Saturday, March 17, 2012

Background Noise

The background noise of the demonstrating against fracking – a process extracting natural gas that is polluting our waterways.
I sit in the jury box waiting for Treatment Court to begin…’black hole’ time I once heard someone call these moments of just waiting around for the world to start moving again

My mood, my time, my life these days…seems polluted and misused…. 
Here I want not to be
But at the demonstration – I’d get bored pronto - I’ve never been much of an activist
All the dedicated people – where do they all come from?  
And how do they bear the lack of change their efforts do bring on?    
Stuck in a court room….in a job but mostly in a head that is cluttered and confused.
All is well, all is well…even though everything is all a mess…all is really well.
Is on the opening page of a book that’s called Awareness…    
and that is called by me my own personal Bible
I get the mess part but struggle with the ‘well’
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Interrupted by applause for a client doing well a slab of plus and progress in his small and troubled world
The ‘loud’ from outside ratchets up a notch…a ‘good’ speech apparently as the cheers from the crowd are now muddled not as much

Big ideas  big words – important words for sure… but to a single soul trying to muddle through…words aimed at himattaboys all around…are as big and important as any might be heard.
Where they are really at
is not in the pitchness of the black…or the tan or not of the white or Hispanic  It’s more in the face, the demeanor, the hold of oneself…
For sure there are some so trained, so devious even That his tells do not do much telling at all
But these treatment court-ees seem not that so versed at such dup-li-ci-ty
A very thin, med-yum black with a Muslim-ish beard hands out his ‘relapse’ essay to all who are there. His weekend at Options is over and done.
He seems compliant, not defiant…is he now on his way? Funny I wonder the same about me…near each’n’ev-er-y day…...

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Praying with Hope, Parts 1 & 2

February, 2004

At church today they read from the Book of James. “If any of you lacks wisdom he should ask God…and it will be given him. But when he asks he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea blown and tossed by the wind.” James practical “faith without works is dead” spirituality was such a cornerstone of early AA,"the James Group” was one of the names considered for the fledgling fellowship. I think of all the prayers said on my behalf for the near 5 years I struggled with relapse. “I pray for you every night, I pray for Nicky, for Anthony and a lot of people.”
Praying with Hope
It brought tears to my eyes when my sponsor once told me that after I’d come back again and asked for his prayers. Nicky whose relapse runs have been even more lengthy and severe than were mine, is now sober over six months…and Anthony’s who’s were worse yet, just passed 100 days. I think of all the rosaries that I said remembering them among my intentions.

Then there is Don C – sober now 42 years and a graduate of Sister Ignatia’s Rosary Hall in Cleveland. “Try praying for yourself, too” she advised him when he went to her, six months clean, looking for prayers and about to go in front the judge who could have tossed him in jail for a LONG time. “God likes to hear from people he’s not heard from in a while,” she added. The judge laid the verbal rap on Don pretty hard. “You deserve much worse than this, Mr. C. But I’ll not send you to jail. But you’re paying back has to start right away and better not ever get delayed. You should thank your lucky stars that you have a very powerful friend who spoke in your behalf.” The judge was among the huge legion of people who loved and respected the 95-lb giant of a woman they called Sister I. Perhaps no one did so more than AA’s co-founder, one Robert Holbrook Smith who, in 1938, teamed up with her to turn a semi-broom closet in Akron’s St. Thomas Aquinas Hospital, into the first real AA ‘alcoholic ward’. Rosary Hall Solarium is what she called the larger ward she created when in 1953 she was transferred to Cleveland. RHS in honor of the man she knew and loved so well.

It took Don near 20 years to do all his paying back, but pay it he did. When on Labor Day weekend 2002 he let me hold the miraculous medal Sister I gave to each person who left that RHS, I was close to tears again. The deal was you had to give the medal back if you drank. My man Don went through some very stormy seas these last 40+ years, but never did he drink.

