The last 2 weeks, I’ve gotten to work with my team in a rehab center for men who deal with drug and alcohol dependency. This has easily been some of my favorite ministry I’ve gotten to do over the course of the entire Race—these men are so honest and open with their stories, their questions, and their love for the Lord and desire to be clean. I’ve loved getting to know them.
Every morning, 2 teams drive down to the rehab center, and spend a few minutes putting together a worship service for the men. We’ll sing a couple songs, as well as let the men sing us their songs (they are LOUD!). We’ll share a few testimonies in this time as well. Several of my friends have been able to share their stories regarding alcohol and drug abuse, and how Jesus has met them in their brokenness, which was powerful. Afterward, we’ll play games—volleyball, rummy, signs—and talk with the men individually.
And I’ve been able to pour out to the men as well. By God’s grace, drug and alcohol abuse has been kept almost entirely out of my life, even throughout all of high school. But I did have one area in which I was able to resonate deeply with the men in this rehab center—a long, 7-year struggle with pornography and masturbation. The first day we were at the clinic, I got up and shared what it’s been like for me trying to understand God’s love, even when struggling with falling into sin time and time again. Though my addictions have been different from theirs and are usually far less public or frowned upon, the cycle of shame and failure gave me grounds for understanding these men.
See, here’s what I learned about Jesus from these men. The root of sin is always addiction and dependence. The issue with sin is not so much that we’ve broken a divine rule, but rather that the Lord created us to live in relationship with him and be satisfied by him, and we have chosen other things rather than his love. We’ve walked away from the only one who truly satisfies and sought fulfillment elsewhere—whether it’s alcohol, drugs, porn, sex, affirmation from our friends, haughtiness over being better than another group of sinners, or pride in being able to take care of ourselves is really beside the point.
My sin and my brokenness have been easy to hide, but these men haven’t had that option. It’s a lot easier to live, like I have at times, with a prideful Pharisee’s heart and a secret porn addiction than it is to be an alcoholic—especially when that habit lands you in a rehab clinic. But at the end of the day, these men are perhaps the best example of what Christianity ought to be.
Most of us have the luxury of hiding from our brokenness and the shame it creates—these men do not. While that’s a painful side effect of alcoholism being the brokenness they bear, it yields the most astonishing fruit: a deep, abiding understanding of Jesus’ Grace.
Too few Christians actually live in a life-giving understanding of Grace, because they’re too afraid to dig into their shame and see the God who’s waiting for them in the dark of their hearts, waiting to redeem and forgive. But a refusal to engage with our shame is essentially a refusal to receive God’s love. Romans 11:32 says, “God has consigned all to disobedience, that he may have mercy on all.” Not only is God unsurprised when we sin, he actually created us to be weak so that we would have to depend on his mercy and strength.If we never enter into the shameful parts of our hearts, we will never experience fully what it is to be called God’s chosen, beloved son or daughter.
Another one of my favorite verses says, “Here is a trustworthy saying: If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he also will deny us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:11-13). This is a guarantee; it is a trustworthy saying. Jesus promises that he will be faithful when we fall, and will always hold up his end of the covenant no matter how many times we fail on ours.
The entire Christian life and Gospel could be confined to one word: trust. Does it really matter whether I believe in Jesus’ death and resurrection so long as I’m unable to trust that his sacrifice was actually enough for me, exactly where I am? Meeting these men made me question again how firmly I trust in the Gospel of grace. Would I be able to stand alongside them and proclaim, “I am an alcoholic, and am holy, pure, and deeply loved in my brokenness by Jesus”? Or is my confidence in God based upon my sin being more acceptable or hidden than others? Do I pride myself on not being as messy on the surface as these men? Their community, I’m convinced, is exactly what the church ought to look like—broken, recovering addicts who have tasted a love greater than themselves.
I hope the Lord uses this story to speak to you as much as he did for me. Grace and Peace!
~Joel
