You know, having ministered in churches and bars and homeless shelters and hospitals, it’s not the barflies who scare me.

I worry most for the people who drink at home,
for those who drink in secret and alone,
for those who excuse their excess because they don’t have to drive anywhere,
for those who aren’t concerned with artistry or flavor or good company,
for those who are focused on just one thing:
forgetting the world in a bottle.
These aren’t the people who “relax with a drink”;
they’re the ones who can’t relax without one.
These are the folks I fear for, and sure, I’ve met quite a few of them in bar ministry and in homeless ministry, but I actually encountered them most regularly in churches, and I see them at their lowest in hospitals.
You see, contrary to popular belief, not all drunks wind up homeless,
and not all homeless folks are on the street because of drinking.
Alcoholism is a disease which can afflict any social station,
but more insidious,
alcoholism is a disease that convinces you it’s not a disease,
and that’s why I drink so carefully.

I drink publicly
because the drinks you see me consume in public
are the only drinks I consume.

I never lose count of my drinks because I never have to count beyond “two” on a given night. And if I don’t like the taste of something, I don’t finish it. After all, why waste one of my only two drinks that night on something I don’t like?

I never engage in drinking games or competitions
because these are far more likely to ruin a night than enhance it.
I get to know bartenders, and I appreciate the artistry of each drink
so the drinks don’t just become a means to drunkenness–
they’re to be sipped and savored and appreciated,
not poured and guzzled and regurgitated.

And look, I get that my ability to do all this is a form of privilege.
Substance abuse often has genetic roots, and it frequently accompanies other mental health issues. For many people, even one drink is too many, and I have deep respect for those who either choose to abstain or must abstain. I always want to be an ally to them, but since this intention is probably the most misconstrued thing about the whole Bar Chaplain project, let me state this plainly:

I’m not going into churches and telling people to drink with me;
I’m going into breweries and bringing a little church with me.
I’m not getting hymn singers to drink beer;
I’m getting beer drinkers to sing hymns.
I’m not getting the theologians tipsy;
I’m getting tipsy people to explore theology.
I don’t drink to get drunk.
I teach and practice moderation.
I always have. I always will.
And if my minimal use of alcohol makes you uncomfortable or outraged, that’s okay. There are literally thousands of other ministries out there for you. I will happily help find a good fit for you, after which you should block my posts so you aren’t constantly seeing things that tempt you or anger you or remind you of past mistakes.
If you need to abstain from alcohol, that’s fine. In fact, it’s good!
But please don’t go around acting like everyone else has to as well.

I practice moderation,
but for those who must abstain,
I’m on your side and at your side.
If one drink is too much for you, I affirm your choice to have none,
and as I’ve said before on this blog, if you’re scared to be the only person in the room not drinking, I’ll happily join you in abstaining that night.

I believe alcohol should be a social custom and nothing more.
When it starts to inhibit social interaction,
when it isolates us,
when it keeps people at home,
when it puts people in hospitals,
it’s time to stop.
And if we’re drinking by ourselves at home, we’re less likely to realize when we’ve crossed the line.

So let the drinks you have in public be the only drinks you have,
and if this goal isn’t possible,
it’s better not to drink at all.