There Is Always a Seat for One More

“The only requirement for A.A. membership is a desire to stop drinking.”

I’ve always thought Tradition Three might be one of the most beautiful (and radical) things about Alcoholics Anonymous. Think about it for a moment.

Most of us arrived at our first meeting carrying far more than a drinking problem. We walked in carrying shame, fear, regret, guilt, and a lifetime of bad decisions. Many of us were convinced we didn’t belong anywhere, much less in a room full of sober people. Yet nobody met us at the door with a questionnaire. Nobody asked how many DUIs we had. Nobody asked how much money we made. Nobody asked what church we attended, who we voted for, or what mistakes we’d made. Instead, somebody usually pointed to a chair and said, “Glad you’re here.” What an incredible gift.

Tradition Three protects that gift.

AA could have created all kinds of requirements for membership. We could have decided that people needed a certain amount of honesty, willingness, or commitment before they were welcomed. We could have required sobriety milestones, good behavior, or agreement with certain ideas. Instead, our founders kept it simple.

Do you have a desire to stop drinking? Then pull up a chair. You belong here.

The longer I stay sober, the more I realize how important that simplicity is because alcoholics are rarely at their best when they first arrive. I think we can mostly agree that AA is not a hotbed of mental health (at least when we first come into the rooms). We come in scared. We come in angry. We come in confused. Sometimes we come in because a judge told us to. Sometimes we come in because our spouse gave us an ultimatum. Sometimes we come in not even sure we want to quit drinking.

The miracle isn’t that we arrive ready it’s that we’re welcomed anyway.

And if we’re not careful, we can forget that. After we’ve been around awhile, it can become easy to look at newcomers and start making judgments.

• “They aren’t serious.”
• “They keep relapsing.”
• “They don’t seem willing.”
• “They’re not working the program.”

Maybe.

But if we’re honest, many of us could have had those same things said about us. I know I could have. I certainly didn’t take it seriously at first. For those of you who’ve heard me tell my story, you’ve heard me say that when I came and saw the Steps shade on the wall, I was fully prepared to let YOU do the work, and I would just show up and let it seep in through osmosis.

Thank God nobody made perfection a requirement for membership. Thank God nobody decided I needed to earn my seat. Recovery is not built on worthiness. It’s built on willingness. Sometimes even a tiny bit of willingness.

Tradition Three reminds us that our job isn’t to decide who belongs. Our job is to keep the door open for the next suffering alcoholic. That’s exactly what somebody did for us.

• Somebody answered the phone.
• Somebody made the coffee.
• Somebody set up the chairs.
• Somebody shared honestly about their own struggles.
• Somebody created a place where we could walk in and not feel alone.

Today, we get to do the same thing for someone else.

Every meeting has an empty chair somewhere. Whether it’s visible or not, it represents the alcoholic who hasn’t arrived yet. The person who is still suffering. The person who is wondering if recovery is possible. The person who is convinced nobody will understand.

Tradition Three says we save that seat for them.

• Not because they’ve earned it.
• Not because we know they’ll stay.
• Not because they’ll get it right the first time.

But because recovery was freely given to us.

And the best way to honor that gift is to keep passing it on. After all, there is always a seat for one more.

In love & service,