Bob Feeny is a third-year student at the Divinity School at the University of Chicago. He is seeking ordination in the United Church of Christ. I am never sure where to begin the story of my brother Jeff’s addiction. This is largely due to the fact that his story is not mine; I can only tell my story of his addiction. I did not know it then, but I think that my story of my brother’s addiction began on Christmas Eve, 2007. We were in the apartment where my mom and brother lived. My mother had recently stabilized after a few years of erratic bipolar swings and isolation worsened by an abusive relationship, and my brother had moved in with her after living with extended family for a few years. We were spending Christmas together like a normal family. Things were good. We spent much of the evening with my aunt and uncle—both “functioning” alcoholics. At some point a bottle of vodka came out, and my 18-year old brother started drinking. A few hours later he stood over the sink, violently ill. The next morning, instead of the up-at-dawn Christmas of our youth that I had hoped for, I sat around with my mother wondering when Jeff would emerge from upstairs. Fast-forward to Tuesday, November 22nd, 2016. It has been 4 months since I learned that my 27-year old brother had become addicted to heroin—and he has just sent me a text that reads, “I’m sorry man, I am too sick to come out for Thanksgiving.” I had been out to see him as he had gotten clean. He was confident, we had a vision for his future, I was so hopeful for him. Clearly, he had relapsed. I could not begin to understand how this had happened. He seemed so determined to change his life. But over time it became clear that willpower was not enough to keep my little brother clean. His confidence began to seem foolish to me; my own hope, hubris. If I’m being honest, I resigned myself to the fact that my brother’s life was essentially over. Given our family’s history of addiction and the staggering statistics surrounding this country’s opioid epidemic—this seemed like a warranted stance. Addiction seems to be a demon that America simply cannot cast out. Decades of the War on Drugs have done nothing to mitigate the problem. We’ve spent an unfathomable amount of resources telling people to “just say no,” and trying to convince them along with ourselves, that if they just find something to be hopeful about, they are going to drum up the confidence it takes to beat addiction. Our response has been in vain. I wonder, however, if faith may offer us a unique perspective, one that has not yet been attempted. It’s easy to mix up faith with hope. And certainly, the two are interrelated in many ways. However, as someone who loves an addict, I must admit that I am not capable of responding hopefully to every situation. But what if faith really isn’t about hope? What if faith is less like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, and more like just standing knee-deep in sludge, in a tunnel that seems to go on as far as we can see in either direction? What if faith is simply being willing to stand in that hopeless place, and know that somehow, God is present? I don’t know what the future holds for my brother. I don’t know what to hope for, and quite frankly, I’m not sure that hope is really the best thing that people of faith can offer. There are people everywhere willing to offer hope. Medical professionals, rehab centers, community health initiatives- these things all offer hope. Some offer hope as a commodity, others are genuinely confident that addiction can be overcome. The truth is, all of these things are necessary at one point or another in recovery. But all of these things look past the person suffering, into the person they can be if they just believe in themselves. I want to believe that when Jesus tells his disciples that they lack faith, what he’s really telling them is that they’ve failed to see the child for who he is. In their excitement about the possibility of ‘fixing’ him, they’ve refused to bear witness to his brokenness; they haven’t stood in the dark and the muck. I often struggle to imagine what it is that’s ultimately going to save my brother. But maybe I don’t need to. Maybe faith doesn’t require me to visualize the positive ending. Maybe it doesn’t require me to find a solution, or even to think that there is a solution. Maybe my mustard seed is having the courage to admit that I love my brother, Jeff, the addict, just as he is. The person who may never hold a steady job. The person who may never find true love. The person who may die younger than I’d hoped. My prayer for the Church is that as a people who have been transformed by God’s grace, we would never give up hope that lives shattered by addiction can be redeemed. I pray that we would never lose our confidence that our God is a God who keeps transforming lives, opening up possibilities that we could never have imagined. With this hope, I pray that we will speak up about addiction, and champion research-based approaches to prevention, treatment, and policy reform regarding addiction. But more than that, I pray that we as the Church would realize our truly unique contribution to casting out the demons of addiction: faith. Not the Hallmark version of faith, the one with the rosy flourishes and the sappy endings, but the faith that looks the demon square in the eyes, and refuses to stop seeing the soul that it tortures.
