"He Looks So Normal"

A few weeks ago, I shared a link on my various social network sites to an article written by Russell Brand on the topic of addiction (if we aren’t connected on the ‘book, the ‘+, or the T’verse you can find the article here).  I shared the article because it struck a chord with me.

What struck me most about this article was the raw honesty that can only come from someone who has personally been in the throes of addiction.  If you have never suffered from addiction or seen someone you love suffer in their addiction consider yourself blessed, and also know that you can never “know” or “understand” how hard it is to break free from the substance of choice which has you ensnared.

I recently preached a sermon on the Parable of the Prodigal Son, a version of which is also part of this blog, (below, above, or somewhere else in the ‘verse) in which I said that I know all too well the guilt, shame, and embarrassment of being in the far country.  What I rarely talk about is the allure of the far country for those of us who have been addicted to any variety of substances.  It may seem strange (or, to use Brand’s term, “irrational”) to talk about allure, but the voice of some substances is incredibly sweet, even though you know that beneath that siren song is something that is inherently evil. And I don’t use that particular word lightly.

I don’t even know how to adequately put words to the visceral response I had to this particular article, because I have been there.  And I think I feel a need to say something after all these years because there is still a stigma: socially we continue to have no problems calling addiction a choice instead of a disease, and as a result people (our friends and our family) are not reaching out because they are afraid of the shame that comes with admitting they need help.

You may not like Russell Brand at all or you may never have heard of him before reading this, but he says a few things that anyone who is addicted needs to hear. And more than just speaking to addicts, he speaks to those who are not, but may know those who are.

1. Brand says: “Don't pick up a drink or drug, one day at a time. It sounds so simple. It actually is simple but it isn't easy: it requires incredible support and fastidious structuring.” 

One day at a time.  One dose, one drink, one fix at a time.  The concept is simple but it isn’t easy, and if you haven’t been there, please--please--don’t judge those who stumble.  You have no idea how hard it is to get from day one to day two; or from skipping the first drink, dose, or fix to skipping the second and the third.  Give them grace. And just to clarify, grace is not enabling; grace only helps them know they are worth giving it one more chance.  If you know someone who is struggling, remind them that they are worth giving it one more chance.  Offer encouragement and support because they will need it.

   2. Brand says: “Even as I spin this beautifully dreaded web, I am reaching for my phone. I call someone: not a doctor or a sage, not a mystic or a physician, just a bloke like me, another alcoholic, who I know knows how I feel. The phone rings and I half hope he'll just let it ring out. It's 4am in London.”  

As I read this part of his article, I remembered my own confessional phone call, ironically, it was also to London.  It wasn’t another bloke like me, but it was to someone who was my lifeline to reality.  My best friend.  And this friend loved me in all of my messiness and asked me about my plan to get clean.  

That was perhaps the most important phone call anyone could have answered.  My friend was the “Father” on the road meeting the prodigal with a robe, sandals, and an embrace.  My friend is the one who made me realize that I was worth so much more than the whispering evil substance in my head would have be believe. 

This is one of the reasons I will always err on the side of grace over judgement.  I have been in the varied places of brokenness and what brought me to sanity was not judgement, it was unconditional love.

It’s been a long time since I danced to the sirens’ song; but from time to time I still hear them singing because we’re all just in various stages of recovery.  

These are the things you may not know about people you work with, people you pass on the street, people you share your life with.  Some days are easy; others not so much.

There’s a praise song I have been known to sing and play from time to time in worship; it says, “Everyone needs compassion, a love that’s never failing, let mercy fall on me.”  I have learned that Truth from experience, and I have that reality enforced every day that I hear the real struggles of men and women, wives and husbands, daughters and sons.  I see them in the stores on base, in the coffee shop out in town.  I see them where they work and we sweat together at morning PT.  We’re all broken in one form or another, and rather than look at them, or treat them in ways that reinforce guilt and shame, I smile, I wave, I offer them love.  In part because I know how much it sucks to be in the far country; in part because I know that I need the return smile as much as they need mine.