Beyond Addiction

Andy Jensen was the rector of an Episcopal church in South Dakota when a young parishioner came to him pleading for help because he drank too much. Even though his own father had been an alcoholic, Jensen was not sure how to respond, so he turned to Lutheran Social Services for immediate guidance and later on to a professional training program at the Hazelden Foundation to learn more about alcoholism and what he could do about it as a leader in his community.

What he discovered was that alcoholism had hit even closer to home.

"I came for the education and ended up staying for the treatment — my treatment," Jensen said. "I was the alcoholic, too."

That was in 1972, and Jensen has been sober ever since. Sobriety changed his life, and treatment became his vocation. He was a member of Hazelden's pastoral care staff for 19 years, retiring in 1995.

The other day, Andy, now 81, and several dozen of his retired colleagues met for lunch at Hazelden's main campus, in Minnesota. They swapped war stories about their backbreaking endeavors with patients on the treatment units. They poked fun at one another over the disputes in the executive office. Most of all, they marveled at being part of the vanguard of Hazelden's innovative approach to treat addiction as a disease of the mind, body and spirit while transforming the lives of men and women with compassion, dignity and respect.

It was appropriate that Andy spoke near the end of the gathering, because his words resonated with the group's common chord.

"This brings to mind the living community, the dynamic living community of recovery, a community of sober people and, equally vital, a community of the folks here — chaplains and counselors, medical staff and housekeepers, volunteers, the staff in the dining room — the community that not only depends on each other but thrives because each of us draws strength from the others.

"We are all a 'cloud of witnesses' to this community, and it is ours to nurture to make sure it never dissipates."

A cloud of witnesses, indeed.

As Andy talked, I gazed out the window. Fair-weather cumulous clouds drifted overhead on a picture-perfect August afternoon in Minnesota, each cloud composed of millions, if not billions, of water droplets, which give shape, substance and sustainability. By themselves, those droplets quickly would evaporate. Together they are something more.

Andy and people like him who work in treatment centers are that way, too. As individuals, they may have impacts on some people. But together, their passion, commitment, professional expertise and personal experiences make them so much more. They become a cloud of witnesses to the possibility of life-sustaining change.

No wonder people who experience that change and embrace recovery tend to stick together. Addiction is an illness of isolation. The antidote is togetherness. That's why the first word of recovery for many people like me is "we."

As Andy spoke, a teardrop or two faintly slipped down the faces of many of his colleagues and my face, too. But I couldn't see Andy's eyes; he was wearing dark glasses. Macular degeneration is causing him to go blind. Yet I know his vision of a cloud is stronger than ever. And he is helping me to see it, too.

William Moyers is the vice president of foundation relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

COPYRIGHT 2009 CREATORS.COM