On November 6, Michigan voters will be asked to vote on a ballot initiative that would legalize marijuana for recreational use. We are grateful to the following five clergy – from Flint, Detroit, and Ann Arbor – who tell us why they support this measure. Rev. Deborah Conrad, Woodside Church, Flint, MI. “…Legalizing marijuana, fully legalizing it, is, I think, a sensible thing to do. ‘Most of what we hate and fear about drugs – the violence, the overdoses, the criminality – derives from prohibition, not drugs’ wrote Dan Baum, Harper’s Magazine, April, 2016. Another writer noted that if marijuana is a ‘gateway drug,’ though that hasn’t really been established, maybe it really is more about the people users must associate with when they buy it illegally. If we take away the underground marijuana market, maybe we actually help keep people away from the harder stuff.” “At our meeting last week, the Woodside Board of Directors affirmed this resolution (Proposal 1 Marijuana Legalization Initiative), as a key piece of our advocacy for mass incarceration reform…But, while the board agreed that legalization is the desired goal, we also agreed that the language of the referendum isn’t perfect. ” “We were especially concerned that the stipulations of the legislation would still provide loopholes for targeting people of color. It is restrictive, far more than I think necessary, given what we know about the relative dangers of alcohol and tobacco, and I’m not convinced it would still become a mitigating factor in the ‘piling on’ that prosecutors like to do – heaping lesser charges onto a defendant to increase penalties for a primary offense. The proposed law isn’t perfect, but it is a start. So I recommend we vote yes, and then continue to work of learning to see racism, advocating for better law that benefit us all.” NOTE: These comments are drawn from the October 4 issue of Pastor Conrad’s church newsletter. She makes clear the deeper implications of legalizing marijuana: with this measure in place, we will finally be able to consider other reforms that, taken together, will finally end those parts of the War on Drugs that have inflicted so much damage upon our society. We commend the entire newsletter to you. Rabbi Jeffrey Falick, Rabbi, The Birmingham Temple, Birmingham, MI “For too long our society has ignored the lessons of Prohibition by imposing the same regressive policies on marijuana. What have we gained from it? We’ve reaped violence in our streets through black market dealing. We’ve generated a social justice crisis through inequitable enforcement of the law in African-American communities. And we’ve prevented sensible research into the many real benefits of cannabis. Approval of Proposal 1 will allow law enforcement to turn its attention to the real problems plaguing our state while generating a new stream of tax revenue to benefit our children, infrastructure, and municipalities. We talk a great deal about learning from the mistakes of history. When presented with this opportunity, let us do just that.” Rev. Kevin Johnson, Presbytery of Detroit, Presbyterian Church U.S.A. “I support the Michigan Legalization Initiative to legalize the recreational use and possession of marijuana for persons 21 years of age or older. My hope is that if passed, this legislation would remove the element of criminalizing individuals for possession and stem the tide of arrests and incarceration rates of people which clearly show imbalanced racialized characteristics as reflected in statistical analysis. I also hope that the passage of this proposal will lead to additional legislation to expunge the convictions for individuals previously prosecuted for the use and possession of marijuana.” Rev. Thomas James, Grosse Ile, MI “I endorse the Coalition to Regulate Marijuana Like Alcohol initiative because: Rather than spending enormous sums of taxpayer money punishing users of a drug that has minimal adverse effects on individuals and society, we should be supporting programs that reduce harm and encourage constructive participation in the economic and civic life of our state. As a clergy person, I am especially concerned with the morality of our current practice of prohibition and incarceration because it imposes disenfranchisement, barriers to employment, and family disruption with disproportionate severity on people in Michigan who already face more than their fair share of economic challenges.” Rev. Alexandra McCauslin, Ann Arbor, MI “I believe the regulation and penalty system for marijuana possession has created grave injustice, increasing debt and incarceration unnecessarily, especially for already vulnerable populations, like people of color and the poor. “
Guest Blog by Rev. Bobby Griffith, Jr., Pastor, City Presbyterian Church, Oklahoma City, OK Two weeks ago, my home state, Oklahoma, passed State Question 788, which legalizes marijuana for medicinal purposes. As a minister, I was overjoyed at the prospect of beginning to push back against the harm caused by the long War on Drugs and to see kindness unleashed toward the suffering. I did my part by helping with the petition drive, talking to the undecided, giving media interviews and writing in support of this statute. I did not always hold this view. What pushed me over the edge was sermon prep, of all things. In 2010, I gave a sermon with heavy application that centered on the fact Oklahoma seemed “okay” on the surface, but it was not that way for everyone. My illustration was twofold. First, Oklahoma has the highest female incarceration rate in the world. Yes, world! Second, Patricia Spottedcrow. Ms. Spottedcrow was a single mom, who sold $31 of marijuana to an undercover informant. She did this to feed her family. In turn, she received a 12-year prison sentence and her family was broken up, despite the fact this was her first offense. A grassroots effort ensued, and she served two years, instead of 12. Still, she spent that time without her four kids and had to rebuild her life. I mentioned these two things in a sermon. The church where I was on staff at the time