A Different Perspective

For the last fifteen years of my mother’s life she was in a wheelchair. The relentless progression of Multiple Sclerosis changed every aspect of her life, and ours. Monday was the anniversary of her death and of course I was thinking about her off and on through the day.

Remembering things we did together, adventures that were just silly and fun helped balance the sadness that remains even now. I remembered one afternoon when we went to lunch at 99, her favorite place. The hostess seated us at a table where mom could sit at the end in her wheelchair. Our server came over and handed me a menu and completely ignored my mother. I handed my mother my menu and the server caught on and gave me another one. A few minutes later she came over to take our order. I told her what I wanted and then she asked me, “What does she want?”  I replied, “I don’t know ask her.” The server leaned over and, in a voice the whole restaurant could hear asked, “What can I get for you today?” My mother responded, “I’m not deaf, at least I wasn’t when I came in here.”

Scenes like this were repeated in some form just about everywhere we went. My mother often blew it off and said it didn’t bother her. It seriously pissed me off. I never missed a teachable moment. It was usually delivered with varying degrees of sarcasm and snark, two of my specialties. I was constantly reminded of the assumptions people make when they see someone in a wheelchair. She must be deaf as a post, blind as a bat and unable to string words together to make sentences. Of course, none of this was true; my mother was an articulate and gracious communicator with a wicked sense of humor.

Beyond the social gaffes that people with disabilities tolerate every day from clueless and insensitive people, there is a deeper issue to tease out. For people of faith the question is, how much of our theology is built around the assumptions of ableism? People see handicapped and differently-abled people as a source of pity or a prayer project. Our family appreciated the prayers of others, especially as her disease progressed. Some people, though, prayed for a cure, prayed for her to walk again, prayed that her vision would improve. In truth, none of these things were going to happen. Eventually this bitch of a disease would end her life. The pity prayers of others that made them feel better did nothing for my mother or our family.

The theology of ableism sees the handicapped as broken or “less than.” This is reflected in worship and theology despite the efforts churches have made to make sanctuaries more accessible. Most churches have some sort of ramp and a place where wheelchairs can be parked. Interestingly, those places are either at the very front of the sanctuary where the person is on display, or the very back, which prevents the person from seeing anything. I once suggested to the trustees of a church that they cut the ends off a few pews to make room for wheelchairs. They were almost apoplectic. It made it worth showing up for the meeting. Churches would rather maintain the aesthetics of their worship spaces than make them truly welcoming to all.

Making worship spaces comfortable and accessible to people who are differently abled is a spiritual duty. Making worship accessible to a wide range of populations with differing abilities is one way of being open and affirming. Churches routinely say that all are welcome. Then people are greeted by the absence of large print bulletins or other aids for low vision people, no sign language interpreters, and no spaces where those who are overstimulated by loud noises can find respite. Even passing the peace and the forced touch it involves can be triggering to someone with social anxiety or a trauma history.

Oftentimes people with disabilities opt out of church all together because they feel there is no place for them in the community.

The biggest issue, though, is attitude. Seeing someone who is disabled triggers a whole set of assumptions that are rooted in our own ableism. Being able is better than being disabled. Rooting out that assumption that lives deep within is a spiritual duty. People who are disabled are vehicles of God’s grace and love just as much as those who able. Instead of looking at them as defective, we need to view them as people who can teach us and lead us to different understandings of what it means to be human.

We can learn to read scripture differently. The bible is full of people who had some sort of disability. Moses was “slow of speech and of tongue.” Elijah struggled with depression; Jacob walked with a limp; Eli was blind; and Paul had a constant thorn in his side. The prophet Micah declares that God shall take the lame and the afflicted and make them the remnant, the beginning of a strong nation. The book of Ephesians declares that we are God’s workmanship. It says nothing about only the able bodied being included.

Confronting our theological ableism is the first and most important step to becoming accepting people and becoming a truly open and affirming community.