Features
Ecstatic communion
Rob Clements
Working alongside heroin addicts in inner-city Dublin,
Rob Clements recognised unexpected parallels
with his own religious experience. Here he ponders how a good drugs
policy must engage with liturgy.
The ritual unfolds with meticulous care. Like a priest preparing
for communion, he lays out the paraphernalia of transcendence upon
the table and begins to mix the elements. Instead of a cross, he
removes the silver spoon hanging around his neck and heats the
bubbling liquid in it carefully, purging it of all impurity. In
place of a lavabo bowl and towel, antiseptic swabs ensure
cleanliness before the consecration of the elements. Finally, with
the tourniquet tightened like a cilice, he is ready for the moment
when all boundaries disappear…
Liturgical practices appear in unlikely places. Before I began my
own journey as an Anglican ordinand with a vocational investment in
the theatre of the liturgical life, I worked with a project for
low-threshold drug users in inner-city Dublin. I became fascinated
by the parallels between their world and mine – the way we both
sought transcendence through ritual, albeit in very different ways.
On reflection, the link was not particularly surprising. Emile
Durkheim argued that even ‘the most bizarre and barbarous rites and
the strangest myths all translate to some human need and some
aspect of life, whether individual or social’1. Liturgy involves
bringing into consciousness deep truths about human nature.
UNEASY ECHOES
I don’t find the link between religion and drug use particularly
interesting or compelling, although there have been many instances
of drug fuelled religious experience. The association feels like
lazy spirituality; the property of those who want to experience the
transformation of the self without the type of work that makes such
shifts in consciousness authentic.
However, if patterns of drug use echo the liturgical and
ritualistic practices common in the community of religious faith,
this has implications for those working in drug services or those
who support friend and family members experiencing addiction. It
also has some bearing on how we interpret liturgy’s relationship to
human self understanding.
One of the groundbreaking studies into heroin use is Avril
Taylor’s study into the practices of injecting drug users (IDUs) in
Scotland2. This involved the ethnographic filming of 30 injecting
drug users whilst they injected at home and in outside locations.
The images are difficult to watch. The aim was to examine the
injecting practices of injecting drug users with a specific focus
on Hepatitis C transmission – and the report significantly informed
the Scottish Government’s policy and harm reduction strategies. But
Taylor’s study also provides clear evidence of liturgical acts,
seen in the nature of preparation, the reification of the host
substance, and the cultic use of paraphernalia.
SPECIAL TERMS
As with the religious use of liturgy, there is evidence of special
language (‘score’, ‘hit’), sacred space (the gathering around the
table where the objects are placed, the necessity of privacy),
special movements, gestures and gesticulations (the presentation of
veins, the disposal of works), and even special roles (the more
experienced drug user would go first or help others with the
process of administration). Although there are often signs of
desperation in the preparation and administration process caused by
chemical withdrawal, liturgical exactitude and reverential care are
regularly placed around the substance (host).
The paraphernalia required – such as preparation surface,
acidifier, water, heat source, spoon, filter, needle, tourniquets
and swabs – take on particular sacred properties, carrying meaning
beyond its function. John-Paul Grund notes that observing parts of
the drug preparation and administration sequence may elicit
specific thoughts and feelings in the intravenous drug users3.
Even the sight of disposed drug paraphernalia can have such
effects. They are ritual symbols for a state of consciousness with
meaning beyond their appearance or utility. Similar things may be
said of the use of paraphernalia in the religious setting, for
example the step-by-step dressing of the Eucharistic table has the
scope to draw the believer into a state of spiritual consciousness
in preparation for consumption. If the table is not dressed in a
particular way, or without care or if particular objects are
missing or misplaced, people’s state of spiritual consciousness can
be affected. And it may be functional to move the altar for the
larger sound system, but at what cost to the sacred meaning of the
worshippers?
HEAVEN AND HELL
This is not to say that all forms of liturgical expression are
equal. Some forms of liturgical expression have the power to
positively engage, inspire and transform those who participate in
them. Other forms represent the demoniac whereby the human person
is disrupted and negated. If what we do liturgically shapes us and
how we engage with the world, then what we do liturgically
matters.
