What if Church was like an AA meeting?

What if church was like Alcoholics Anonymous? That is a question that John Ortberg deals with in his book called Steps. This is the second of two book reviews I had to do in my graduate program last month. Both books were excellent. And they both speak to the need for leaders to focus more on becoming like Jesus and less on the busyness of life. I think Jesus told Martha that Mary chose the one thing that was needed. Let me know what you think.

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When one walks into an Alcoholics Anonymous (A.A,) meeting, before he or she speaks, they introduce themselves: “Hi, I’m Ron, and I’m an alcoholic.” If Pastor and author John Ortberg had his way, this is how we would do church: “Hi, I’m Ron, and I’m a sinner.” But this is only possible if “the people who attend [church] are willing to be more like alcoholics. Too desperate to hide, too humbled to judge; too weak to solo, too needy to skip” (p. 6). The difference between an A.A. meeting and a church service is that the folks who attend an A.A. meeting understand they have a problem. Ironically, AA meetings tend to meet in “church basements rather than in sanctuaries,” writes the author.

Upstairs people usually seem to have their lives together, while downstairs people are trying not to fall apart. But paradoxically, desperate and needy weakness is embraced and becomes the place of great power. That’s why folks in AA sometimes say that when you come to church, you can go upstairs and hear about miracles, or come downstairs and see them (p. 8).

Ortberg tells the story of a conversation he had with a long-time member of A.A. as he was beginning to study their system of recovery. He “told me that it would not be long before I would be jealous that I was not an alcoholic” (p. 8). What the man was saying is that having a known addiction is a blessing because you see your need. The person who has hit rock bottom clings to the acceptance he receives at AA and the ongoing honesty that members display to each other.

Ortberg creatively divides the steps of the famous twelve-step program for dealing with addiction into thirty-six bite-sized chapters. Each of the steps has three sections. It is ideal for devotional reading. One might wonder why Ortberg, a non-alcoholic, is recommending that Christians go through the twelve-step program. “AA got the Twelve Steps from the church,” claims the author, “And now the church needs them back” (p. 7). He quotes his mentor, Dallas Willard, who said the steps are “almost 100 percent borrowed from bright spots in the Christian movement” and laments that “they are not routinely taught and practiced by churches” (p. 6).

With many relatable anecdotes, he emphasizes the believer’s need to surrender to God’s will, conduct a fearless moral inventory, and seek reconciliation with those they’ve harmed by asking for forgiveness and extending it. As the book begins, we are introduced to the Fellowship of the Withered Hand. This stems from a time when he and his friend Paul ministered in Ethiopia. Ethiopia at that time was under Marxist rule, and the church was experiencing persecution. Paul’s text was the man with the withered hand (Mark 3:1-6). Paul focused on the part where Jesus told the man to “stand up in front of everyone” (v. 3) and “Expose your shame. Reveal your weakness.” (p. 12). To stretch out his hand would be to reveal his deformity, to show his weakness.  Leaders rarely open up about their weaknesses when they meet each other but on that hot day in Ethiopia, these pastors who were under great persecution shared honestly.

These leaders began to do what the man in the story did. They revealed their weakness. They cried out for help. They got up from their chairs and began to confess. They spoke of their fears of the government and of being arrested. They spoke of their jealousies of other people’s ministries or families or appearance or homes. They lamented deep inadequacy. They spoke of their bickering little churches (pp. 12-13).

He then Invites us to join the Fellowship of the Withered Hand, which begins with a prayer: “I admit that, despite all appearances, I am not fine” (p. 15). This is the beginning.

Once one realizes they have a problem, they must decide from whom they will receive help. A staple of A.A. is the belief in a higher power. Ortberg, being a Christian, points people to the God of the Bible. The next three subjects deal with developing faith in God. He encourages folks that it only takes a little bit of faith to please God. He outlines how many times Abraham doubted God: in Genesis 15, he is promised an heir from his own loins, but in Genesis 16, he makes a child with his wife’s servant, Hagar. Many years later, the Lord himself tells him that Sarah will have a child for him, and Abraham laughs in disbelief. And still, God praised Abraham for his faith. “And apparently that faith was good enough for God to be able to work with. Abraham was called a friend of God—not because he believed with certainty, but because he persisted in ambiguity” (p. 45). He ends this section on faith by helping readers develop a right view of who God is. Ortberg outlines different “attachments” to God: the secure, the anxious, the avoidant. We want to see that God is the place of security, but so often we see God is disappointed in us or even angry. Others see that God is not very interested in them. A psychologist whose expertise is in childhood development talks about the “still face” (p. 53). Imagine a child in the lap of a caregiver, but that caregiver is not allowed to show any expression. This negatively affects the child’s development. “Many people think of God as having a ‘still face’ that is best avoided,” (p. 54) states the author.

Ortberg wants us to see God like the father of the prodigal son—enthusiastically running out to meet him. He reminds us of the prayer that God gave Aaron, the brother of Moses, to speak over the children of Israel. In Exodus, the Israelites who grew up with an Egyptian understanding of the gods—fickle, not personable, dangerous—so they tell him, “Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die” (Ex 20:18–19).