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It is cold but not bitter here in Philly-town this mid-February night. My friend Johnny Z called last night fresh off his latest relapse. I said “no” to his request for a loan to pay his landlady part of his 2-week past due rent. My friend Steve, to whom I’d introduced John last Christmas Eve, is perhaps a bit more compassionate (and a bit more flush money wise!), did buy Johnny a transpass and an Acme food card for $20. But Johnny (and Nicky and Ant-ny) were all among the intentions remembered as I just took a little rosary walk. Perhaps per the example of Don C and Sister Ignatia, John will maybe pray for himself with a bit more zeal…perhaps he’ll even heed James’ advice – and will pray with some real faith and hope. Nicky and Anthony AND ME were all folk a lot of people thought would never get it.

I missed my weekly rosary group tonight as I spoke at a group across town for a friend celebrating nine years of sobriety. But even though the place is called the Methodist Hospital and Nursing Home, a statue of Mary stared down on me as I spoke. As always, Mary was part of my recovering story. A member came up to me after the meeting and gave me a holy card with a prayer to Mary on it. He told me of a son who as an infant was called incurable by the doctors, but who recovered after he anointed him with oil that he had blessed at St Rita’s Church right on Broad Street. The son is 36 years old now. Irony of ironies, poor beaten down Johnny grew up right across the street and was baptized at old St. Rit’s. I guess this story is pretty much for him.
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February, 2012

A lot of players and info in this little story I wrote eight years ago. This winter has had almost no bitter nights in its wake – in fact it’s had very few cold ones. As the crow flies, I just left a meeting with ‘poor beaten down John’ and I guess he is about a month removed from his latest relapse. He does not know that he has the capability to not fall again, but that is not really important. What is important is that he keeps in the day/moment and that he consistently asks and thanks God for help AND that he does not pick up when he really wants to.

Alas among the other players in the story, Don C is just about hanging on out in Cleveland…severe senility has set in. Addiction killed Nicky. Anthony has about 8 years sober now. And alas in the summer of ’04, Steve R passed on also…somehow, 19 years after he’d given up the dope, he developed cirrhosis of the liver and his body just never took to the transplant he’d gotten. Next to Sister I (and I guess James, the author of the Book of James) Steve was easily the best man in this story. God and our human bodies work in strange ways sometimes.

Which brings us to a new player in this extended tale. His name is Tom and he was a client of mine in the drug/alcohol clinic where I work. When he came in last August, the bloated stomach and gray skin were dead giveaways of his cirrhosis. Eventually a few drainings and a lot of water pills got the swelling down, but after an initial ‘we hope it is not too far gone to regenerate itself’ speck of hope, he was told it was too diseased to heal. We even went so far as writing a positive review of his admission to the transplant team social worker, as he was placed in the waiting list that was his only hope. Alas a few weeks back, Tom was told the liver had begun to heal itself. God and our human bodies work in strange ways sometimes indeed!

So it goes. Tom went so far in his recovery efforts that we even went through most of the 12 steps this fall. I really don’t remember if I’d asked him to remember Steve and their cirrhosis connection in his prayers, but I know that I sure did. Stevo loved to be involved with stuff and I’m sure that was not a trait that dispersed when he crossed over to the other side of mortality. I sometimes think that ‘other side’ is chock full of folk wishing we mortals would utilize their particular graces in our efforts to squeeze more happiness and meaning out of our complicated little lives.

So God willing Tom will continue to heal. Johnny Z will also – and will finally permanently avoid the relapses. And may we all embrace and encase the Great All that will guide us to the Promised Land of fulfilling God’s will for us. Unity forever Amen

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Stepping into Our Savior’s Will

