Bob David (BD): Bill, at age 84, you are about to retire as chaplain at Boston Medical Center. You’ve been there for 18½ years, which means you were around 65 when you came onboard. Can you give a rundown of your rich history and experience before then, which I understand was not without controversy? ...more

The atmosphere at CAB Health & Recovery Services and at other holding facilities for people facing alcoholism and addiction that I have spent time in is full of fear. A “waiting for death” syndrome engulfs the people there. Call them patients, residents, inmates, or detainees—regardless of the label, the experience is the same. I saw fear and dependence often during the six months I resided at CAB in 1997-98. I have seen it often when I have returned, as I still do occasionally, to carry the message of hope to the 170 or so men held there. ...more

Some of the most difficult yet profound experiences of my 65 years transpired during the course of five journeys I made to Africa. Four of them took me to Burkina Faso, where I spent many weeks among the Dagara people in the remote tribal village of Dano, near the border with Ghana. Because of its remoteness, the essential elements of the indigenous world had survived in this area despite some 500 years of European colonization. I went there with a teacher, Malidoma Somé, to immerse myself in the rudiments of that world. ...more

We who are in recovery are all good people. None of us prayed to be sick, none of us asked God for addiction.

The first gift I received was intervention. For some time, I had been drinking before going to work—fighting the nausea and gag reflex at the smell and taste—and drinking at work as well. My boss called me into the office; there sat the Rector of the parish, my Bishop, and our senior elected Lay Officer. My Bishop said, “I want you to go, do not worry about the cost, I want to see you well.” ...more

The convicts and I, a volunteer, sit in a circle in the prison. We do this every Thanksgiving. Eyes closed, we imagine sitting around a table in a clearing surrounded by a woods in which the parts of ourselves we have exiled live a furtive life.

We sense inside for any exile who might feel safe enough with us now to step out of the woods and join us at the feast. ...more

With the shift changing, the nurse was identifying us to her relief: "She is the social worker…the mother…the doctor from the Jimmy Fund…” Turning towards me, she said, “I'm sorry, I don't know who you are. Are you the father?"

"No, I'm just a friend."

“Just a friend”—what pitiful words. The girl lay dying in the intensive care unit of Children’s Hospital, surrounded by an awesome display of life-saving equipment. ...more