I’ve been worried about one of the houses where I conduct Resilient Recovery Groups. At one time, things were going so well that the owner volunteered to financially support the ministry. That felt great!

What hasn’t felt so great is the way the group has gone for the last 4 -6 weeks. First COVID hit the home and I was unable to see my peeps for two weeks. When the COVID outbreak passed, something had changed.

The group was in disarray—fractured and full of anger at the staff.

I should back up a step and explain how things work in this group. The residents from 3 other houses descend on one house to have a conjoint Resilient Recovery Meeting. This usually would mean that we’d have 10-12 people in group—and a decent portion of them took the group seriously and was engaged.

After the outbreak, the residents were often late. And once in the house, they puttered around rather than immediately forming up in a circle. Fluid starting times cause me anxiety.

One man fell asleep in the meeting. Two others declared they needed to the use bathroom and walked out of the meeting. In the sharing portion of the meeting, the majority of people chose to pass rather than share their thoughts. I could also hear one resident in the other room loudly explaining why his tribe rejects Christianity in all its forms. As if that wasn’t enough, the clients wanted to use the meeting as a place to air out their complaints about the staff and the treatment program.

It was chaos.

Chaos causes me anxiety.

But anxiety sometimes brings clarity. In these moments, I try to find one simple question. I sift through what I am experiencing looking for the signal in the noise. In this case, the signal-finding question was this: Do they want the group, or don’t they? Any and everything else is irrelevant until that question is answered.

The meeting today started out exactly how I worried it would. I tried to bring up the idea of informed consent and to let people know no one would be forced to attend. No one engaged with what I was saying. Instead, a wall of noise went up:

• They talk about us in their African language and laugh

• They searched my room and took away my tools. My tools aren’t weapons

• They say I am “the ring leader.” How can I tell these people what to do? I am no ring leader.

• They knew about my knife when I came into the house. Now all of a sudden it’s contraband

• Nobody here understands that we are alcoholics and that we’ve had trauma. We’ve been raped. We might have even killed somebody. They don’t know where we are coming from.

• Who is that white lady that comes here? I don’t even know what her role is?

It was chaos. And chaos causes me anxiety. But, within 10 minutes, I watched the rabble settle down.

How the settling took place isn’t immediately obvious to me. But a couple of factors seemed to play a role. In the middle of this noisy complaint-filled protest, the owner walked in. There seemed to be a modicum of respect for him. One of the residents said that I was different from the rest of the staff because I explained my role and shared my battles. I knew one of the women quite well from my trips to a small Apache town in the White Mountains. She suggested she wanted to have the meeting. I let people know that if they didn’t want to attend, or if they were too sleepy, I would gladly shake their hand and wish them well. No one needs to attend on my account.

I got that calm feeling that comes with clarity. They either want the group, or they don’t. And there comes a time in every do-gooder’s life and ministry when you have to be willing to lose. If you want recovery more than the people you are working with, you’ll get chewed up. You won’t last. This was that moment for me.

They either want the group, or they don’t.

The pressure left the room like air from an inflatable mattress. The owner said in his regal African English—that unmistakable British-infused English spoken all over the continent—,”Let’s haave Ahwah grrroup wit Chjason. And. After. Wee wheel discuss house-keeping is-uses.”

Workbooks were passed out and we had a great group. My two favorite moments:

• The man who couldn’t believe that Jesus forgave his sins. It was a bridge too far-a grace too fantastic to believe. I love that moment because it is often followed by the shocking, transformative realization that it really is true after all. All of it.

• The woman who during her turn said she wanted to drink a can of beer or two now and then to relax—but not blackout or cause problems. By the end of her turn, she had heard herself out loud and found her own thinking a sad mystery. “I know that I shouldn’t be thinking like that.” I love moments like that, too. Once someone loses faith in their own intellect, they get the meaning of this set of verses from proverbs:

5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
6 in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.

It’s these moments that make recovery work a challenging, rewarding, humbling experience. The paradox is that the only way to get the experience is to be ready to say, “either they want the group, or they don’t.” You have to be willing to hear “No.” Forcing unwilling residents to participate in the group is a soul-losing proposition. But, be willing to lose your group, and you may find it.

25For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. 26What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?