November 14 2010

The little tiny lady sitting outside of church waiting for her daughter to pick her up said she was 96. Little Lilly, who sat behind me during mass, looked to be about five. Her little sister, who looked just like her was about 4 years younger. She was a bit vocal during mass. Very little crying but letting her voice be heard – like everyone else was doing I guess she figured.
And between 96 and one were folk of all ages, shapes, sizes and colors at the 160th anniversary mass for good old St. Malachy’s.
The day before the Jesu Caritas prayer group that meets there the 2nd Saturday of each month, turned our annual retreat into a one-day 12-step workshop/class. We actually did the steps during the retreat. First off we admitted we were powerless at making our lives all that we want them to be; secondly we expressed our belief that a Power Greater than ourselves could get us closer to our ideal. For step three we decided to ally our will with that Power; in four and five we identified and then shared with our assigned sharing partner, the character defects that were keeping us from a more intimate connection with that Power. In six and seven we were ready to have those defects removed and asked God to do it. In eight we listed the people we’d resented or harmed with our actions; we then agreed to do step nine by going out to make amends to those people. We professed to do step ten in the future – making amends immediately if we got off track. And having cleared a lot of the blocks between us and God by doing this moral housecleaning, our step eleven prayer for knowledge of God’s will for us and the power to carry that out, will be more likely to get through. And in step 12, we said we’d take this message to another human being.
The 12 steps really are that simple.
And so St Malachy’s heads into her 160th year. Our mission statement includes helping others in need. By being willing to go through these steps, my friends from the prayer group were open enough to try something a bit different in their acting out on that particular mission. Father Lawrence was good enough to allow us to try something that maybe has never been done before…a dedicated crew of non-addicted people working the 12 steps of recovery.
Grace abounded on much of the St M campus this weekend. May all of us find a way to achieve the mission of God’s will for us as we go about the nuts and bolts of living in a world that seemingly takes us in the opposite direction. May we continue to cherish and respect our elders and the wisdom they impart, and may we guide our young to ingest the grace, love and guidance of a church and a parish that is a beacon for us all.
Information about Jim McGovern’s book (12 Steps to Change Your World) and step class can be found at ‘12stepsforall.com’.

