When I began studying theology through higher education decades ago, I certainly never imagined that I would emerge all these years later as a voice for the addicted. I started the journey with an insatiable thirst for God, and, at the time, theology seemed like the next step toward growing closer to Him. Back then, theology meant “faith seeking understanding” in the academic and ecclesial sense. Like many people, I struggled to integrate my faith with the day-to-day realities of my life.

I felt confident that if I knew the doctrine, the prayers, and the Gospels, I would be heading in the direction God intended. This seemed to me the essence of holiness: pursuing God through the Sacraments, prayer, academic endeavors, retreats, and much theological reflection on the Scriptures and the writings of saints and great theologians. I think God admired my valiant efforts, and He rewarded me with suffering. I descended to the depths of despair as a loved one became addicted to prescription pills. This was a seemingly messy, unholy problem that I assumed would interfere with my tidy spiritual journey.

I continued praying and studying as best I could, reading Saint Augustine’s Confessions, Saint Ignatius of Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises, and many other renowned theological writings, which began to speak to me in new and more earthly ways. At the same time, I pursued education certification in alcohol and drug counseling, where I learned of the biopsychosocial-spiritual complexities of substance abuse and addiction. I read the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book along with countless other scientific and spiritual books about substance abuse and addiction, while simultaneously reading the Bible and realizing in new ways Jesus’ love for the outcast.

Seeking understanding and comfort I could not find in the Church, I started attending “open” Twelve Step meetings of every sort (AA, NA, CA, HA, MA), where suffering people hid in shame from those they deemed more worthy than themselves. These were people from all walks of life: doctors, lawyers, mothers, fathers, and clergy, both young and old, who shared similar experiences in their battles with addiction. In these rooms, all were supported by others who understood their pain and the agony of their affliction. If they accepted, they were offered guidance and someone to accompany them on the faith and healing journey.

I wondered how these modern-day lepers could feel anything less than mercy from the faithful in the pews as they shared their honest and heartfelt stories while hidden in church basements, just beneath the floor where the tabernacle sat alone in an empty church -- a tabernacle that bears the presence of the One who died for the very likes of these. I began to observe Jesus’ humanity in the Gospels in ways that were more relevant for today than I previously could have imagined, especially in light of all those who are suffering from addictions.

In retrospect, I realized that I came to understand and live my faith the only way I could — by walking the path of suffering. My circumstances forced me beyond the comfortable walls of the church and into the streets, where I encountered the lost sheep and the prodigals, bringing to life the true depth of Father’s compassion when the prodigal returned and my call to act with the same compassion (Luke 15:20). I entered the walls of a prison where God’s call to proclaim freedom to those who are captive bellowed (Isaiah 61:1). I experienced the humiliation, shame, and pain that families endure when a loved one spirals into the depths of the hell that is addiction.

These proved to be grace-filled lessons in humility that I never could have learned in books. Through these trials, I realized that knowledge about my faith doesn’t happen only in the mind; it occurs within a heart that has been tried, tested, and refined by the fire (Zechariah 13:9). Knowing God means sharing in His sufferings and becoming like Him in His death (Philippians 3:10). Being a disciple of Christ means following Christ (Mark 8:34) who “came to seek and save the lost” (Luke 19:10).

There are so many suffering. May we rise as a Church, the people of God, to bring the Light of Christ, the mercy and compassion of God, and the faith, hope, and love of the Holy Spirit into the darkness of the addiction and overdose epidemic.