was mostly made up of Red State Oklahomans. Mentioning something about marijuana, sentencing and, dare I say, social justice, was unheard of for this congregation. I received a few “I never thought about that” comments, but nothing out of the ordinary. Two years later, I met a man in his early 20s who made most of his money growing and selling marijuana. He lived a few blocks from one of the hip spots in Oklahoma City and lots of folks knew what he did for income. In the course of our short conversation (how many ministers get to hang out with a drug dealer!), I asked him if he was worried about getting caught. He said, “Dude. I’m white.” That interaction drove me to gain a better understanding of Oklahoma’s sentencing disparity. African Americans are almost four times as likely to be in jail for marijuana than Caucasians. Arrest rates for whites are lower. Sentencing occurs along racial lines. My state now has the highest incarceration rate in the nation. The system is broken. I look at the enforcement of drug laws, marijuana specifically, and I feel the angst of the Old Testament prophets. There is real oppression. Prohibition creates black markets and opens the door to gangs, prostitution, and human degradation. Law enforcement has the ability to apply civil asset forfeiture and take from those who barely have anything, especially immigrants and migrants. Mandatory minimum sentences do little by way of treating humans as bearers of God’s image. It is within this space, I believe, clergy need to lead. Houses of worship need to empower congregations with the realities that are often ignored. No one at that little church where I preached in 2010 knew about incarceration rates or Patricia Spottedcrow. Some may have thought she “got what she deserved,” but I’m sure many felt it was wrong. We need to learn how to tap into that sense of injustice to do our part to bring about restorative justice. The issue of drug laws is not as simple as “just say no” or “go to jail”. There are hosts of socio-economic and political factors. There is space to apply Christ’s love for others in the Gospels. There is room to point out oppression. There is an opportunity for religious communities to be compassionate, speak for the voiceless, and open the eyes of the powerful to a better way.
The following op-ed appeared in the Oklahoman, the newspaper with the largest circulation in Oklahoma, three days before the vote on a medical marijuana ballot initiative. It was co-authored by Rev. Bobby Griffith, pastor, City Presbyterian Church, Oklahoma City; and Rev. Alexander E. Sharp, Executive Director, Clergy for a New Drug Policy. On June 26th Oklahoma voters approved Proposition 788 by a 12-point margin. This op-ed is republished here with the permission of the Oklahoman. Voters in Oklahoma will decide next Tuesday whether to approve Proposition 788, which would make medical marijuana available in the state. Some clergy are urging them to oppose the measure. Though they may be sincere, their opposition denies the very God of healing, compassion, and mercy they claim to worship. Harsh words, yes, but here is why they are sadly accurate. Even the most casual reader of the Gospels knows that Jesus devoted much of his ministry to healing the sick and the infirm. That, more than any other reason, is why people flocked to him. On what basis, then, would Christian leaders oppose making a substance that offers healing available to those who suffer? I can think of three reasons. One reason might be the misguided view that cannabis does not really help people. But there is simply no room for doubt that it does. The most prestigious medical journals testify to its effectiveness in addressing severe pain of those suffering from cancer; nausea from chemotherapy; multiple sclerosis; epilepsy; degenerative spinal disease; and many other forms of suffering. Perhaps these opponents fear that medical marijuana will increase use among children, who will raid their parents’ or grandparents’ medical cabinets. But the evidence is clear on this point, too. Medical marijuana has not led to increased teen use in any state that has adopted it. Why, then, do these Christian leaders not have eyes to see? Perhaps because they are blinded by penultimate rather than ultimate religious values. I was stunned to read the words of a pastor from an Oklahoma Baptist Church last week: “The two hallmarks of the Christian faith are sobriety and self-control,” he said. “Marijuana inhibits both of these hallmarks. These are virtues, indeed. But to call them “the hallmarks” is to overlook the essential Christian message, which is to “Make love your aim.” Elsewhere in the Gospel: “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.” And, of course, 1 Corinthians 13: “Faith, hope and love abide these three, but the greatest of these is love.” Very few things made Jesus angry, but the Pharisees did. Why? Because they stressed rules over substance. That’s why He was willing to heal, and feed the hungry, on the sabbath, even though it made those Pharisees apoplectic. Another reason some oppose making medical marijuana available is fear that legalizing medical marijuana will open the door to recreational use. This view disrespects how people function in a democracy. With good information, citizens generally make wise decisions. Yes, some states have moved eventually from medical to full legalization. But this has happened only after full, robust, extended debate. It has not happened quickly or easily in any state. Nor would it in Oklahoma. At the end of the day, what may drive clergy opposition is a misguided view of sin. They preach personal salvation. Abstinence from earthly pleasures is the only path. This sense of what constitutes personal wrong conduct is so narrowly constructed that it leads them to think that any use of drugs, even for healing, is immoral. It leaves virtually no room for compassion, indeed, for Jesus. Fear- and rule-mongering which cause so many to miss the essence of the Christian faith should not guide next Tuesday’s vote on medical marijuana.