The Intolerance Antidote

August 29, 2010

On September 25 of this year, as many as 10,000 walkers and supporters will descend on Philadelphia’s Penn’s Landing for the 5th annual Recovery Walk. The television network A & E is a co-sponsor this year and they will be sponsoring delegates from each of the 50 states and the District of Columbia. Each of these delegates will have over ten years since they stopped imbibing a substance that was making their lives unmanageable. We hope to have a total of 500 over ten year sober folk in what we are calling the Honor Guard. This Guard will rim the path of the walkers, encouraging them as they start the brief walk from Front to 5th and Market St.
Among the glories of the 12 step fellowships is their insistence that the Higher Power that can and does deliver us from the tombs of our addictions be one of our own understanding. A Muslim, a Jew, a Catholic, a Protestant, a Buddhist, Hindu…even an atheist or an agnostic can sit side-by-side in a 12 step meeting without any cause or reason for dissension about belief systems. The eminently practical spiritually inspired modifications of behavior the program suggests, not only delivers us from lives of torment and dysfunction, but also to lives of happiness and fulfillment. And there is absolutely no reason one has to have an addiction problem to work the 12-step program. Being powerless over a substance and/or how our individual world was going was the incentive most of us in recovery had to take this spiritual path. But as I look at our world bereft with suicide bombings and the vandalizing and protesting the building of houses of worship, of a cab driver being stabbed merely because of his faith, of a rally in Washington where as many as 10,000 people go to support a fanatically proud and vocal proponent of divisiveness and intolerance, it seems our world collectively is approaching the individual bottom the addict must hit before he is willing to change.
So what of these steps? Where did thy come from? Well ironically enough as this huge throng of recovering people are about to descend on Philadelphia the City of Brotherly Love, 102 years ago a Lutheran minister from Allentown, Pa. found himself in a church in England where a female descendant of William Penn, the founder of Philadelphia, was giving a sermon on the cross of Christ. This minister named Frank Buchman heard those words and knew he had resentments in his life that he had to give up…that they stood between him and He who was hung from that cross.
So to the six board members who had pulled the plug on his wonderful projects for the poor and homeless of Philadelphia, Frank Buchman sent apology letters. His realization that in order to change or help others, one must first purge himself thus became a cornerstone of a vibrant, active spirituality that really would change the lives of people from all over the world. The self-cleansing was necessary in Buchman’s scheme so that the flow of God-given guidance would not be blocked. Daily quiet time and guidance would become something near as central to his life as was breathing. And very early on, his guidance told him it was necessary to work one-on-one with people - that the time had come for the preacher man to come down from the pulpit. A la Francis from Assisi and John Wesley from England, Buchman knew that it was people and not congregations who had to experience the wonder and love of Christ.
Buchman’s program began to grow in popularity and numbers and by the mid-20’s they would finally get a name – they’d be called the Oxford Group. That was their name when, in 1931, a wealthy New Englander named Roland Hazzard with a crippling alcohol addiction, after having relapsed after being treated for near a year by his psychiatrist, Carl Jung was told that he was hopeless unless he had a life-changing spiritual experience. Hazzard joined the Oxfords because that was exactly what they were selling. That was still their name when in 1934 a drunk named Ebby Thatcher was spared a jail sentence if he agreed to go through the Oxford Group program Hazzard and a friend laid out for him. Ebby then followed the same Oxford suit they had - that to keep this thing you have to take the message to another - and the other that he found was a New York drunk named Bill Wilson. On December 11, 1934, Wilson took his final drink.
Near 6 months later, Wilson’s first success in helping get someone else sober would take place in Akron, Ohio. The second drunk was named Bob Smith and although he’d been in the Oxford Group for a couple of years, until a fellow who shared the same affliction wrapped the Oxford program around the admission of powerlessness to that bottle, it had done him no good. By the late 30’s, the alcoholics would break from the Oxfords and they took the essence of the program they were leaving and would make it the more concrete and workable 12 steps. And as Wilson and Smith and their followers would take to the byways and highways pulling drunks out of the gutter, the Oxfords would become Moral Rearmament. As MRA tried to instill in the politicos of their time the necessity to re arm morally, though his efforts were hailed by many as positive, his fellowship began to slip in popularity.
Still Buchman and his group had great successes. They were the main player in resolving a crippling miners strike in England in the late 1940’s. Same was true for a railroad strike in Germany. Their concept was that in practicing absolute, honesty, purity, unselfishness and love in our dealing with the other, optimal outcomes would be achieved. But perhaps his greatest triumph was his influence on a lady named Madame Irene Laurie who had been one of the fiercest French resistance fighters in WW II. As she was about to walk out of a post-war peace talk because she heard someone speaking German there, Buchman stopped her and begged the question of what would happen to any chance of peace if she were to leave. The story has it she went to her room for two days to pray and meditate. She then opened her speech by telling the German people she apologized for her hatred of them. Willy Schmidt, the first post WW II prime minister of France said her speech more than anything else, opened the way for the post war peace in Western Europe.
Funny the difference in the speeches coming out of Lower Manhattan. On the news last Sunday night they had about five minutes of coverage of the people protesting the Manhattan mosque and then an almost parenthetic mention and 20-second stop of the pro-mosque crowd protesting about a block away. The medium is the message indeed. It is political now. All over right wing zealots are taking primary spots from less radical Republicans. Doubtless even more of the already waning progressiveness will be seeping out of the Democrats. One has to read the wind that is being inherited by the intolerant if he wants to keep his seat. When keeping that seat, hoarding what we have, and blindly stuffing our appetites became more important than honesty, unselfishness, purity and love, the fabric of our government and our society began to unravel.

The world was a different place 60 years ago as the 12-step movement, especially Alcoholics Anonymous, was spreading to every corner of the globe. And even though Buchman’s group’s influence and effectiveness that had been so effective that he was on the cover of Time magazine in the mid-50’s, by the late 60’s it was practically gone. His major failing, had to do again, with that ever present evil called pride. Buchman did not set up a system like AA’s 12 traditions so the fellowship would lose their dependence on their leaders. Some bad policy decisions in the 60’s and the unfortunate premature death of his hand-picked successor, a brilliant British author named Peter Howard, had MRA almost disappear from the map.