If good liturgy is a foretaste of heaven; bad liturgy is a
foretaste of, well … the other place. In the case of drug rituals,
there is an absence of a divine being as the purpose of liturgical
action. And yet the language of transcendence and mysticism is
common in drug culture, for example, ‘chasing the dragon’.
And drug users often identify the ritual of injecting (not just
the drug itself) as part of their ‘high’. Grund describes the
experience of an intravenous drug user who goes through the entire
ritual process of injecting, even though he is injecting a drug
substance so weak that it has no chemical impact4. Likewise,
although finer needles promote better vein care, practitioners may
prefer needles that are less safe, because those needles are part
of their drug use rituals.
Indeed, individuals who achieve drug free status often indicate
that it is not only the drug that they miss, but the associated
rituals. A common reason for relapse is the liturgical vacuum left
through drug cessation. Intravenous drug users may expend as much
energy in the liturgy of addiction as in the substance itself. In
effect the ritual becomes as much a part of the addiction as the
chemical.
LITURGY STRATEGIES
So what are the implications of a liturgical interpretation of
injecting drug use practices? Well, if the actions we perform in
the realm of symbols have significant bearing on how we live, then
a liturgical interpretation of drug use practice offers strategies
for harm reduction and even for drug cessation.
If attention is given to the liturgical aspects of the ‘whole
event’ of drug consumption, then strategies can be put in place to
address aspects of intravenous drug use that are particularly
harmful. A positive finding from Taylor’s study is that there was
little evidence of needle sharing, though certainly there were
multiple instances of risky sharing of other paraphernalia, for
example, water, filters, etc. This had significant risk for public
health. To change behaviours, changes need to be made to the
liturgical patterns used.
In the instance of needle sharing, a positive information
campaign on the risk associated with needle sharing helped. However
another key strategy was to make needle/syringes widely available.
By making needles/syringes less scarce, and by taking possession of
them from a select few and giving them to all who need them, the
liturgical process is transformed as paraphernalia is
universalised.
Rather than one person becoming the administrator (or priest) of
the needle, all users are provided with the necessary instruments.
Injectors are therefore empowered to use their own needles rather
than rely on another needle that might carry infection.
A liturgical interpretation also challenges an exclusively
medical model of drug detoxification. While it is necessary to
address the chemical aspects of withdrawal, liturgical insights
suggest that this is not adequate. Individuals may have their
chemical withdrawals addressed, but still remain addicted to the
drug use rituals.
Faith communities may have a pastoral role in facilitating
access to new liturgies and rituals that address some of the needs
met by the liturgical aspects of drug use. If liturgy as Arens
suggests, is ‘communal, world-dislocating, reality-ordering, and
reality-changing’5, then are there rituals we can offer to people
in detox when they feel the need to use?
Lessons can be learned from Alcoholics Anonymous which uses
quasi-religious forms for the well-being of its members. Are there
symbols that can be used to foster positive group identity (like
the circle and triangle used by AA), or prayers that can be
specifically procured (AA uses the serenity prayer)? Is there
a litany for recovering addicts just waiting to find its way into
our prayer book? Might we put prayer beads in the ex-user’s
syringe case or develop a recovery Mass?
This requires liturgical imagination, but then again, good
liturgy should always be seeking to create.
1 Emile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious
Life (New York: Free Press, 1912), p2.
2 Avril Taylor, Alex Fleming, Jeanne Rutherford & David
Goldberg, ‘Examining the Injecting Practices of Injecting Drug
users in Scotland’, (Scottish Executive Effective Interventions
Unit, 2004).
3 John-Paul Grund, Drug Use as a Social Ritual:
Functionality, symbolism and determinants of self-regulation
(DrugText: International Substance Use Library, 1993), downloadable
at www.drugtext/Table/Drug-use-as-a-social-ritual/ p.71.
4 Grund, Drug Use as a Social Ritual, p.70.
5 Edmund Arens, ‘Religion as Ritual, Communicative, and
Critical Praxis’, in Mendieta, Eduardo (ed.) The Frankfurt School
on Religion: Key writings by the major thinkers (Routledge: New
York and London, 2005): 387.