholics, I was often paralyzed by the dread of abandonment, not doing enough to keep them sober, and other's perceptions of me.

Courage is required to shake off the paralysis and begin progressing in recovery. Courage is simply the choice and willingness to confront the feelings, real or imagined, of danger, pain, or uncertainty. As Dorothy Bernard says, "Courage is fear that has said its prayers." Courage is grounded in steps one, two, and three. By acknowledging that we were out of control, that our efforts were useless, and that only something larger than ourselves (and our addictions) could restore us to sanity, we have set foot into the realm of courage. These steps bring us to the point where we can do the one thing we fear most.

Look at our own perfectly imperfect lives.

Step four requires examining our sketchy morality, dubious motives, and self-destructive patterns. While good sponsors also ask us to write down our character assets, it is the character liabilities we desperately try to avoid with one more drink, one more score, one more bet, one more online video, one more anonymous hook-up, one more marriage, or one more chance to play the victim. A fearless look at our lives will require us to establish a stronghold in reality, and surrender to the fact that we make pretty lousy higher powers.

I believe that recovering people are the most courageous humans on the planet. They may not run headfirst into the burning building, charge enemy fortresses, or skydive from a perfectly functioning airplane. They admit their fears and then choose not to be defined by them. Courage happens when they look in and risk sharing what they discover with another human being. Fear's power over our lives disappears as we admit that our lives contain patterns of ego, deceit, and self-will run riot. As Yoda also said,

"Named must be your fear before banish it you can."

Shane M
April 13, 2023

I heard the crowd from far away. There were waves of cheers and laughs, and I’m sure some sobs if I got close enough to hear. But I stayed at a distance. There was something about the place, something about the game and the crowd that intimidated me. I was glad they were assembled, but I didn’t feel the need, nor did I have the desire, to join them.

Then, I had nowhere else to go. I knew the time had come, and I walked toward the stadium. The sounds were familiar, and I recognized a few faces making their way to the game, but when I saw the place and approached the gate, I wanted to turn back. Somewhere deep down, I knew if I entered the arena, I would not be able to return to life as I knew it. With a deep breath, I pushed the gate and entered.

The sounds were louder from inside. I could hear what people were saying. Although I was surprised by the size of the crowd, there were still plenty of seats in the bleachers. I took my place in the back, toward the aisle in case I needed to leave. But I didn’t. I thought about it a few times, but instead of leaving, I moved down and sat closer the others. Still, I was happy in the bleachers. From there, I could look on. Like the others, I could comment on the performance of those on the field, question a call, and lift my arms in disgust when someone made a mistake.

“At least they’re on the field,” someone muttered loud enough for me to hear. I looked around but couldn’t identify who’d said it. The words haunted me. No longer was it satisfying to talk about the game or judge those playing. Eventually, I knew I had to stand and walk onto the field. 

“Don’t,” the person next to me said as he grabbed my arm. “It’s much warmer up here.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” added another. “You might get hurt. You might make a fool of yourself.”

It was all true, but I continued down the stairs and onto the field. The players who were grass-stained and sweaty smiled and came over to greet me. A few hugged me and got my clothes dirty. Seeing the look on my face, they laughed. “Just wait,” they exclaimed with a smile as the pushed me onto the field. 

After seventeen years in the bleachers, it felt good to get on the field. Yes, I’m bruised and muddy, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. I wish I’d done it long ago.

Chip B.

The Bengali poet, Rabindranath Tagore, wrote: “I slept and dreamt that life was joy/ I woke and saw that life was service/ I acted and behold! service was joy.” After a few weeks of attending the same meeting of the Fellowship it was suggested to me that instead of coming in late and leaving early, that I might come somewhat earlier and help set up the hall and stay afterward. My first thoughts were that these guys had really listened to me and knew that I had something to offer and therefore wanted me to be part of the group. I was somewhat egotistical in those early days.

Not only that, but I was also asked to go on 12step calls to meet with individuals who had called the AA hotline and asked for help. I was taken to the State psychiatric hospital to tell my story. There was no doubt in my fogged-up brain—still fogged after five weeks in a four week program—that I was being groomed for leadership in AA. It took a while to get through my head that leadership in AA was about service that came from a desire to serve the group locally and the Fellowship at large.

Most of my life of service was that of doing good so that others might see how good a person I am. Looking back, I am amazed that while I was taught the importance of service by my parents—by word and deed—I somehow turned it into “all about me.” I didn’t know there was a hole in my heart that needed to be mended and healed.

In the process of recovery, I realized that service is part and parcel of all religious backgrounds and various clubs that help those in the community who have medical or nutritional needs. “I acted and behold! service was joy.”

There is something different about gathering with others in order to be of service to the group locally and at large. While the work may be serious, money raised, plans made, schedules kept, transport arranged, food arranged, there is within that time frame a time for what Fr. Mulcahy of M.A.S.H. fame referred to as “jocularity, jocularity.”

Service is simple. It does not require a lot of time or strength, or wealth or even health. Service can be as simple as showing up for a meeting. All too often we do not realize the importance our presence may be to another member. Service can be as simple as opening the door and stepping back to let someone go ahead of me. Service can be asking the man or woman next to you, “Can I get you a refill on your coffee.” Service can be giving a ride to or from a meeting. Service can be volunteering to serve on another board, region, or national level.

I acted and behold! service was joy. If you don’t like it, don’t do it just because no one else wants to do so. If no one wants to make the coffee, then perhaps that group doesn’t want to drink it, so why make it. It is not healthy to be on a committee if the length of service is a lifetime [requirement]. Committee members need to step down for a period of time to prevent themselves from burnout. Service to the group or region can be in finding the right person to serve. There are those whose gifts and talents can be beneficial to the group or region, but they may be shy about volunteering. They may not think they can serve as the same three people rotate in and out of service. I was in the Fellowship for a number of years before I volunteered to serve on a committee as it seemed to me that certain individuals were tapped for those positions. And there are those who prefer to serve behind the curtain. They are not comfortable in the limelight, but they will gladly be a “gofer” and they will go for anything needed.

One of the joys of the AA fellowship is that there seems to be no end to the ways we can be of service to one another, the group, region, nationally and internationally. As Martin Luther King once wrote: “Everybody can be great...because anybody can serve. You don't have to have a college degree to serve. You don't have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.”

Séamus P Doyle.
Séamus is a retired Episcopal priest in the greater New Orleans area.