Thoughts From Gerald May

Dear Friends,

Sitting in my office, my eyes scanned the bookshelves and fell upon one particular book: "Addiction and Grace" by Gerald G. May, M.D. I opened it, read the first chapter, and decided to pass along his testimony. Why? Because I’ve come to see that addiction is far more prevalent than we would like to think, limiting it (as we often do) to alcohol, drugs, porn, or sex addiction and occasionally throwing in workaholism. I found his testimony powerful and therefore share it with you! Enjoy.

 

 

“Wherever it is that your treasure lies, there you will find your heart also.”
Matthew 6:21

"After many years of listening to the yearnings of people's hearts, I am convinced that all human beings have an inborn desire for God. Whether we are consciously religious or not, this desire is our deepest longing and our most precious treasure. It gives us meaning. Some of us have repressed this desire, burying it beneath so many other interests that we are completely unaware of it. Or we may experience it in different ways - as a longing for wholeness, completion, or fulfillment. Regardless of how we describe it, it is a hunger to love, to be loved, and to move closer to the Source of love... Modern theology describes this desire as God-given. In an outpouring of love, God creates us and plants the seeds of this desire within us (Ecclesiastes 3:11). Then, throughout our lives, God nourishes this desire...

But something gets in the way... We become addicted to other things.... A self-defeating force that abuses our freedom makes us do things we really do not want to do (Romans 7:15)... Moreover, our addictions are our own worst enemies. They enslave us with chains that are of our own making and yet paradoxically, are virtually beyond our control. Addiction attaches to desire and enslaves the energy of desire to certain specific behaviors, things, or people. These objects of attachment then become preoccupations and obsessions. They come to rule our lives. 

The word "attachment"... comes from the old French "atache" meaning, "nailed to." Attachment "nails" our desires to specific objects or things - alcohol, narcotics, ideas, work, relationships, power, fantasies, money, moods, and an endless variety of other things... 

Addiction makes idolaters of all of us, because it forces us to worship objects of attachment, thereby preventing us from truly loving God and one another... It is the absolute enemy of human freedom and the antipathy of love. Yet, in still another paradox, our addictions can lead us to a deep appreciation of grace. They can bring us to our knees....

It was in working with some of the most tragically addicted people - those enslaved to narcotics and alcohol - that I began wondering about addiction and grace. It was there also that I began to recognize my own addictiveness. Most importantly, it was in the course of that work that I reclaimed my own spiritual hunger, a desire for God, and for love that many years had tried to repress.

 

As nearly as I can recall, the repression of my spiritual desire began shortly after my father died. I was nine at the time. Prior to that, I had had a comfortable relationship with God. As with all children, the earliest years of my life were "simply religious." In the innocent wonder and awe of early childhood everything is "spiritual." My religious education had given me a name for God, but I hardly needed it. I prayed easily; God was a friend. In a reaction typical for a nine-year-old, I expected God to somehow keep me in touch with my father after his death. I prayed for this, but of course it did not happen. As a result, something hurt and angry in me chose to dispense with God. I would take care of myself. I would go it alone… I repressed my longing. Just as my father faded from my awareness, so did God, and so did my desire for God.

During college, I fell in love with literature and philosophy. In retrospect, I think this was my desire for God resurfacing again as a search for beauty and truth. I even tried to go to church on occasion, but I wasn't consciously looking for God. By then I was searching for something that I could use to develop a sense of mastery over my life, something that would help me go it alone. In medical school and psychiatric training, I tried to make a god out of science. Science seemed learnable, masterable, and controllable. Throughout, I resisted prayer and rebelled at religiosity in others…

I was in the Air Force during the Vietnam War. Much in the Vietnam experience I had to repress, but much of it I could not repress. In a way, the tragedy of Vietnam woke me up a little. Afterward, I took a position as director of a community drug abuse clinic. With all the energy that might be expected of a young doctor, I applied my best psychiatric methods to the treatment of addictions. None of them worked. I was able to help people with their emotional and social problems, but they remained addicted to chemicals. Since so much of my desire for meaning and wholeness had become attached to professional success, and I was not being successful, I started to become depressed…

Then one day in the middle of this depression I was casually introduced to a faith healer at a conference in a nearby town. I did not believe in faith healers, but as we shook hands she paused, holding my hand, and told me she thought I was meant to be a healer too, but, "I wouldn't take my dog to you, because you think you are the one that has to do the healing." These are not words one might expect to be helpful for a depressed person! But they struck me deep and well. In my search for self-determination, I had also been trying to command the very process of healing. It was obvious that some change in attitude was called for. I still wasn't certain, however, what form that change should take.

At about that same time, I embarked on a little informal research. I identified a few people who seemed to have overcome serious addictions to alcohol and drugs, and I asked them what had helped them turn their lives around so dramatically. All of them described some sort of spiritual experience. They kindly acknowledged their appreciation for the professional help they had received, but they also made it clear that this help had not been the source of their healing. What had healed them was something spiritual. They didn't all use religious terms, but there was no doubt in my mind that what they spoke of was spiritual.

Something about what they said reminded me of home. It had something to do with turning to God. As a result I relaxed a little. I honestly considered there might be some power greater than myself involved in healing, and that I might be better off cooperating with that power instead of trying to usurp it. I also set about trying to understand more of what constituted "spiritual experience" and why it had been so helpful to these addicted people... I described these spiritual experiences to some clergy friends. Most of them didn't seem to understand what I was talking about. The least helpful friends tried to give me Freudian explanations. "Why, it's simply a narcissistic regression of the ego to a state of infantile dissociation in order to avoid reality issues that have stimulated unacceptable libidinous impulses." They said such things as if I should have known them already. But the problem was I did know them already, and knowing them didn't help... 

 
I studied Eastern religions, psychic phenomena, psychedelic drugs, biofeedback, all the great stew of psychological stuff that was percolating across the nation at the time… I meditated every day. From a comfortable distance I watched the charismatic renewal in Christian churches, and from an equal distance, I sensed something powerful I couldn't understand in Alcoholics Anonymous.

One evening about six months after my quest began, I was diligently practicing a form of Yoga meditation that encouraged the free coming and going of all thoughts. It is a method that might be described as the opposite of repression. In the freedom I gave to my mind, one of the thoughts that came was prayer. It was, in the beginning, the prayer of a nine-year-old, embarrassingly immature. "Dear Jesus, help me…”

As months and years passed, the prayer grew, and with it, my awareness of my desire for God. I realized my exploration was less a professional research project and more a personal spiritual journey. I was not in control of my life. I needed as much of God's grace as any of my patients did. With that growing realization, my spiritual desire seemed to pick up where it had left off some 20 years earlier. Now it was out in the light again, and I gradually became able to reclaim it as my true heart’s desire and the most precious thing in my life." 

Living in His All-sufficient Grace, Pastor Jeff