Whew. I made it. Part 5-ish. I don't know how some bloggers manage to do this every. single. day. Kudos to those who do! I've learned a lot from writing this little series and I'm so grateful for the discussion it's sparked. I hope we'll keep on discussing and talking and thinking and engaging. Community-ing, if you will.
Defining disability - Part 1
The kinship of disability - Part 2
A proper response to disability - Part 3
Learning from disability - Part 4
Anyway, so all week long I've been talking about what the church can and needs to do for those with disabilities. But as with most things in life, it's a two-way street, you know. Those of us who do live with disabilities cannot just stand around, waiting to be served. My friend Carin commented on one of my earlier posts and I thought she made a great point:
"Disabled" people also need to get involved and do things they are gifted and able to do. ... [W]e who are viewed as "disabled" have a responsibility to become involved and serve as well. And it need not be only in the area of our "disability" as you said. For example, as a deaf person, I am still able to serve my church family in many ways - not only the deaf - but my CHURCH FAMILY (all of them!). There are some things that I am not able to do well because of my hearing loss, but there are many other things I CAN do to serve. I need to do some of them and not just sit back with the attitude that "oh I am deaf..."
People with disabilities are often just as guilty of perpetuating division within the church by demanding this service or that accommodation, or by sequestering themselves with people who are like them. I know that sometimes I am tempted to think that because I have a disability that my suffering is more unbearable than someone else's, or that I am worthy of more attention because of it. But that is not true at all. Disabled or not, we are all sinners in need of a Savior and ought to serve one another in light of that truth. When I look at a brother or sister, I shouldn't see their able bodies and be jealous or angry; instead, I should see someone who needs Christ just as much as I do. The cross is an equalizer in that there is no room for superiority or inferiority in the Body - we are all disabled in soul before the Lord.
Something else that I'm tempted to do is to claim that I have nothing to contribute to the Body or that I'm worthless to serve because I can't hear everything. But when I do that, I buy into the lie that hearing loss defines me instead of embracing the truth that the gospel does. It's true that I can't hear everything and that there will just be some areas where I cannot serve. For example, you'll never see me help lead worship and I'd be reluctant to work at the information desk. I see so many people with disabilities just not contribute because they focus so much on what they can't do, or maybe they're missing all the things they used to be able to do and now suddenly can't. And at the heart of it is a pride issue; we want to do what we want to do and are angry that our efforts are hampered. Isn't God faithful, though? He doesn't let us slip through the cracks and He certainly doesn't put us out of commission just because our ears or legs or eyes stop working. To say that we have nothing to offer because of our disability is like saying that disability has more power than God, that the Almighty could somehow be crippled by our weakness. Puh-leez.
Having a disability does not excuse us from coming alongside of our brothers and sisters, to weep when they weep, to rejoice when they rejoice. My hearing loss does not let me off the hook to make meals when a family welcomes a new baby, help coordinate childcare, hand out worship guides, pitch in with cleanup, be kind to people, love them as Jesus does and offer a listening heart. It's true that I can't do everything, but I can trust that the Lord will equip me to do the things that He has called me to do - for my good and His glory. And so often, we expect that God has a special job just for us and that disability has somehow thwarted that plan, but that's presumptuous. God is, I think, less concerned with exactly what it is we are doing and far more concerned with how we are doing it. There are no loopholes in Micah 6:8 - abled or disabled, the decree is the same:
He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?
Finally, those of us with disability need to remember that these are just temporary bodies. C.S. Lewis said, "You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body." Bodies with crooked spines and lifeless legs and silent eyes and damaged ears - they're just for now. Disability advocacy and raising awareness is a good thing, but it's not the most important thing. When we make disability the standard by which we live, we've missed the point. When we judge other people or churches based on whether or not they meet our needs, we're sinning. At the end of the day, the question is not, "Did the church serve my disability?" but, "Is Jesus my only hope?" Am I finding joy and fulfillment and completeness in the finished work of Christ and embracing the truth that His blood has already spoken for me, or am I basing who I am and what I think and how I act on how my body functions or doesn't function?
God is enough. And that's all I really wanted to say.
