Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts

Monday, 19 December 2011

Rev. Sam Shoemaker, Early Friend of AA



Standing At The Door:

Sam Shoemaker's Classic 12 Step Poem
about carrying the message of hope.
Sam Shoemaker (1893-1963), was an Episcopal priest instrumental in the Oxford Group and in the founding principles of Alcoholics Anonymous.  Bill Wilson,  in AA Comes of Age, (p.39) refers to  Sam Shoemaker as a co-founder of AA:
                                    It was from Sam Shoemaker, that we absorbed most of the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics  Anonymous, steps that express the heart of AA’s way of life. Dr. Silkworth gave us the needed  knowledge of our illness, but Sam Shoemaker had given us the concrete knowledge of what we could do about it, he passed on the spiritual keys by which we were liberated. The early AA got its ideas of self-examination, acknowledgment of character defects, restitution for harm done, and working with  others straight from the Oxford Group and directly from Sam Shoemaker, their former leader in America, and from nowhere else.
Rev. Shoemaker wrote over thirty books, at least half of which were circulating before A.A.’s 12 Steps were first published in the Big Book in 1939. Shoemaker’s books were circulated in New York, Akron, and the Oxford Group.


I found this poem in the back of a little volume  borrowed from a church basement library.  I was completely taken with this poem, and can barely get through  it without tearing up.  I feel like we are also standing at the door.


I Stand at The Door
by R. Sam Shoemaker
I stand by the door.
I neither go too far in, nor stay too far out,
The door is the most important door in the world-
It is the door through which people walk when they find God.
There’s no use my going way inside, and staying there,
When so many are still outside and they, as much as I,
Crave to know where the door is.
And all that so many ever find
Is only the wall where a door ought to be.
They creep along the wall like blind people,
With outstretched, groping hands.
Feeling for a door, knowing there must be a door,
Yet they never find it …
So I stand by the door.