We didn't plan it this way. Last night, the 31st of December, Dixie cooked a meal for fifteen people - the men and guests at Serenity Inn. SI is a residential recovery center for men addicted to drugs and alcohol. We have been involved since its inception roughly ten years ago.
We had missed our regular serving date in mid-December, so when a vacancy came up on New Year's Eve we took the date as a kind of make-up. What we didn't know until a few days ago is that one of the men, 'D', with whom we have gotten to know a bit better than some others was due to have his Rite of Passage, having completed the Inn's seven month program. So it was fortuitous that our being there at this time coincided with his rite. The Executive Director of the Inn intentionally shifted the 'rite' to the night we were serving so that we could be there with 'D' and his wife and his boss, also a recovering addict (26 years clean).
It has long been evident to me that what so many books and surveys and experiences tell us is needed in our society happens at Serenity Inn and did happen last night. And, of course, as addicts must do to recover, they face the truth of their living and dying. This always means digging deeply into some ugly stuff. These are not stories to get fifteen minutes of fame at the end of the nightly news or portrayed in superficial ways in some films. They differ in that for the recovering person the nightmare is never over. He or she always is living on the edge of one's failures in life and one's hopes and dreams.
Our culture (and too many of our religions and self-help approaches) do not embrace this precarious edge of life. For the addict it is a constant companion. It is the truth of a meaningful existence. It is tempting to try to get rid of or forget the grittier part of life. By doing so we also miss the opportunity to experience the deeper, more demanding things that occur when one is open to the whole truth. With this deeper plunge can come a steadier hand to deal with life's ups and downs.
Part of the meal (the Dinner Fellowship) of Serenity Inn involves each person at the table responding to a question prepared by one of the men. Each person, including the guests, takes their turn in introducing themselves and sharing a response to the question. Invariably the question for the men is a question about how their recovery journey is going. Rarely do the men dodge from either side of that two- edged sword of death and life, of despair and hope. They respond passionately but not without humor or a sense of the irony of life.
The group last night was roughly a fifty-fifty split of men nearing the end of their program and those just beginning. This fact revealed that some men saw and knew things through their journey at the Inn that they wanted to pass on to the others. The exchange was nothing less than profound.
Even though a talented staff has made this possible, it was evident in this group that mentors for the new men had emerged by the 'old hands.' The staff has grasped the lesson that 'leaders don't create followers, they create other leaders.'
The comments of these mentors was incredibly touching because of their 'spot on' insight and obvious compassion for the other men. Now tell me how often in your daily life you experience this kind of care? Reflecting on the wonder of the dinner with a staff member I said, "You never have to wonder if you could be spending your life in a better way."
The addictions counselor spoke a word to 'D' as did many others. What the counselor said was, "After you leave here, nothing will have changed. The world will be the same. The only thing that is changed is that now you have the tools to deal with the world. And that can make all the difference."
I am part of several groups seeking to find ways to 'transform' our neighborhoods. I continue to think about ways that churches could be more clear about their own identity and purpose. Couldn't more groups become settings for truth-telling and tool creation for handling life's conundrums.
Almost every value that we seek to discover in community is present in recovery programs that are rooted in a caring community. The deepest dimensions of that care are present in communities like
Serenity Inns. Why can't our culture learn the lessons of recovery and join that journey together?
What a way to end one year and begin another. And that's the 'heart of the matter.'
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