Let’s look in on a family whose children might live with fetal alcohol, autism spectrum, or mental health conditions. After the supreme effort of getting their family to church without an explosion, parents try to police rowdy children squirming and fighting in the church pew. Embarrassment that their family doesn’t look or act like those around them makes focusing on worship difficult. Parents shout silently to God, “Where are you?” while a cheerful worship service offers too little help for coping with daily crises or finding God in the mounting chaos in their home.
As we look around our faith communities gathered for worship on Sunday morning, chances are, we see few people with disabilities. One reason is that we can’t see many hidden disabilities that are present. Another is that we don’t always see the barriers we have built and the people they have excluded. Our programs and practices can keep out families like the one described above, or push them to the margins. Visible barriers, such as a flight of stairs or a narrow doorway, can be expensive to fix, but are relatively straightforward. Taking down hidden barriers may not cost money, but judgmental attitudes, unwillingness to change, or lack of welcome often go unnoticed.
If we don’t see inability first, but rather a person’s ability to contribute to our community of faith, it frees us to see and welcome the vulnerability in our own lives.
Could the Apostle Paul have been thinking about people with disabilities when he wrote, “The members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable”? (1 Cor 12:22). How would it be different if the body of Christ lived out Paul’s claim? Would people with disabilities find warm hospitality in faith communities? Would disability concerns be less easily crowded out by urgent priorities?
When the church embodies Paul’s claim that those who seem weak are indispensable, we begin to see that the people we thought were weak bring a treasured presence to our community life. We learn that a person’s gifts and passions are far more important than what the person cannot do.
If we don’t see inability first, but rather a person’s ability to contribute to our community of faith, it frees us to see and welcome the vulnerability in our own lives.
As we seek to live out a belief that people with disabilities are indispensable, we look for ways that they can share hard-won expertise. We respect their voices, whether clear or hard to hear. We listen patiently and deeply, allowing our friends with disabilities to teach us about the world they live in. We learn the joys of living in the moment, finding a new normal, and seeing God in ordinary life. Knowing sisters and brothers who live with disability lessens our fear of having a child or grandchildren with a disability, of losing our independence, of having our hidden failings come to light.
The congregation that knows, really knows, this truth—those who seem weak are indispensable—is a community that sees gifts first, values every child of God, looks for barriers, and takes them down.
This truth allows us to unite around the faith we share. It allows our differences to fade in importance. In the redeemed community of believers, all who share life in Jesus Christ find it is safe to be ourselves. Those we once thought weak have gifts to share that enrich the whole body of Christ. May God’s spirit and grace guide us to such a vision.
Christine Guth is Program Director for Anabaptist Disabilities Network. This article first appeared in Mennonite World Review in 2012.
