Hi, I'm David and I'm a Sinner...

I know it's been a while since I've written, but between work and starting back to school, unfortunately my writing has taken a back seat. And technically - this isn't a blog entry either. It's a slightly modified version of a paper I wrote for school. Recently, as part of our pastoral care coursework, we were asked to attend a local 12-step meeting and write about the encounter. For me, the experience was eye-opening, emotional and convicting. I refer you to my write-up below, in slightly edited form. I hope you can appreciate the takeaway.

For the purposes of our first assignment, I attended a local meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. I was optimistic about the project initially, but as the time approached to actually go to the meeting, I could feel myself getting nervous. I talked briefly over the phone with the facilitator of this group prior to my arrival, to make sure I wouldn't be making anyone uncomfortable with my unexplained presence there. Clearly, I had a lot to learn. He just kind of laughed at my nervousness and told me it was no problem at all.

I have no point of references for these meetings, and I was determined not to let my consumption of popular culture's depiction of AA meetings seep in. Still, I was a bit surprised by the large size of the group. By the time everyone straggled in, there were 16 of us there, with an Al-Anon meeting going on just down the hall. One of the men, who must have been in at least his seventies, told us that his wife was in the other meeting, and that it was something they "could do together." I had made up my mind before arriving that I wasn't going to say anything, but simply observe - hopefully without staring or betraying any expressions that might appear to be judgmental. Later, I'll come back to how that decision worked out for me.

The facilitator opened the meeting with the serenity prayer, followed by a reading of the twelve traditions. At this point, everything felt very rigid and formal, and I perceived a bit of distance in the room. In fact, only one person had introduced himself prior to the meeting; everyone else either gave a slight nod or ignored me completely. I was preparing myself for a letdown, that this might be no more than some chanting and empty "admissions."

However, at this point, the facilitator turned the meeting over to (name withheld), who had been tasked with selecting a discussion topic for the evening. His topic was the issue of the past: how we deal with it, how it continues to impact us, and its importance or relevance in our current actions. And after the topic was laid before the group, people began to speak up. At that point, my impression of the evening shifted dramatically.

One man started by saying that he felt his past was incredibly important for him in remaining sober, sort of a cautionary tale at all times. Others focused more on living in the moment, and you could tell that for them, the past was something they had not been terribly willing to address. One woman even said as much, thanking (name withheld) for the topic and saying that she hadn't thought anyone else struggled with the idea of dealing with their past. She had actually brought her teenage daughter to the meeting, and spoke of how she had wasted the first four years of her daughter's life. Due to the topic being discussed, the step most mentioned was number nine - making amends with people that we have harmed.

I'd like to talk about how the group reacted to these stories, and compare it to my own reaction. I can say that I was unprepared for any kind of emotional connection or response to the meeting, mostly because I was unprepared for what one of these meetings would actually be like. By the time the third person was sharing, I could feel myself fighting tears. Now anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a crier; I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of it. But in this context, I was so consumed with being an observer rather than a participant, and with not distracting anyone who was there and perhaps struggling, that it became an internal battle to master the swell of visible emotion. This was necessary because what I saw was frankly beautiful. I wasn't having a reaction to the stories; I've heard enough stories of addiction, divorce and abuse in my time to be unsurprised by it, and even less surprised given the context in which I found myself. Instead, I was reacting to the atmosphere created by the participants in the room.

Everyone was listening...really listening. Some people were more active listeners, more willing to make eye contact or nod along, but it was clear just from simple observation that they were all hearing and relating to the other stories. And I know this will sound so astoundingly obvious, but I was struck by these people's empathy via shared experience. Of course they listened with a more sympathetic ear; they had all been there themselves! And I also noticed that no one in the room was trying to "fix" anyone else. I think it is a byproduct of the 12-step process that these folks all realize they are on their own timetables, and moving through the steps at a different pace. There were a few affirmations ("I'm glad you're here" was the most common phrase to hear after someone shared) and even some differences of opinion or experience, but it never once became a disagreement.  Again - it was a beautiful thing to be a part of.

The tone and air of the meeting was pretty light. The topic was obviously serious, and you could hear regret woven into most of what was shared. With the subject matter being "the past," that seemed only natural. People were reflecting on relationships lost - it was so saddening to hear story after story of destroyed marriages and the neglect of parental responsibilities - and on time wasted. But there was also hope in many of the stories. Those that were truly embracing the program were clearly seeing its benefits; one person referred to her low points as being the result of "a bad program" - meaning that she had overlooked or moved too quickly through certain steps.

At this point, I'd like to return to the topic of my role and behavior during the meeting.  The facilitator hadn't given me any instructions other than a request to keep everything anonymous. But he also didn't say anything to the group about who I was. Given that this was an open meeting, I don't think anyone questioned why I was there. And since I didn't share anything during the meeting, I am quite certain that they all assumed I was sharing in their struggles with alcohol and addiction. One of the women even  took my hand on her way out, told me she was glad I had come, and gave me the phrase I have been led to believe is common in 12-step groups: "Keep coming back." A few of the members even invited me to grab dinner with them afterward. I have to be honest: I felt miserable at that moment, like I was lying to these people who had let me into their group. But I left without revealing to them why I was there. I'm still not sure if that was right or wrong.

When I got back to my car, I let the emotions go. I just sobbed for a minute or two. Honestly, there was some pity and sadness in those tears. I'd heard heart-rending tales of loss, failure and back-sliding in just a short hour. But they were also the tears that cleanse. I had seen a group of individuals, bound by a common shortcoming, gather together to strengthen, comfort and exhort one another. I had seen them ultimately welcome me in, a stranger, and not pester me about personal information, commitment, or "where I stood" with my addiction. Instead, they allowed me to see behind the curtain of their struggles, and all they asked in return was that I honor the privacy of those struggles.

And then the "takeaway" hit me like a ton of bricks. In fact, I'd been slowly realizing it all evening. It's the thing I could write about for pages and pages, once the connection was made in my mind. It was simply this: that this is how the church should be toward the broken. We are all addicted to our sinfulness, and this addiction has cost us relationships, joy and a connectedness to our Creator. What we as a body of believers should offer to one another - and to all who enter our doors - is the same openness and understanding that I witnessed at this meeting. That anyone we encounter should ultimately feel safe, within a church context, to stand up in front of others and say "Hi, I'm David, and I'm a sinner." Then we can truly see Christ's healing and redemptive powers at work.

As the group was breaking up for the evening, I hung back for one final word with the facilitator. I thanked him for letting me be a part of the group, and asked if it might be okay if I came again sometime. He simply smiled, as he had before, and said, "it's an open meeting." It was a fitting end to an eye-opening, exhilarating evening, and the perfect last phrase in my analogy. May our churches be "open meetings" where those who are weary from sin, unable to conquer it on their own, can come seeking rest and peace and comfort.

And yes - I will be going back.