However a lot of MRA work was still being done and around 2000 the group re-emerged as Initiatives of Change. They are now headquartered in Washington DC and Richmond, Va. and are doing great interfaith work all over the world.
Among the reasons AA outlived MRA was precisely because they avoided politics and outside issues. But the essential aim of the steps and the program is to discern and then do as the Creator wills. What is going on in Lower Manhattan and the Middle East and a lot of other places in the world is for certain far removed from the will of God. To utilize a proven method to effect freedom, love, honesty and open-mindedness in a world in such desperate need for exactly those things, is certainly the will of a Higher Power of my own understanding.
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Recovery. For a person, for a world.

In a little sightseeing brochure I put together for the delegates to the Recovery Walk I mention Penn Treaty Park where William Penn, in 1682 signed a treaty with the Delaware Indians. Under Penn’s statue is the following quote.

He, who is not governed by God, will be ruled by tyrants.

The tyrants of greed, prejudice, fanaticism, intolerance, hate, ignorance, inequity, poverty, disillusion, and addiction govern far too much of America and our world in this third century after Christ.

There is a better way. Please God that we find it.
James F McGovern Jr.


Jim McGovern’s website 12stepsforall.com has information regarding a 12 step class for addicts and non-addicts. His book Twelve Steps to Change a World is available on the site.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Rain, Rain go Away

April 25, 2010

So another rainy day scheduled for the peace walk – only this year they’re talking heavy, deluge kind of rain.

Rain, rain go away,
Come again some other day.

Funny how things roll together. I’ve been thinking about the Joan of Arc legend and how a seemingly Divinely inspired change in the wind allowed her army to cross a river so she could attack and defeat an English army to begin her successful career as a soldier for God and for France. And it just so happens that on my desk are a couple of church bulletins from the St Joan of Arc church that, for the last two months, has been a weekly stop off point for a client of mine. A very nice guy but a chronic relapser his six months sober now have him over two hurdles he’s not been able to pass for a long time. And since the beginning of Lent, his finally acting on a suggestion I’ve been making to him since the fall, that he go to church, maybe is part of the reason. The pastor now knows him, calls him by name each week, and is a cool enough guy to have the mass goers each week write down a prayer and share it with a stranger, so you’ll have a person you do not know, praying for you.

And this little practice, reminded me the little ‘get to know you’ questions we put on the back of the walk itinerary to pose to someone you do not know as we walk from spot to spot.

So it goes. I’ve already gotten a couple of nice responses from members of the walk committee about my e-mail that we maybe pray to St Joan of Arc for a change in the scheduled weather this Sunday. Doubtless those specific prayers will not be answered. But the way I look at it, prayers are never wasted. Doubtless the reality that is now Joan of Arc is getting a little charge that some folk from a town called Philadelphia in a year called 2010 are calling on her for some help. Great saints, I am sure are never stingy with grace and regardless of what the skies bring down this coming Sunday, the beauty, wonder and splendor of our efforts, now will have another French-flavored source of grace flowing with us.

So this will be the 4th straight year it’s rained. But the weather has done nothing to dampen the spirit and benevolence of the walk. God is good and in our efforts to have people of all faiths and shapes and sizes walk together in harmony and peace, whether it’s sunny or rainy, His love will be shining down on us.

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And so now the walk is over. The umbrella I wore on my belt, never was taken off. The windshield wipers that were on as I headed to mass this morning were off by the time I was driving to the walk. They went back on as I headed home afterwards. The walk itself was not only dry, it was a triumph. A little smaller turnout this year, the usual delays holding up the schedule, some scheduled speakers and singers pulling out at the last moment all added to the intrigue, but overall it was a huge success. After the very warm introduction by the pastor at the Hickman Temple African-Methodist-Episcopalian church that was at our first stop, a Native American woman played a wonderful song on her flute. The slower first half that was about remembering our ancestors and the second faster part, was about we should be grateful for the graces we’ve been given. Long before the white man brought his agendas and religions to this land, the natives had a warm and wonderful Father-Spirit, Mother-Earth spirituality that is something we surely need to tap if we want to stop the butchering of this earth that has been going on for far too many years. The alternative is our eventual self-destruction.