Thank you all for inviting me here to be a part of your service. Thanks to Cathy for bringing this topic, which is near and dear to my heart, to your congregation. My name is James. I’m Jewish and we like questions. So, I’m going to start this sermon with a few questions for you to consider. Many of these questions don’t have absolute answers. They are questions we should ask ourselves so that we know where we stand and try to figure out how these beliefs we hold, impact the action we are willing to take. What does a drug user look like? For many of us when we picture what a drug user looks like we imagine someone looking dirty and disheveled, living on the streets with beer bottles or needles scattered around their body. We picture a desperate and dangerous criminal, willing to harm anyone in order to feed their addiction. We picture a person of color, most likely someone who’s black. Where do these images come from? What drives the belief that this characterizes what a typical drug user looks like? As it turns out, these images don’t match the reality of drug use. In a study published in the Journal of Alcohol and Drug Education in 1995, a survey asked people to envision a drug user and describe that person. 95% of respondents described a black person. This is the case despite that fact that the majority of people who use drugs in our country are white. African-Americans make up about 15% of the people who use drugs, roughly equal to their proportion of the general population. When we picture who a drug user is, we don’t readily think of the successful people who have used drugs—executives, scientists, writers, musicians, politicians, Presidents. It would be inaccurate to say that people who use drugs or have used drugs are bad people, or are unproductive members of our communities. In fact, the overwhelming majority of people who try a drug—any drug—will not have a serious problem with that drug in their lifetime. Yet, this image of a drug user as a failure and threat persists. When we hear the term “drug user” we often think of a small group of drugs: cocaine, heroin, methamphetamine. We don’t think about the complete list of drugs—legal and illegal—that people use. So, it begs the question… What is a drug? In general, we would define a drug as a substance that we put into our bodies that alters our mood or physiological state; the caffeine we use to help us get out of bed at the start of the day; the medicine we take to control our blood sugar, blood pressure, or moderate other symptoms that may prohibit us from taking care of business; the glass of wine we use to unwind after a long day at work. All of these are substances we put into our body to alter the way we think and feel. What impact would it make if, instead of thinking about drug users as “other” or “those people”, we all thought about ourselves as drug users? How would that affect the way we approach drug use in our communities? Why, when we hear the term drug user, don’t we picture a successful white person drinking alcohol? What impact does it have on people’s mindset to picture a black criminal, injecting heroin, and to meld these images together when we hear the words, drug user? If we want to change the way we treat people who use drugs and the impact their use has on them and in our communities, we have to address the internal bias and prejudice that we’ve built up over our lifetime. This does not mean that drugs are not harmful. Certainly, all drugs have the capacity to harm people. Partially, we have a skewed perspective of drug users because the people who are most negatively impacted by their use, are inherently more likely to need help and encounter systems like hospitals, treatment programs, and law enforcement. However, we’ve exaggerated the likelihood of harm in order to scare people away from trying drugs. This approach is effective for some but it leaves all the people who will experiment, without any idea that there are more or less harmful ways of using any drug. A quick story, when a friend of mine was a teenager he decided that he wanted to try marijuana for the first time. He bought $25 worth, a quarter of an ounce, from someone at school. Not knowing any better he put all of what he had bought on a sheet of computer paper, rolled it up like a cigarette, taped it shut, and smoked it. We can agree that smoking computer paper and tape isn’t good for you. I tell this story to say, the risk of harm from using a drug is much greater when you don’t know what you’re doing. The risk becomes even more serious when using a drug that can be lethal if used incorrectly. On the other hand, when a person doesn’t know what they are using is a drug, because it’s legal or provided to them by a doctor, there is also a great risk. Alcohol isn’t a drug, it’s a beverage. Vicodin isn’t a drug, it’s medicine. Marijuana isn’t a drug, it’s a plant. In all these cases, it can be both of these things! Not knowing that also makes harm more likely. But, if any drug can cause harm, why do we still use them? To put it simply, people use drugs for a reason. A rabbi I spoke to once generalized the reasons for using drugs as an attempt to feel more present in a moment or to disconnect. We might use drugs to feel more connected with a group of people, to enhance an activity like a meal or concert, to deepen our thinking or sense of spirituality associated with a religious ritual. Indigenous cultures have traditionally used psychedelic drugs for these spiritual purposes. In Judaism, we have several holidays connected with drinking wine. It is considered a good deed to make a blessing over wine in order to mark the beginning of Shabbat. On Passover we celebrate