A wonderful Invitation for this attachment style comes in the great blessing Aaron was to give Israel, especially in the phrase, “the LORD make his face shine on you” (Num 6:25). God is not a “still-face” God. When you see a joyful (and non-homicidal) grandparent beaming at their grandchild, it’s only a dim reflection of the divine face gazing on you (p. 54).

Next, the author challenges his readers to do an honest inventory of their lives. We are often eager to do an honest inventory of someone else’s life. “When it comes to house cleaning, my job is to clean my house. It’s not to clean your house. It’s also not to judge your house. God will not hold me accountable for your house” (p. 88). We can all relate to the following words at some level:

Alcoholics look at drug users: “At least I’m not a crackhead.” Drug users look at alcoholics: “At least I’m not a wino.” People addicted to porn say, “At least I’m not hooking up with prostitutes.” Church people look at unbelievers: “At least I’m not in trouble with God.” Unbelievers look at church people: “At least I’m not judgmental and superstitious.” The Pharisee in Jesus’ story says, “At least I’m not like that tax collector over there” (p. 89).

We must be like the sinner, not the Pharisee in Luke 18:9-14.

Ortberg encourages self-examination over introspection, which he says is “an emotional experience in regret” (p. 91). This is an exercise in order to learn about ourselves. Readers are warned that it will be painful. He uses the analogy of someone who doesn’t take care of their teeth. The longer it goes on, the more fearful he is to go to the dentist because of what he will find out.

Readers are encouraged that the benefits outweigh the pain.

“It makes us coachable. It breeds humility. We grow freer of self-deception. We become less hurtful to those we love. We have a new power to change. We are reassured of being loved by God no matter what. We have a deeper experience of grace. We become capable of closer relationships with others. We learn to trust God more” (p. 93).

In other words, it’s better to go to the dentist and find out the worst, than continue to allow your teeth to rot.

Readers will be tempted to start by thinking of everything they have done wrong, but Ortberg suggests beginning this inventory by going through one’s hurts and resentments. Resentment is “anger that lingers in investors over time” (p. 96). He notes that if you want to understand resentment, you can simply listen to a Taylor Swift song. Henry VIII started the English Reformation because he was offended that the pope would not recognize his annulment. Ortberg wants readers to consider their spouse, boss, or coach—and ask themselves how they have been slighted and hurt? While readers probably won’t have a personal beef with the pope, they might with their pastor. Then we must analyze how this affected us. What does it threaten in our lives? Ortberg suggests that “our self-esteem, our financial well-being, our security, or a personal relationship” (p. 96) may have taken a hit.

The next challenge is to analyze our fears. Are we afraid that we will not please God? Maybe you’re afraid that you will not receive the recognition you deserve? Write them down, encourages Ortberg. Most people have a fear connected to their personal finances, or they may wonder, Will my spouse remain faithful to me? He begins the chapter on fear by confessing that he thought his fears would dissipate as he got older, but they only increased. “I thought, as I grew older, I would also grow less afraid. It has not worked out that way” (p. 100). The reviewer can relate. Was I a good father? What could I have done differently in life? Will my grandchildren follow Jesus? Will I have money when I retire? These are the fears that wake you up at 3 AM. For all these things—our fears, our resentments, and the things that we’ve done wrong in life—the answer is God.

According to Jesus, what is “fixed” about us—what is established permanently and irrevocably—is not our talent but our worth. If we believe our talent is fixed and our worth is variable, we’ll live in fear. If we believe our worth is fixed and our talent is variable, we’ll live in growth (p. 106).

God deems us valuable to him.

Once you’ve taken your personal inventory, it’s time for confession. One of the most powerful stories in the book is the story of when he confesses everything he could possibly confess to his friend Rick. “When it was done, I felt embarrassment and shame. Naked. More vulnerable than I ever had been before,” says Ortberg. Rick responded, “John, I have never loved you more than I love you right now” (p. 119). The addict is like the prostitute in Luke 7, who understood her need to be forgiven, while many believers are like Simon the Pharisee, standing in judgment, not realizing their own need.

Coming in at more than three hundred pages, the book may fatigue the reader at times. That may be one reason that Ortberg chose smaller chapters. Most readers will not read it through in a few sittings, as the author did, but will take their time. The introduction, which discusses why the twelve steps are needed, was more compelling than the book itself. Ortberg could have provided more practical guidelines on how a church could implement this practice for non-addicts. By its very nature, the twelve-step program cannot be done in isolation.

The book Is closely aligned with the reviewer’s cognate of spiritual formation in his DMin program. Ortberg tells us that true spiritual power is not in cranking up our spiritual fervor but in honesty, humility, and surrender. Steps is not three simple keys to a better life, but twelve deep cuts into one’s soul, demanding that he or she reveal their true self to those around them. One does not finish the twelve steps, but they are a lifelong descent into humility and grace. The epilogue reveals a thirteenth step—dying sober. For the believer, death is victory; it is the beginning, not the end. The hope of this final step “reminds us that when we reach the end of our life, it will have been worth the grand struggle (p. 279).