Another first on this year’s walk was a beautiful dance routine by a group of Eastern Indian classic dancers. They performed at the Calvary Center for Culture and Community that is the home for about a half-dozen different faith traditions and was our last stop. There we again were graced by a mesmerizing song and music by the Sikh community. The youngster belting out his parts reminded me of a young Michael Jackson. The Imam from our home mosque, Al Aqsa, led the Pm Salat prayers before he chanted his annual beautiful message from the Koran.

The stirring Buddhist chant at St Frances de Sales Church and some beautiful poetry by youngsters from the Walk the Walk program, were wrapped around a couple of wonderful songs where the entire congregation joined in. Leaving there seeing the people filter out, I was overwhelmed with this feeling of comfort and warmth – that this event is a very special thing.
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Well near 11:00 PM now. The rain is pelting hard on my window here. A while back there was even some thunder. The rain still came, it just held off for as long as it had to. The drudgery that is Monday morning will probably seem a bit worse tomorrow with the rain coming down. Such is life.

Something about to Om-kind of chanting we did today, made my insides almost feel like they were vibrating. I remember how vibrating was exactly how I described the feeling the first time I heard the Imam chant in our first stop on our first Peace Walk seven years ago. The vibrations, the lovely flute music to our ancestors, the peace-promoting passages of the Torah, Koran and the St Francis prayer today, to me were about Unity…amongst ourselves and all that came before us.

I suspect I’ll have a fresh St Joan of Arc weekly bulletin handed to me tomorrow morning. The grace of Joan for sure, along with that of countless Muslim, Jewish, Native, Eastern and Christian saints, all did I invite into my being today through the prayers and the chants and the songs. How much I allow that to be my driving force through the mundane Mondays, etc of my life, will tell the tale of both the happiness and success I will know.

My guides are many-splendored and many-sided. It is up to me to follow them.

Friday, January 29, 2010

Taking it to the Streets

January 18, 2010

Certainly different crowds on the Sunday and Monday of the weekend we honor the memory of Martin Luther King. The crowds as different as Sunday’s miserable windy-pouring down rain was from Monday’s dry out and eventual sunshine.

The weather however, did not keep down the crowd at all at the massive cathedral of Sts Peter and Paul where 13 priests were made monsignors. There were near as many people standing as were sitting in the chock-full pews.



Monday’s crowd, a Martin Luther King Day event where we walked from 20th and Cecil B Moore for about a mile to the massive Girard College, was a lot smaller. Particularly when a large portion of the crowd got up and left in the middle of the event. And they missed some very powerful and inspiring speakers. I bought a CD from a young gentleman who really got the place a rockin…quite a few others did the same thing.

‘God is good’, ‘we need change’ ‘when I say doctor, you say King’ were some of the chants we shouted out during the walk. And many of the speakers touched on the same theme that it was the God in us and in Dr King that is/was behind the changing and the progress and the effort and the dream. One guy mimicked King and quoted the whole

“I have a dream” speech. And most of the speakers grew up on the mean streets of North Philadelphia and had seen valleys deep and deeper before turning their lives around and making it to whatever mountaintop they’d achieved thus far. Several speakers railed against the ‘make babies and run’ syndrome that has torn apart the traditional family in the black and poor neighborhoods. As sign up sheets for volunteer opportunities were passed around several speakers spoke of being either part of the solution or of the problem. One speaker stressed to change the outside we need to change our insides first.

One thing the Sunday program did have over the Monday one was brevity. The speeches were fewer and even with the psalm reading/singing the entire event took less than an hour. And the absolutely sumptuous reception afterwards at the Sheraton that our pastor and his priest friend combined to put together must have cost a bundle. And I do not think church money went to pay for it either. That difference to the few folk who got donuts and coffee in the basement of the Girard College chapel before the speeches was probably the most glaring difference between the two events.

The guy from whom I bought the CD mentioned how some of the clergy of King’s time complained when he called for a march or a boycott on Easter Sunday – and that they wanted to be in church that day. My man had the people chanting ‘bring the church into the streets’ as he belted out his rap rift. I guess if there is any criticism of the Catholic Church it is that it does not make it to the streets enough…that for the vast majority of the people it is one hour each Sunday and then on with your life. You don’t see too many clipboards being passed or getting filled up in a lot of Sunday morning (or Saturday evening) services. Sad thing was there weren’t all that many getting filled up at the King event either.

