I recently listened to an interview where the speaker provocatively said, “I don’t think we can understand MAGA until we understand the opioid crisis in the United States.”
As the speaker continued, he spoke about the pain people are in, but being God-fearing people, they don’t want to cause suffering or hate, so we let other people do it for us.
I never considered this. What I do know is that people are, indeed, in much pain. The amount of substance abuse and medicine we take to numb ourselves is not inconsequential.
I’ve been reflecting about all of this in the context of the men PEP serves in prison. One of the most transformative lessons there is that, to heal, you must face your pain—face what you’ve done and the harm it caused. And, in that process, they gain a kind of advantage: they become deeply attuned to their own pain.
This past Thursday, Christians around the world celebrated Maundy Thursday. Maundy – the “mandate” to wash the feet of others – to serve others. At my parish community that night, I saw this powerfully demonstrated. Instead of a scripted ceremony, everyone washed one another’s feet. Not just people they know, but people who were strangers. There was a raw, intimate service, an acknowledgment of shared humanity that went beyond familiarity. I was moved to near tears, and it took me a few minutes to figure out why.
Because people were being present to each other in a manner that was not comfortable, and yet it was. Service is what makes presence comfortable. Service, not medicine, is what ails our pain.
I think this what I see from the men I meet in prison. Through the program, which is also made up of many rituals, they learn to serve. And in the service, they are able to face their pain. And in facing their pain, they accept who they are, and who others are around them.