What The 12 Steps Taught Me About Spirituality

Post Author: A Young Clergywoman

When I was doing my first field education placement at an Episcopal Church in New Jersey, my supervisor required me to attend an AA meeting. He said it was important for me to have this experience as I prepared for ministry. I had heard of AA but had never gone to a meeting before. I found an open meeting, one at which visitors who are not alcoholics are welcome, and my husband went with me. It was a Big Book meeting, where there was a reading from the main book of AA and the speaker commented on it. I felt awkward and out of place. I didn’t glean too much from that experience. 

Several years later I found myself at an Al Anon meeting during one of the most chaotic and scary times of my life. Days earlier my husband had declared matter-of-factly, “I’m an alcoholic.” His anxiety and fear of death during detox had won out over his denial, and he admitted he had a problem. His admission came as a relief. For an entire year, I had myself been in denial, asking close friends, therapists, and spiritual directors how I would be able to tell if he had an unhealthy relationship with alcohol. As it turns out, the fact that I was asking that question was itself the answer. Once he admitted it to himself and to me, he could get help. I drove him to the hospital, where he was admitted to a detox unit. During that week I went to my first Al Anon meeting at the recommendation of my therapist. 

Al Anon is a 12-step program for families and friends of alcoholics. Started by the wives of the founders of AA, it utilized the same principles, applying them to the lives of those living with the effects of alcoholism. I found in Al Anon a type of liturgy. There was a form to the meeting, ritualized readings of texts, the sharing of testimonies, and words of encouragement spoken to one another. There was even prayer. Even though I knew I belonged, I very much felt like the newcomer, needing to learn the language of recovery. I had a “qualifier,” a person in my life who was an alcoholic whose presence qualified me to be at that meeting. For the first time I felt like I had words to put to my experience of the past few years: “Step 1: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol and our lives had become unmanageable.” Unmanageable. That was how it felt. My life had become unmanageable. I felt like I was going crazy. I was confused. I didn’t know what to do. I was powerless. Those words brought the world around me into focus. I felt understood. I didn’t know what the heck was going on. But someone else did. 

That first meeting gave me words to put to my experience. Over time I would attend other meetings. I would think things had improved, and I would stop attending meetings. I would feel confused and uncertain again and would resume attendance. Finally, a few years later, I committed to the program, deciding that I would go week after week no matter what my husband was up to because the program had become meaningful to me. “In Al Anon we focus on ourselves, not on the problem drinker,” the literature states. The 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous can be beneficial to anyone, not just to an addict. That is the premise of all the cognate groups of AA for families and friends-of – Al Anon, Nar Anon, Co-Anon, COSLAA, and the list goes on and on. Anyone can benefit from this program, not just someone with “a problem.”

Today I find a wealth of wisdom in Al Anon that I can easily apply to my life, to my ministry as a chaplain and priest associate, and to my spiritual life: the concept of powerlessness, that it is not something to be avoided or shunned, but recognized and embraced. The need to trust in God, as step 2 indicates (“We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity”). The need to take time to take a moral inventory of myself (step 4), which includes my failings and my strengths. When was the last time I did anything resembling a confession of my sins that named actual sins and failings that are unique to me? My own religious tradition, which includes private confession, does not have an easy-to-access mechanism for this. Al Anon also gives me a way to connect regularly with others, to hear their stories of pain and growth (called “experience, strength, and hope” in program language) and to share my own story. Each week we hear a speaker share for ten minutes. Then each person attending has an opportunity to share for three minutes on anything they want. The group has guidelines to prevent crosstalk, dominance, and talking about religion and other programs; but the format is quite open, and folks are willing to hear each other’s pain, confusion, and difficulties as well as joy, growth, and hope.

Attending AA as a seminarian was something I’m glad my supervisor had me do. But having become a member of Al Anon, I can see so much more than what I originally gleaned from that single meeting I attended as a visitor. I was too caught up in the newness of the experience. I was too self-conscious to take it in. And although I’ve enjoyed books such as Richard Rohr’s take on the 12 steps and spirituality (Breathing Under Water), my greatest learning has been as a member. I think that’s because the program is for people to work on their own spirituality. The more I’ve grown, the more I’ve found I can give. The more I’ve healed, the more I understand about the suffering and healing that is possible for others. Perhaps I didn’t need to become a member to learn some of this. Perhaps I just needed to attend enough meetings as a visitor to take in some of the message. Or perhaps working my own program is exactly what I needed. One of the outcomes of the pandemic has been the accessibility of so many programs and events via Zoom. Now is a great time to visit a meeting, AA, Al Anon, NA, Nar Anon, the list goes on. “It works if you work it, so work it you’re worth it, one day at a time.”

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_twelve-step_groups