Showing posts with label disability. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disability. Show all posts
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Learning from disability - part 4
Read Part 1
Read Part 2
Read Part 3
Okay, friends, we’re in the home stretch. Part 4. I was going for a part 5, but I’m not confident that I’ll make it. That’s why I kept adding the “-ish” at the end. Five-ish. Ishes are so helpful in creating loopholes, dontcha know?
What I’ve found in my own life, and from what I’ve learned from others’ stories, is that disability can be a blessing because when something is taken away – sight, hearing, legs, neurons, synapses – you are forced to come face to face with the truth that you are broken. Not just in body, but in soul. That there is something wrong and that you can’t fix it. The need for grace seems more evident when you live with brokenness. Disabilities and sickness and weakness and brokenness point us to God and remind us that He is sovereign and complete and that only He can fix us, body and soul.
A friend of mine, who lives with hearing loss brought on by Meneire’s Disease, put it well:
I like the idea of using the Paraclete Ministry [a disability ministry at her church] as a impetus to remind "normal" people that the Fall, our sin nature, the afflictions in our bodies are a part of all of us... not just the person in the wheelchair or carrying an oxygen tank or wearing hearing aids. Weakness is not a popular thing in our culture or our churches. We want to be strong. I think weakness is where God wants us to be so that we can rely on His strength. Healthy people working with sick people (could be temporary illness like chemo for cancer, or recovering from difficult childbirth, accident, or something chronic, long-term, or even terminal) are going to be reminded that this is what the Fall did, it made pain, sorrow and death come into the world. How thankful we all should be that the Redeemer saved us from our just punishment in hell!
Greg Lucas at Wrestling with an Angel shares his thoughts on how he sees his son experiencing God:
Locked away in the mystified mind of my mentally disabled son is a deep thinking joy that can only be explained as “the secret things of God.”
…
My son also gives the impression that he too shares a divine bond with his heavenly Father. One of the first words in sign language Jake learned as a young child was the sign for “Jesus” which is displayed by pointing to the center of each hand (where the nail prints will be found). Ask him where Jesus lives and Jake will point upward. Ask him where else Jesus lives and Jake will point to his heart. I don’t remember ever teaching my son these things. Could it be that for many years he has known of the One who sits at the Father’s right hand, and inhabits the hearts of men?
I have watched Jake sit through entire sermons and nod his head appropriately. I have watched him give emotional standing ovations at the end of a well preached message (even when he is the only one clapping in a room of 300 people). He also claps at the end of each prayer—it is a hearty, resounding AMEN!
There have been times after a sermon or moving hymn when Jake is in tears. I do not know what is going on in his mind during these times. I only know that there is so much more happening than the doctors and specialists have ever dreamed possible in the silent, diminished world of his “disabled mind”.
…
Is it possible that my son’s inability to see things as a “normal” person sees, or his incapability to understand what “ordinary” people understand, is actually an exceptional ability rather than a disability?
Or could it be that I am the disabled one here? That through my own personal pride and the superficial cares of this world I am calloused to the deeper things of God, deaf to His audible voice, and blind to His very real presence in my life.
And that’s why the church needs people with disabilities. It’s not just that we need to minister to the disabled and make them feel loved and welcomed, but we need to learn from them as well.
Read Part 2
Read Part 3
Okay, friends, we’re in the home stretch. Part 4. I was going for a part 5, but I’m not confident that I’ll make it. That’s why I kept adding the “-ish” at the end. Five-ish. Ishes are so helpful in creating loopholes, dontcha know?
What I’ve found in my own life, and from what I’ve learned from others’ stories, is that disability can be a blessing because when something is taken away – sight, hearing, legs, neurons, synapses – you are forced to come face to face with the truth that you are broken. Not just in body, but in soul. That there is something wrong and that you can’t fix it. The need for grace seems more evident when you live with brokenness. Disabilities and sickness and weakness and brokenness point us to God and remind us that He is sovereign and complete and that only He can fix us, body and soul.
