I often tell my preaching students that if you want to
know what is going on in the personal life of a preacher, just listen to their sermons.
So, if you have been following Thursday Circle this year, even
sporadically, you will notice that I have spoken much about the business of forgiveness
and the pain of addiction- two subjects at the very heart my story, and the
last year of my life in particular.
And so it is that I find myself while I type on the
keyboard this week that I am being inspired by Jason Isbell’s new album
“Southerner.” Isbell is a former member of the band Drive By Truckers who is all at once a gifted singer, poetic songwriter,
talented guitarist, as well as a former drug addict and a recovering
alcoholic.
This week he sat down with Terry Gross on Fresh Air for an interview that proved
to be part performance, part confession. The entire piece can be heard here,
and is well worth your time. Isbell is humble and gentle and speaks with a
certain mix of deep-reflection and tenderness, especially when he speaks about
his father and his wife. Both of which played important roles in his recovery.
This week I also watched a documentary on the life of Todd Marinovich, the boy wonder whose
father dedicated his entire life attempting to build his son into the perfect
athlete, only to watch him spiral down into a drug induced darkness of heroine,
cocaine, and crystal meth that few people will ever experience.
The stories of Marinovich and Isbell have much in common,
not least of which is the role that family and art played in their recovery.
The piece at the top of this blog is a painting by Marinovich entitled “Mask.”
Anyone who has ever been addicted, to anything, understands the reference.
Addicts are actors. When we aren’t busy anesthetizing life, we produce records,
throw touchdowns, we preach sermons. All the while trying to make sure that Mr.
Hyde doesn’t reel his ugly head in view of the public. But just like Dr. Jekyll
of Stevenson’s work, eventually the master becomes the servant and the entire charade
comes to a screeching halt.
Isbell sings candidly about this experience of transformation
in his song “Live Oak.” Gross asked him to sing it on the show and before he agreed Isbell confessed something particularly insightful. It captured the
essence of the journey all addicts must travel before they reach the other
side. In a few simple sentences he is able to express both the absolute fear as
well as the desperate desire for freedom prevalent in every attempt to let go: the reason many of us can’t, and the reason we must never stop trying.
Isbell said, “I was inspired to write the song by this
worry that I had, what parts of me will I
lose after I go through this process? I was scared, you know, what else am
I going to lose, because it can't all be better? Everything, you know, the
changes can't all be good changes. There's got to be something that you're
losing there, some kind of potency or, you know, humor even or some sort of
attractiveness not only to the person you're with romantically but to your
family, to your friends.”
That is the fear, the unfounded fear, that people only
love you when you are high, or drunk, or thin, or gambling, or gossiping…name
your vice. Despite the fact that nearly everyone in your life is shedding
countless tears over your choices and pleading for you to get help. Even after
you have been estranged from your kids, or lost a spouse, or a job, or a
scholarship, or friends, or a will to live…you continue to lie to yourself to
justify the addiction. People like me
better this way.
Addictions of every stripe become so much a part of our
identity we, quite literally, forget who we are without them. Which is why
Isbell’s next line had me fully choked up as I drove alone in my car.
“Now, had I known then what I know now I probably
wouldn't have been able to write that song because I see that I still have all those parts of me that I
want.”
I still have all those parts of me that I want. That’s
freedom. That is second life.
It was not all that dissimilar from a conversation I had
with my own therapist when I began my personal journey to recovery. We were sitting
in the borrowed office of a local pastor drinking cheap coffee and siting on
uncomfortable furniture. I remember the way that she just gazed across from me,
cutting through all my attempts at smooth talk and justifications, and asked,
as if it was the most innocent question she could ask, “Steve, is this getting
you what you want most out of life?”
I felt like some kid had just screamed, “the emperor has
no clothes” from the crowd at the parade, and there I sat, feeling completely
exposed.
It is a question an addict can’t run from. There is no
lie an addict can tell (themselves, at least) that could possibly frame their
life of addiction as the dream they had always had as a child, or the goal they have always pursued.
Helping someone remember that dream is the road to
recovery. For me it has always been the desire to break the sin cycles of my family: to be a present father, to be a faithful husband. None of my vices were pushing me in that direction and I just needed someone to help me see things clearly, to help me remember, to give me hope that freedom could actually come. Isbell says it is possible. Marinovich says it is possible. I can
tell you it is possible.
You will still have all the parts of you that you want,
and so will everyone praying for your freedom today.
