AA and the Big Stone First

I recently decided to read the biographical story of Bill Wilson, co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. In 1917, at the age of 22, Bill tasted alcohol for the first time. He felt as if he had found 'the elixir of life.' By the 1930's, he was a raging consumer of alcohol--he had lost his job, marriage on the rocks, and simply could not stop drinking on his own. In December 1934 he checked into a hospital for Alcohol Addiction. As he underwent withdrawal from alcohol, he felt as if insects were crawling across his skin, and was so nauseous he could hardly move, but the pain too intense to stay still. In the empty room, he yelled out "If there is a God, let Him show Himself! I am ready to do anything. Anything!" At that moment a white light filled the room, the pain ceased, and he felt as if he were on a mountaintop. He knew at that moment that he had been set free.

Bill's friend Ebby, who had gotten sober through the help the Oxford Group, planted the seed for Bill, who was initially resistant to the religious elements of Ebby's recovery. "Well then, why don't you choose your own conception of God?" Bill did just that, as reflected in the Third Step: "Made a decision to turn our will and lives over the care of God as we understand Him."

AA has been discounted and criticized by those in the scientific and psychological communities. With new studies and insight into the neurological pathways for addiction, AA can seem like folk medicine, since it has no real grounding in science of most accepted therapeutic methods. Seven of the Twelve Steps relate to God or one's encounter with a Higher Power--of course, uncomfortable to more high-minded communities. Yet, as many as 10 million alcoholics have achieved sobriety through the group.

The story of Bill's recovery reminds me of a passage in the 9th chapter of John's gospel, when Jesus heals a man born blind and gives him sight.


"They brought to the Pharisees the man who had been blind. Now the day on which Jesus had made the mud and opened the man's eyes was a Sabbath. Therefore, the Pharisees also asked him how he had received his sight. 'He put mud on my eyes,' the man replied, 'and I washed, and now I see.'


But the religious authorities were not satisfied with this simplistic answer. They press him further:


Some of the Pharisees said, 'This man is not from God, for he does not keep the Sabbath.' But others asked 'How can a sinner do such miraculous signs?' So they were divided.

Finally, they turned again to the blind man, 'What have you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.'

The man replied, 'He is a prophet.'


Notice that the man did not reply in the manner Peter did when Jesus asked him who he thinks he is, and Peter exclaimed "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God!" to which Jesus sternly warns them not to tell anyone that he was the Christ. (Mt 16:20). Peter's statement was a profession of faith, both personal and theological. The man cured of his blindness was not as much concerned with such professions, but simply recounted what happened when Jesus touched his eyes. He didn't know who he was or why the authorities had such a keen interest in him.


The Jews still did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they set for the man's parents. 'Is this your son?' hey asked. 'Is this the one you say was born blind? How is it that now he can see?'

'We know he is our son,' the parents answered, 'and we know he was born blind. But how he can see now, or who opened his eyes, we don't know. Ask him, he is of age; he will speak for himself.'


When the Pharisees do not get the answer they are looking for, they go to his parents. Our family knows us better than anyone, and while we may be able to 'act the part' of being a pious religious person, sometimes family will see the situation differently. In this case, however, they provide more of the same.


Finally, the deposition reaches the point of frustration. And the man nails the matter of hand in v. 25, forcing the authorities to later throw him out in disgust, exclaiming "you were steeped in sin at birth, how dare you lecture us!":


A second time they summoned the man who had been blind. 'Give glory to God,' they said. 'We know this man is a sinner.'

He replied, 'Whether he is a sinner or not, I don't know. One thing I do know, I was blind but now I see!'


One of my struggles as a Christian is how to balance the dogma of religious practice with the spirit of the divine. I have often made the analogy of the human body, one comprised of skin, bones, blood, organs, and soul. If we did not have a skeleton to protect our vital organs and give our extremities form, we would be a pile of loose body unable to move. If we were simply a configuration of bones and ligaments without blood and organs, we would be a scary walking skeleton. If we were skin and bones, blood and organs, but without spirit or soul, we would be nothing but material beings, hollow at our core. Everything works together. Everything is important.

But when we start to prioritize one part of the body over another, we lose sight of the whole picture. "The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body." When religious practice or pietism becomes the most important thing in one's life, things can get out of whack. "Now the body is not made up of one part but of many...If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be?" (1 Cor 12:17). We become like "whitewashed tombs, full of dead men's bones" (Mt 23:27).

Now, Paul is writing this in the context of spiritual gifts, but I think it applies to this balance of dogma and spirit, what's important and what's peripheral. Sometimes we forget what's at the heart of things, the core. And yet there is also the danger of neglecting things that seem unimportant (like, maybe, the spleen perhaps?) yet contribute beneath the surface to the health and functioning of the whole.

When it comes to alcoholism, addiction, or anything else that threatens the health, relationships, and soul of the person affected, it's like a hemorrhaging that needs to have pressure applied immediately.  The Pharisees in the story of the blind man healed are like those in the Buddha's Parable of the Poisoned Arrow, who demands to know who shot the arrow, what kind of arrow it was, where it came from, etc, as he is bleeding out. He would die and those things would still be unknown to him.

Though it seems like a trite example, I refer to it often in my life. Though it is used in the context of time management, I think it can be applied to the spiritual life as well.

A professor is giving a lecture. He pulls out a jar and places it on the table, then brings out a pile of tennis ball sized stones. He fills the jar with the stones and asks, "is it full?" The class says yes. He then pulls out some smaller pebbles and empties them into the jar, where they fill in the spaces between the big stones. "is it full?" he asks. They reply "probably not." He nods, and fills the jar with sand, while filters down into the even smaller spaces. "Now?" "No!" the class yells. "Correct," he says, and pours water into the jar until it is completely full. 

To the alcoholic in the pit--really an analogy for all us sinners, unable to escape from the bondage of sin on our own--the first big stone that needs to go in first is God, or, in the context of AA, a Higher Power greater than ourselves. It's a desperate plea, like the Israelites in Egyptian bondage who "groaned in their slavery and cried out, and their cry for help because of their slavery went up to God." (Ex 2:23). If we start with religion, or spiritual practice, or community--all good things, but not the BIG THING--all the stones don't fit. GOD first, everything else follows and fills in in it's appropriate place.