Wisdom Growler

Yesterday was the 3rd Anniversary celebration of St. Boniface, a nano-brewery in Ephrata, Pa. I met a buddy and his friend up at the brewhaus in the afternoon to drink a couple of beers, talk about beer, and discuss other pertinent matters. OK, we mostly talked about beer. I ran into my former pastor at the event and I mentioned to him that I had seen on his Church's website that he noted that one of his hobbies is enjoying craft brews. Ah, us Reformed Presbyterians, following Luther and Calvin in our libations. It was a lovely late winter afternoon as we sat outside close to the propane heater that we all attempted to get close to without violating each others' personal space.

After two beers, a heavy and a light one, I called it an afternoon and went one my way. I really enjoyed the two beers and felt no urge to drink more, even when I came home and settled down to watch a film. I was recovering from what appeared to be food poisoning from consuming an under-cooked rotisserie Costco chicken drumstick that I ate in haste as I unpacked enough goods Thursday night to last me until May. I shop once a season at Costco and then throw in a couple of smaller strategic visits to buy items like seltzer which I am addicted to pretty much. Since I was bouncing back from bad chicken or a passing flu bug that came and went quickly, I hadn't drank any alcohol on Friday night. It is usually a given that I will consume a few beers Friday night after a hard week of work. The week was particularly difficult due to the semester change and all of snow cancellations. Essentially, we are going seriously into June with make-up days to get to 180.

So, I decided to take it easy this weekend beer-wise and as of now 5:00 on Superbowl Sunday, I have had only two beers all weekend. Which is the least amount consumed on a weekend since I had my appendix ruptured last January where I was on a nasty antibiotic for a couple of weeks and alcohol was verboten. I may have two beers tonight. I am trying to hit the golden mean of "Two and Through."

To top of a near-Temperance weekend, I watched a film last night titled Being Flynn where aging actor Robert De Niro plays an alcoholic would-be writer who ranks himself up there with J.D. Salinger and Mark Twain. Throughout the film, he speaks often of his soon-to-be completed literary masterpiece to his estranged son who he has not seen in 18 years. Fate brings them together in a Homeless shelter where the Dad hits rock bottom but hardly awakens to his alcoholism and where the son works. The son, a would-be writer himself, battles his own demons of addictions, partially arising out of the suicide of his mother who was left to deal with the wreckage that the old man had wrought. It is based on a true story and does have redemption of sorts at the end where the son gets literary acclaim and the Dad cedes that the son has outshone him with words.

All in all, it was a pretty depressing tale and I watched it straight, no-chaser. It reminded me of an event several years ago where I was hanging out with a friend on the 4th of July. We were supposed to go to some singles picnic in the afternoon but in the morning I needed to help my buddy move out the belongings of a man who had been renting a room in his house and fallen off the wagon again and disappeared from sight. As we carried the drunkard's belongings out to the curb for the garbage man to haul to the trash heap, I pondered how much the man had lost due to his tragic love affair with alcohol. As we got closer to moving it all out, what remained was a cork board on the wall with a picture of his daughter. I told my buddy that I just didn't have the hard heart to throw that away and could he save it perchance the man would return one day.

As I considered writing this blog post today, I heard and read that gifted actor Philip Seymour Hoffman had died of an apparent heroin overdose. I then listened to a podcast of his where he had been interviewed on NPR's Fresh Air soon after completing a recent film called Doubt. He noted to host Terry Gross that he found little enjoyment in two glasses of wine...why not the whole bottle?" He laughed sadly a bit...a year or two later in 2013 he went in Rehab for the second time but it apparently didn't stick like the needle in his arm. His mom too was a single parent, like the son in Being Flynn. The sins of the father often haunt the sons, and the cycles of destruction repeat. PSH leaves behind three young children, now fatherless.

In the church service today, a song video played that essentially hammered home the uselessness of legalism to combat such contagion. A key line that stuck with me was "Don't teach me about moderation and liberty. Just give me a shot of grape juice." So here I am dealing with all of these conflicted thoughts regarding the raw destruction of addictions where it would be too easy to either ignore the warnings of danger or put down and smash the growler which God freely gives as an expression of His goodness. The Legalist rants about the Demon Rum and the Licentious run with the Demon Rum.

But, then I reflect upon yesterday...two beers among good friends. No more than two beers, no less. Enough. Enough. Enough.