Sober Spirituality: The Joy of a Mindful Relationship with Alcohol

By Erin Jean Warde

Brazos Press, 192 pp.

Since reading Erin Jean Warde’s reflective and challenging book Sober Spirituality, I have noticed the presence of alcohol in my life in a different way. Just in my church-life, I’ve experienced: “sounds like a wine night” after a rough day; “start him right,” on allowing my child to take communion in both kinds; a decoration kit for a colleague’s work bridal shower including champagne glasses.

Alcohol—its existence itself, not to mention the social and individual practice of or reliance on—is everywhere, and the church is no exception. I am blessed to work in a Diocese that has examined and discerned our relationship with alcohol, in part because of the leadership of a bishop who is in recovery. There is always an “attractive non-alcoholic alternative beverage” at events, “wine and cheese” nights are renamed “fellowship gatherings,” and the doctrine of concomitance reigns supreme. Still, Erin Jean Warde’s book, rich in scripture and theological reflection, provoked questions, thoughts, drives, and in some cases, a bit of shame.

While the book’s intention is in no way meant to bring shame, it’s a common topic in Warde’s own journey. Warde is a priest and coach who has found life in sobriety not through the Big Book (AA’s program for recovery from alcoholism) or hitting rock bottom, no dramatic conversion or intervention here, but by allowing herself to be invited to the resurrection: a years-long, stop-and-start, examination of habit, mindfulness, and intention. Her journey to sobriety came not from shame-spiraling self-loathing, but radical self-love and a gradual belief in her worthiness to be loved. Turns out, knowing we are loved is easier without alcohol-induced shame.

While the specific topic of this book is alcohol, the themes are much broader. To collect my thoughts after turning the final page, I jotted down the themes I saw: shame, resurrection, numbing, self-love, healing, and church culture (Note, “alcohol” or “sobriety” didn’t make this list—the book is about more than that). “Resurrection’s not that big of a deal,” a friend quipped when I told them about this list, “we see it all the time.”

The book, as Warde writes in its dedication, is for those who have made the choice to say no to coping mechanisms in order to say yes to resurrection, in order to be in a position where we can see resurrection all the time (v). Alcohol, and it’s numbing, cocooning, blurring safety also numbs, cocoons, and blurs our relationship to ourselves, to God, and the glimpses of resurrection in our world. Joy requires truth, truth requires vulnerability, and vulnerability requires mindfulness and awareness that can’t be achieved in the haze of booze.

What a spiritual community needs to focus on, Warde argues, is an invitation to connection instead of isolation, to movement instead of stagnation, and to resurrection instead of entombment. Joy—alleluia-resurrection-Christ-is-risen joy—emerges from a thin place of self-forgiveness, acceptance, and compassion (76). The examination of church and community culture, including its use of alcohol, is vital to fostering such thin places.

Through stories, research, and theology, Warde asks us to consider our identity as Christians and Episcoplains in a culture steeped in alcohol. For example, is the church capable of truly examining our relationship with alcohol–and is the Episcopal church, that place of wine snobs and whiskey jokes?

When it comes to recovery and mindful drinking, an insistence on alcohol in worship and church culture means that what we claim to be inclusive (anti-temperance) is actually exclusive, Warde argues (14). A community’s architecture, rites, rituals, prayers, decorations, and resources reflect its beliefs, priorities, and values. What does it mean that we center our Holy Eucharist on what includes a big cup of wine on the altar? If we can offer a gluten-free wafer, why can’t we offer an alcohol-free chalice?

Warde reinterprets and contextualizes scripture as a reminder of their lessons of resurrection, not alcohol. She does this particularly powerfully in a chapter entitled “the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation: Placing Alcohol within Scripture in Its Proper Context.” The wedding at Cana? What’s important isn’t the wine, it’s the celebration, and Jesus’s abundance of blessing (55). The Last Supper? Contextually, it was probably a peasant’s wine he drank, a non-alcoholic version available to us today as mustum grape juice (54.) Proverbs, including Proverbs 23, wrestles with alcoholism, regret, and mindfulness around drinking in ways that are shockingly relevant (56). Pentecost’s revelation of God’s presence isn’t about drunkenness, but the divine’s power to cause massive confusion, movement, hope, and healing (57). The Eucharist is not about the bread and wine themselves, but an invitation to the sacramental and the palpable holiness offered to us through Jesus every day and every moment. In a gorgeous retelling of the Prodigal Son (“The Way the Father Waits”), Warde highlights addiction, reconciliation, and pure, pure grace (97). How could we even believe God is this loving?

Throughout the book, Warde teaches. Statistics on alcohol, addiction, drug use, and sobriety educate and sober. For instance, did you know in 2020 more people under 65 died from alcohol-related complications than Covid-19 (45, nyt citation)? Warde can explain neuroscience, data, and extensive research concisely and accessibly, but also provides prompts at the end of each chapter to connect it to the reader. Called “reflect and refresh,” we are invited to mindfulness in ways which apply to our daily practice, bodies, and spiritual lives. These are helpful, as there are so many one-off ideas or paragraphs that could generate entire series and books on their own.

While the book invites us to consider resurrection beyond our relationship with alcohol, I’m not sure I’d choose to read it outside of a structured discussion group. I’ve intentionally discerned my relationship with alcohol and chosen periods of abstinence, and I am comfortable with the way alcohol appears in my spiritual life (and am affirmed of this by my community.) If you are feeling sober-curious or are feeling called to explore your relationship with alcohol, this would be a great solo read. If not, a discussion or book group, especially in a faith community, seems like an appropriate context. Another weaker point in the book comes in the chapter on sobriety and liberation theology (137). While I am proud of its inclusion in the conversation around sobriety, it reads more as an added appendix or stand-alone essay than part of the book as a whole.

Sober Spirituality is not a memoir. It is not an essay collection, a textbook, a research thesis, a self-help book, or a sermon. This is not a call to abstinence from alcohol. Instead, Warde invites us to examine our relationship with that which stalls our vulnerability and mindfulness, including an individual and cultural reliance on alcohol. Being human does not mean residing exclusively in the dark night of the soul. To be cracked open, liberated from numbness, and mindful can be scary and raw. But it also is the way to connection, sacramental life, resurrection, and a newfound joy. With Sober Spirituality, Warde invites us to just that.