Taking the churches into the street. I think of the St Francis Inn where the homeless of Kensington get a meal each day. On one of those real bitter day a week or so ago, driving down Kensington Ave, a guy I know who’s connected to a smaller church called ‘Rock of Faith’ was dishing out food right up at Somerset and Kensington where the drugs are as much a part of the landscape as is the roar of the Frankford El.

Most of the walkers were from a recovery program called ODAAT…but as the recovery rate in the 12-step rooms gets smaller and smaller, I wondered how many of these ‘one day at a time’ ers will eventually fall back into their respective valleys. I wondered how many babies had gotten made by the guy and the gal smooching in the row in front of me. When you have very little a warm body can brighten up your day a bundle. Alas the hook-up is so prevalent in those rooms of recovery it is often referred to as the 13th step. The dilution of the spiritual message, of the Higher Power reach out to the hand of the other, for sure is the major reason for the vast recovery rate drop off. People frequently don’t do the steps anymore; they read them and talk about them and engage in the same selfish behaviors and wonder why they fall. My feelings about how much ‘in the streets’ good could transpire if even a small percentage of those folks filling the cathedral worked the 12 steps, was tempered the next day by my realization of how poor is the example of many of the people in the 12-step fellowships. Why engage in something that doesn’t work anymore?


But as the priests and deacons and bishops and even a couple of cardinals, procession-ed by after the ceremony, I did a good job of suppressing my cynicism and distaste for the and pomp and circumstance of it all and was grateful for these men who gave their lives to God and to truly lost souls like me who found some pretty open minds and some genuine care when I came back through those church doors near 18 years ago. My valley had been a deep one and the insistence of my recovery program that I’d need a Higher Power in my life if I wanted to escape, nudged me along. Riding the waves of the New Age spirituality served me well in those early days, but repeatedly crashing on the jagged rocks of relapse convinced me I needed more effort in my spiritual quest. By the time I cleared the relapses some 9+ years ago I’d taken the ‘sort of’ off my Catholic professing as I was no longer embarrassed to admit I was back in the fold.

“We Shall Overcome” a portion of the crowd began singing that as we neared Girard College. One of the speakers talked about how in 1964 MLK himself had held a rally outside the big walls and the locked iron gate of the segregated ‘white’s only’ school.

But I also could not help but think of the ‘men only’ restriction on the ceremony of the night before.

A few years back men, women, blacks, whites, Christians, Muslims, Jews and whoever sang that song together at the Christian/Catholic stop of our annual Interfaith Peace Walk. Today was the beginning of the week of prayer for Christian Unity.

God is good. If only we can tear down the walls that keep us from God and from each other…

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Knocking and Opening

A single bird chirped hello outside of my room in the Old Friary. It was in February 1999 the last time I stayed in that part of this wonderful Graymoor Christian Unity Center. And the only reason I stayed in the Old Friary then, where the single rooms are a bit pricier than the doubles in the main retreat center, was because a buddy from Philadelphia made the reservations. Seems it was an Anthony de Mello retreat and a few of my Philadelphia friends, like me, are big fans.(That was the last time they had a de Mello retreat too – seems Mother Church grew to find his spirituality a bit too Eastern or dicey. His contention that our final barrier to God can be our concept of God is a bit much for an institution highly invested on our buying their concept of God.)

And as fate would have it, that weekend down the other end of the Old Friary, a group of Carmelite nuns were staying as their convent up in Beacon New York was being renovated. So because I did not obey the ‘don’t talk to the sisters’ suggestion, and asked for some prayers and I later got their address, for ten years now I’ve been graced with their prayers as I send them a few dollars and little stories and other things I’ve written. One year I even made it to their home for an October 1 celebration of the feast of the famous Carmelite, St Theresa of the Little Flower. Two days from now as it turns out.