our exodus from slavery by retelling the story and drinking four full glasses of wine. On Purim, a Jewish scholar Rava was said to have taught that we should drink wine until we cannot tell the difference between the face of Haman and Mordecai, our enemy and our friend. But, we also use drugs to distance ourselves from negative feelings—physical pain, boredom, anxiety, loneliness, despair. The person who uses heroin to seek relief from intense physical pain; or uses alcohol to drown out traumatic memories and racing thoughts so they can fall asleep at night; the person who uses cocaine to overcome their crippling social anxiety and enable connection with other people. Whatever reason we use drugs for, we do not do it as a means to harm ourselves but as a way of obtaining some sort of benefit from our use. Our relationship with any drug—legal or not—can range from harmful to helpful. There are a number of factors beyond the drug itself that impact whether or not we experience harm from using it. Environment matters. Journalist Johann Hari talks about harmful use being a product of disconnection. Dr. Gabor Mate talks about addictions being rooted in painful experiences. Norman Zinberg points to the combination of three sets of factors he calls drug, set, and setting—factors related to the drug and how it’s used, the individual and their circumstances, and the environment they use in. Most people would agree that when we’re using drugs, we are more likely to experience harm from them if we don’t have a strong support system around us. We also know that experiencing trauma in early childhood increases the likelihood that people will have a harmful relationship with drugs. Yet, we live in a country that demonizes the drug user—they are a person who has made bad decisions and must live with the consequences. We see drug use as an individual choice and an individual problem. We try to interrupt that problem by punishing their bad choices and isolating people from everything that is familiar to them. But, what child chooses to be neglected or abused? What person chooses to be left without a support system when their parent or caregiver dies? Nobody chooses the circumstances that often precede harmful relationships with drugs. But, it’s far simpler to point to the individual and never consider the environment that they come from. That way, we don’t have to think about how poverty, a poor education system, a lack of economic opportunities, unstable housing, or growing up in a neighborhood where you regularly witness community violence, all make it more likely that people will have a harmful relationship with drugs. In fact, it is these circumstances, not drug use, where African-Americans are disproportionately represented. Just as our environment affects our relationship with drugs, our environment is impacted when we use drugs in a harmful way. Responsibilities are ignored—work doesn’t get done, friends and family members are neglected or taken advantage of. But, we’ve tried to punish our way out of the harms caused by drugs for 100 years. And it hasn’t worked. Instead, escalating punishment and extreme isolation have exacerbated the harm. Much like drug use itself, punishment and isolation don’t just impact the individual. They damage the environment as well; they take the parent away from their child, remove brothers and sisters from families. By removing community members, we promote disconnection and thereby increase the likelihood of harmful drug use for the people left behind. Nowhere is the failure of our current approach more apparent than in the dramatic spike in drug overdose death. This issue is particularly timely, as August 31st was International Overdose Awareness Day. We can’t punish our way out of harms like overdose death. We need a better way. We need to shift away from focusing our energy on trying to eliminate drug use altogether. That is and always has been an unrealistic goal. Drugs have been used for thousands of years, across continents and cultures. Drugs are a part of our lives and we all have relationships with them. We need to focus on the harms we consider most egregious and address them instead. We’ve tried, what some would call, a tough love approach for too long. It’s time we just try love. We need to shift from seeing harmful drug use as an individual problem that we solve with punishment, to a community problem that we solve with healing. What does it mean to move away from punishment and to focus on healing? Focusing on healing means that we promote people’s ability to be healthy and safe, connected to a support system and in control of their lives. One approach that does just that, and is gaining traction, is called harm reduction. Harm reduction is the practice of using drugs in less risky ways. When we drink responsibly, we are practicing harm reduction. We eat food before drinking, drink water, we practice moderation and limit our total number of drinks, we don’t drive when we’ve had too much to drink. These are all harm reduction choices we regularly make. As we make harm reduction choices with alcohol, we can make similar choices with other drugs. If you never know there’s a safer way to do something, you’re more likely to make a harmful choice. Beyond this individual practice, harm reduction is a philosophy—a belief in the human rights of people who use drugs. Harm reduction promotes the idea that regardless of what a person puts in their body, they should not be denied their basic human rights. In the programs that I’ve worked for, we use harm reduction in a practice called Housing First. We don’t deny people access to the human right of housing simply because they use …