Session 1
Late Lunch Meeting
Brentwood United Methodist Church
Fall 2009
This was my first experience with Alcoholics Anonymous. Certainly I had heard peripherally about AA for as long as I can remember. But it was a world that was altogether unfamiliar. So it filled my stomach with anxiety in the parking lot. In some sense there is always a fear of the unknown. My fear in part was associated with the thought of being discovered. I wondered if they might see right through me. Was I overdressed? Would I stick out? Would they easily be able to tell that I was not “one of them?” I caught myself wondering how differently I might feel sitting there in the parking lot, if I did indeed have a drinking problem. I would likely be filled with fear of a different kind. Could I admit my problem? Would this really help me stop? Do I really want to stop? Will I be judged? Will they see right through me?
Instead I felt almost like a spy. I was there mostly to evaluate. In a sense I wrestled with the idea that I was perhaps there under false pretense. I was there because I had to be, not because the court had ordered it, or because I was risked losing everything. I was there because I had been asked to be by a graduate school professor; an assignment as I worked on my MDIV for the ministry that I had been involved in. I was one of the “others,” the religious, the churchy and for the first time in a long time I felt the need to apologize for it.
I didn’t know much about AA but somehow I knew that simple introductions inherently meant a confession, and I was anxious about the fact that my confession would be much different than the majority (or perhaps the unanimity) of the people in the room. I was going to have to confess that I DID NOT struggle with alcohol. And the thought of how this might be received filled me with apprehension.
Then it dawned on me, I was wrestling with these feelings in a church parking lot. I suddenly wondered if this was how visitors to our church feel in our own parking lot? I felt confident that they sometimes wrestled with how they were dressed and whether they would stick out in the crowd. I imagined them wondering if people would see right through them and know immediately that they were not “one of us.” Ironically I was having a sort of epiphany and I had not even walked through the door yet.
The meeting was held in what appeared to be a large converted home on the campus of Brentwood United Methodist. The front door led into an entryway with several doors. The door to the immediate right was ajar and after walking past it and then pausing, I walked back, stuck my head inside and asked, “Is this where AA meets.” David Sessions and I had decided to go with one another, perhaps as much for moral support as for the benefit of carpooling. Though we were warmly received, I still felt awkward and quickly found a seat trying my best to blend into the background, a very difficult task because of the layout of the room. It was small with a large table in the center of it. The chairs were arranged around the table so there was no back row and nowhere to hide.
A gray haired man sat at the head of the table flipping through a spiral notebook while he made passing comments about this being his first time leading a meeting. Eight to ten people sat around the table chatting as they awaited the official call to order. A few more would slip in after the meeting had begun for a total of perhaps twelve. The meeting began with introductions. The leader of the group whose man I have unfortunately now forgotten, initiated these introductions for the sake of the visitors, which, combined with his glance, obviously referred to David and I. It made me wonder if this small group was fairly unaccustomed to having strangers among them, even though they were designated an open group. Still the moment I had dreaded was upon me. Thankfully the progression around the table meant that David had to go first. He would take the brunt of having to admit that we were imposters. Surprisingly we were well received. They genuinely seemed honored to have us there though I did not perceive them to hold us in any higher esteem either. The structure combined the rigidity of a strictly adhered to script with the fluidity of personal testimony. I was impressed with the way that the almost liturgical aspect provided for a sense of familiarity and comfort for those who had been used to hearing those same words over and again.
The topic for the day was, interestingly enough, meditation. Suddenly I felt more at home, at least until the open sharing began. Their honesty was striking. They spoke about this mystical and seemingly revered aspect of religious practice with very ordinary and practical words. It became obvious that their intent was not to impress but to simply be heard and perhaps to learn from the experience, and even the failure, of another. The meeting concluded with the same sense of scriptedness with which it had begun. There was a “chip” ceremony designated to celebrate mile markers of sobriety. In this context I found myself wondering about the frequency of their distribution. The testimonies revealed that many of the members of this group had been around a while. Six month or even one-year chips seemed long in the past for several of them and this in itself was cause for celebration. A basket was passed as well and the men and women in the room began reaching into their pockets and purses. As it neared I wondered if I ought to put at least something in as a token of good will but as the man sitting next to me, Bill, handed me the basket he whispered into my ear “you don’t have to put anything in.” The gesture put me at further ease. I felt like an honored guest and not an unwelcomed masquerader. Though at times during the open share part of the meeting I had felt uncomfortable when a few broke one of the rules dealing with cross talk and would address David and I specifically, Bill served in a very tangible way as an inviting presence. I wondered how I might both become and inspire others to become “Bills” within the church group with which so many of us were so familiar.
When the meeting concluded Bill continued his ministry to me by quickly and freely engaging me in conversation. He seemed legitimately thrilled that we had taken part and intent on helping us in this ongoing learning process. He shared several general things about the nature and experience of Alcoholics Anonymous that might be subtle enough to go unnoticed by a first time visitor and then thrust into my hand a “24-hour” token. The token had been mentioned in the chip ceremony as being the “most important chip of all” as it represented the desire to participate. It was silver in color and light in weight. As I look at it now it is inscribed with the statement “To Thine Own Self Be True” on one side, the serenity prayer on the other. It does not appear to be particularly valuable but I am confident that it is of immeasurable significance to a person who stands before an unfamiliar group and takes it out of conviction. In this moment, however, it carried great weight as well. It was an offering of friendship from a man who had every reason to judge me for I had certainly judged him. I felt shame for having joked with the church office staff as I left that afternoon to go to my first AA meeting. I felt shame for living within a bubble, unaware and fairly unconcerned. Religion had perhaps done this man no favors, at least not religion as I had too often participated in it. But now this friendly face offered a token of friendship and I was humbled by the gift. Adding even more weight he gave with no strings. In fact he told us of a place off of West End, where he had encountered “much more desperation” than had been represented around that table in Brentwood. He said that sometimes he still went back to sit in on a meeting there as a reminder of the dark places that the path of Alcoholism can lead. He gave not expecting our return but instead sending us on in our journey. We took his advice and went to the “Friendship House” that he referred to as “202.” …
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