From other parts of the blogging world...

A redeemed drunkard, with vivid memory of past hopeless struggles and new sense of power through Christ, was replying to the charge that “his religion was a delusion.”

He said: “Thank God for the delusion; it has put clothes on my children and shoes on their feet and bread in their mouths. It has made a man of me and it has put joy and peace in my home, which had been a hell. If this is a delusion, may God send it to the slaves of drink everywhere, for their slavery is an awful reality.”

—	E. Y. Mullins (via northodoxy)  and deepinhistory

More on getting small

During his October 30, 2010 address, the Pope answered a question from a member of the audience: What does it mean to love completely?  How can we learn to love?  His response, via Irregular Theology:

It is very important, fundamental, I would say, to learn to love, to really love, to learn the art of true love! ... (I)f you only look at yourself, you never grow up! You grow up when you no longer let the mirror be the only truth of yourselves but when you let your friends tell you the truth. You will grow up if you are able to make your life a gift to others, not to seek yourselves, but to give yourselves to others: this is the school of love. 

When I was drinking, the egomaniac with a self-esteem problem was essentially an adolescent, although that does a disservice to many adolescents.  My mirror was essentially inside my head.  I wasn't honest enough -- with myself or anybody else -- to acknowledge that the yardstick by which I measured situations was me and whether something would affect what I wanted to do (mostly drink).

The Pope's direction parallels what a newcomer will hear in an 12 step meeting: Go to meetings and be with other addicts.  Get a service position.  Get involved because you need to be available to others and less reliant on yourself.

While a 12 step program isn't necessary, this attitude is essential.  It is the school of love -- love of family, mature and healthy love of yourself, and a love that the Church calls caritas.

Thoughts from IAD

Early in John's Gospel, we read John the Baptist saying, "I must decrease that He might increase."  Once again, John makes it plain that he is so dedicated to living out his vocation that he is willing to disappear in the process.  In sobriety, many try to follow a path that is similar in intent, if not degree.  Sobriety becomes their vocation.

I don't intend to argue about their objective.  I think that a vocation, be it making clear a way for the Lord or pursuing sobriety for its own sake, demands the same process: "I must decrease..."

One of the most striking things I ever heard in an AA meeting was one speaker's self-description: an egomaniac with an inferiority complex.  Amen.  John the Baptist's plan clearly addresses the first, but it also addresses the second in unanticipated ways.  Reducing the sway of my ego increased my capacity to receive help, to grow up a little, to receive love.  Even if these gifts are truly underserved--and they are--the quaking fear that I would be discovered as an impostor began to fade.

This isn't a path I would have chosen for myself, but it seems to be working.  It's a simple way, small.  An earlier post pointed to the path I try to take:

Here's your life. Do the work. Let it take you where it takes you. Just remain in my love.

Beyond that, experience tells me that the old way just allowed me to make a mess of me.

A Psalm for Those Seeking Recovery

From today's Office of Readings.

More on leaping

This time from Auden, courtesy of Wesley Hill and Curlew River:

“When the ground crumbles under their feet, [people] *have* to leap even into uncertainty if they are to avoid certain destruction.”

Evidently, Auden was describing his conversion, or return to the Anglican church in broader context, claiming that many find themselves in similar conditions "...in all states of life." This certainly describes the circumstances surrounding my step away from alcohol.  As a friend of mine says during his shares at an AA meeting: "Thank God for the gift of desperation."

Scary John the Baptist

It seems strange to have found my way back to the Catholic Church by reading what is to be found in the blogosphere.  Nonetheless, bloggers played a significant role in my finding my way.  Asking for prayers, for explanations, I wrote more than a couple (suggesting serious boundary issues on my part), and they couldn't have been more supportive.

Recently, one of them re-posted an old entry that I really enjoyed the first time I read it.  She had attended a Mass on an Advent Sunday.  During Advent, we read Isaiah, we hear of Mary, of Elizabeth and Zechariah, and of John the Baptist.  On this particular Sunday, Matthew's Gospel was read, creating the context for a homily that the priest began by saying "Scary John the Baptist."  When I was a kid, I was fascinated by John the Baptist.  I was ready to dive in.

John the Baptist is scary.  In his homily, the priest went through a list of reasons why he is a frightening character.  He calls people out, no matter their station.  It's not our weak "speaking truth to power".  He mocks--denies--their power.  He is almost feral.  We only have to give the quickest thought to how we'd react if we encountered him today.  He would be institutionalized in short order.

Sunday, we heard another account of John the Baptist's efforts, this time, from John's Gospel.  We heard of the priests and Levites going out from Jerusalem ("Go!  We don't want him here!") to ask John the Baptist who on earth he is.  In response to their questions, he tells them that he's not the Christ; he's not Elijah or the Prophet.  In frustration, they ask, "What can you say for yourself?"  He answers:

"I am the voice of one crying out in the desert, make straight the way of the Lord, as Isaiah the prophet said."

Our homilist pointed out that this is the answer of one who completely and totally identifies with his vocation, with why he was born, why he was put on this earth.

My reaction: this is why John the Baptist is terrifying.  All the other stuff--the wildness, the unvarnished speech, the diet of honey and locusts--they're the outward signs of someone who is willing to do whatever it takes to live out who he truly is, to do what he was born to do.  But the real cause of fear is that he completely disappeared into his vocation.

While it's conceivable that there are people walking the planet to day who are called to such a dramatic vocation, I don't think I'm one of them.  I could be very wrong, but I doubt that there are many.  After all, Christ said that no man was greater than John the Baptist. Nonetheless, I have absolutely no doubt that millions of us are scared to death by the prospect of truly taking on the tasks that are before us, of becoming who we truly are.

Becoming who we truly are is the path to freedom, but it most certainly is not free.  What am I going to have to give up to start down this path, much less get close to the destination?  What happens to me?  Loneliness?  Poverty?  Derision?  Rejection? All of this and more looms large in my mind as I try to peek past the gate and see down that road.  I'm not seeing any glimpse of anything good, of anything I want to hold on to as much as I want to hold on to what I already have.  In the absence of faith, fear takes hold.

Walking away from this path isn't free, either.  I drank out of shame.  I used alcohol and people to dull the pain of living a life I knew was sorely misdirected.  I drank to kill the little voice telling me that there is a better part, and it's intended for me.  Of course, it's no coincidence that John the Baptist was ultimately put to death.

If you've been following the blog, you know that the point here is to share the experience, strength, and hope that has come my way since I got sober; hopefully, others will share, as well.  In any event, this story probably doesn't make it any easier to think about taking the first step away from addiction.  That first step looks looks to be enormous.  The costs loom large and the returns uncertain.  In the coming days, I'll be writing about how I found that recovery is a good time to think small.  There's a reason why AA suggests that we take one day at a time.

Lauds and Vespers

In addition to this ill-tended project, I'm posting snippets from the Divine Office here.  It won't be limited to the Office, and recovery won't be the focus.  Even so, if you're curious about prayers that are recited constantly by millions around the world, I hope you'll find something interesting there.