There is more. Then I was only about six months removed from my latest relapse into my addiction to crack cocaine. Also then I was 16+ years in a job in a hospital finance office and I was summarily disappointed with my career choice. Writing was my dream and people repeatedly suggested to me to write and do my job, but for some reason I just could not do that. I could put together poems and little stories, but I just could not get started on this book I dreamed about writing. Somehow I knew that job had to go. The sense that pushing paper was not God’s will for me was with me at all times….and of course the fact that I’d really turned my life around but simply could not stop the pattern of relapse I’d struggled through for the preceding 4+ years was another part of my angst. And as fate would further have it, totally at random I picked a spiritual reading for a Lecto Devinia exercise that was very appropriate. Two years later I quit the job…a la the birds in the air and lilies in the field, I had enough faith that the Father would take care of me, one of his most prized possessions. When I boarded the plane to my father’s family’s homeland of Ireland, off to the first book and the rest of my life, I was six months removed from the latest, and God willing, the last relapse. It’s now nine+ years since I took that final fall.

The book was called You CAN Go Home Again and though it was anything but a big seller, it was my way of going Home to the loving protection of my Creator. Seems he maybe required that kind of faith to keep me clean.

So now it is fall 2009. The no work and then part time work honeymoon lasted until about four years ago. I now work in the drug/alcohol field and with its lack of monetary reward and dysfunction and paper work galore, it can be immensely frustrating. But at least I am helping some people. And I do have to pay the bills. My latest project involves taking the 12 steps to the non-addicted world. The book I wrote 12 Steps to Change Your World is my 6th but only the 2nd I’m getting published. It is a lot shorter and more accessible than the other. It was edited by a real editor and is far tighter and more focused. Still I got a rejection letter from the first traditional publisher I sent it to. That news and the difficulty I’ve had in getting a church or prayer group to try working the steps, has me quite frustrated. It is difficult to de-condition people that the steps are only for the addicted.

Alas the graces of places like Graymoor keep me plugging forward. As they buzzed through portions of the retreat, they gave no direction or reading concerning the Lecto Divinia that was on the schedule. I’d thought the ‘ask and you shall receive, seek and you shall find, knock and it shall be opened to you’ would have been a good one for me. These instructions seem to be about working harder at the task at hand but for a lot of my life, instead of knocking when the asking and seeking went unanswered, I’ve crawled back under the covers…as I did this very morning after the retreat.

Funny the way it works out sometimes. The crawl back under the covers and failure again to do the quiet time and guidance piece I stress so in the step class, gave way to a far from blessed day for me. But I schlepped up to my weekly rosary group and then over to the local adoration chapel to do the closing portion of the Chinese meditation I do called Qigong. (I’d done the opening-imagining steps while saying the rosary). And the meditation seemed as flat and empty as had the rosary, but somehow the memory of the ‘at random’ Bible selection I chose for my own Lecto Divinia came back to me. I’d opened to Chronicles (I think) and to one of the happiest moments in the Old Testament when David is handing over the reigns to his son Solomon and giving him instructions on how to build the Temple. My dad was as good and upright a man as I have ever known, but he too suffered from the pangs of regret and procrastination. My whole Graymoor connection is about him. In 1940 he landed there in sort of pilgrimage to find himself. The first of 16 straight years I went there was my first sober anniversary in 1993. But as I sat in the chapel, I realized his grace and his blood are probably the most significant sources of my ability to go forward and to repel his regrets as I do so. For sure we are all connected but is any connection as strong and lasting and influential as that of a father and a son? His Alzheimer’s and my cold, empty, alcoholic mindset precluded any instructions to be handed down to me towards the end of his mortal days. But in the realm of God and grace and heaven and Eternity, the floodgates of love and progress are never closed.

And so for the briefest of moments, the final tearful smote of this year’s Graymoor trek came over me. The beatific period on the end of a sentence peppered with so many splices of ecstatic connectedness…including all the wonderful new friends I had made. The ground I walk on that hallowed mountain walks with me as long as I believe it. I guess putting the one foot in front the other this rather blah day, and locking myself to this machine until this story was finished, netted a heart that had been indeed been knocked open.