True Religion (prayer)
June 17, 2008
The picture is of a tombstone. A tree has grown up around it. It’s at an institution that closed in 1984 and is now mostly all gone. People who died at the institution and whose bodies were not claimed got buried there, and their tombstones bore numbers, not names.
In my work, I support many people who spent times in institutions. Some can even tell me about it. Honestly institutions fascinate me. Aside from the spooky aspect of the disused buildings (which I like to call modern ruins), something about the large scale operations of being the entire universe for lots of people interests me. I am very much against institutionalization in theory and in practice, and I certainly wouldn’t want to be in one. Still I can see why some people do want to be in one, and why some parents prefer this for their children who can’t be independent.
I’ve been inside two functioning institutions. I went several times to visit folks who were in the process of moving out, so that when they were relocated to the community, they might remember me as a friendly face, and so I could prepare as thoroughly as possible to meet their needs once out. One of the places I visited was (is) gorgeous. It has beautiful grounds, stately buildings, beautiful old trees. It has out buildings from when the superintendent lived on the site. In its day it had a greenhouse, a dairy, farming, a woodshop, a pool. Now it has lots of gorgeous grounds and very nice buildings, along with some people who still live there and some staff people who work there.
This is a long and round about way for me to try to put words or pictures to something I live. It is not because I’m virtuous that I do this. This is one of times, like when I say how much sobriety I have or what my son’s IQ is, that it’s hard to just state things without sounding (to me) like I’m bragging. I try to go about it quietly, and most of the time I can. Here, though, I’m trying to articulate what a life time of AA has given me, and how I practice these principles in all my affairs.
My mother did this work since I was five. She took me to work often, so I grew up with it. People with disabilities made impressions on my developing mind. That has created for me a comfort zone I don’t want to leave. I don’t know if that’s virtuous, lazy, frightened or just boring. Maybe it’s all those things. One huge fact of my existence is that I (hate) don’t like change. My mother gave me my first real job. I stayed with that job until I had to find another in order to move several hundred miles to live with Carole. I found a similar job, and I’m still doing it.
So OK, it may be an expression of my character defects that keeps me there. I have no doubt that is part of it. But so that I don’t engage in too much pride in reverse here, I will get on to the other side of it. The other side is trying to be of service to God and my fellow human beings. Those words are from the AA literature, and they tell me what it is I am supposed to build as the foundation of my life. When I’m at work, it’s hardly ever a question whether or not I’m doing the right thing. I’m taking care of people, sometimes in the way the Bible describes when it says, for instance, to give a drink of water to someone who is thirsty. It can be that elemental.
It all fits with my religion. Not that I fit with my religion. I’ll have to get back to that another time, but for now I’ll explain that I was raised Evangelical Lutheran. It surprises me at times that people don’t always know what that is. At this time, “evangelical” means to some people, “conservative.” But that is backwards as far as Lutherans in America right now. This is the liberal branch of the church, and my church had a woman pastor student when I was in elementary school. Our pastor performs same sex ceremonies in the church, and Carole and I had one there in 2005.
A main thrust of the church is to take care of others who are less able, or less fortunate, or in trouble, and my work fits perfectly. It also pays terribly, making it all the more virtuous.
I mean these things sincerely. I have been doing this work for around 15 years, and it’s mostly been wonderful. Being happy with it has given me an awesome quality of life. Sometimes I think that if I had to do some work I didn’t like, I wouldn’t be able to do it. And that is not to put down people who do difficult jobs.
In AA, helping others very often refers to helping newcomers, and that is most important kind of help that we can give. I’ve taken it to a broader stage in my life, and I do believe that it is the most important thing. I don’t know if I’ve done this because it’s comfortable and familiar, or if AA has influenced me so much as to be the reason I do it. “Nothing is hard” says the prayer I’ve inserted up there. One thing I’ve always loved about my work is the therapeutic effect it can have on me when I realize that hours have gone by, and I haven’t worried about the thing I’m worried about in all that time.
I know nothing about the person beneath that numbered stone. I know that I have stood at graves and mourned loved ones. I know that in 100 years, there’s no one living who remembers the dead first hand. I know that person has caused me and probably many others to pause and consider how we treat people who are vulnerable to us.