A friend of mine, who lives with hearing loss brought on by Meneire’s Disease, put it well:
I like the idea of using the Paraclete Ministry [a disability ministry at her church] as a impetus to remind "normal" people that the Fall, our sin nature, the afflictions in our bodies are a part of all of us... not just the person in the wheelchair or carrying an oxygen tank or wearing hearing aids. Weakness is not a popular thing in our culture or our churches. We want to be strong. I think weakness is where God wants us to be so that we can rely on His strength. Healthy people working with sick people (could be temporary illness like chemo for cancer, or recovering from difficult childbirth, accident, or something chronic, long-term, or even terminal) are going to be reminded that this is what the Fall did, it made pain, sorrow and death come into the world. How thankful we all should be that the Redeemer saved us from our just punishment in hell!
Greg Lucas at Wrestling with an Angel shares his thoughts on how he sees his son experiencing God:
Locked away in the mystified mind of my mentally disabled son is a deep thinking joy that can only be explained as “the secret things of God.”
…
My son also gives the impression that he too shares a divine bond with his heavenly Father. One of the first words in sign language Jake learned as a young child was the sign for “Jesus” which is displayed by pointing to the center of each hand (where the nail prints will be found). Ask him where Jesus lives and Jake will point upward. Ask him where else Jesus lives and Jake will point to his heart. I don’t remember ever teaching my son these things. Could it be that for many years he has known of the One who sits at the Father’s right hand, and inhabits the hearts of men?
I have watched Jake sit through entire sermons and nod his head appropriately. I have watched him give emotional standing ovations at the end of a well preached message (even when he is the only one clapping in a room of 300 people). He also claps at the end of each prayer—it is a hearty, resounding AMEN!
There have been times after a sermon or moving hymn when Jake is in tears. I do not know what is going on in his mind during these times. I only know that there is so much more happening than the doctors and specialists have ever dreamed possible in the silent, diminished world of his “disabled mind”.
…
Is it possible that my son’s inability to see things as a “normal” person sees, or his incapability to understand what “ordinary” people understand, is actually an exceptional ability rather than a disability?
Or could it be that I am the disabled one here? That through my own personal pride and the superficial cares of this world I am calloused to the deeper things of God, deaf to His audible voice, and blind to His very real presence in my life.
And that’s why the church needs people with disabilities. It’s not just that we need to minister to the disabled and make them feel loved and welcomed, but we need to learn from them as well.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A proper response to disability - part 3
So because I consider myself to have a disability and strive to identify – at least emotionally – with other people who have disabilities, I’m naturally drawn to discussion on the topic, particularly in a church setting.
I know a lot of deaf and hard of hearing people who have a hard time with church. Even churches that provide an interpreter or other accommodations haven’t equipped the rest of the congregation to come alongside of those with the hearing loss. So the deaf and hard of hearing tend to just fellowship with each other. And this doesn’t just happen in church, really, but in daily living. And not just with people with disabilities. We all tend to clump together with people who are like us, regardless of how much we say that we are in favor of diversity and unity and yada yada yada.
So when it happens in church, on one hand, it’s natural and unsurprising. On the other hand, that’s not who God has called us to be in Christ. Scripture says that we are all one in Christ, and that we are part of one body. There shouldn’t be division in the church because we’re all the same before the Lord. I really long to see the church come alongside of people with disabilities, not just to minister to them in the sense of serving them and making life a little easier, but to enter into their world with the intention of learning from them as well. To welcome people with disabilities as wholly functioning parts of the Body, not treat them as a fringe ministry.
I'm so thankful for blogs like The Works of God and Wrestling with an Angel. Both of the men who write these are fathers who have children with a disability. I don’t know the particulars of each and a parent’s perspective is a bit different than the child’s, but I can identify with a lot of what they share and I appreciate their gospel-centered perspective on suffering.
A while ago, John Knight (The Works of God) wrote a post that helped clarify my own thoughts. I encourage you to read the whole thing, but I particularly liked his argument that God cares about disability, so if we are called to care about the things that God cares about, then we need to care about disability, too.
What this means, too, is that the responsibility for caring for those with disabilities in the church should not land only on those who live with it (the individuals themselves or the family members who care for him/her). We should all be concerned for one another, regardless of the state of our bodies, because we are all members of the same body, and we all belong to each other.
But I'll be honest. I'm not entirely sure what it looks like for a church to come alongside of people with disabilities. I think it starts with a solid theology of suffering, though, and an understanding that God is good even when difficult things happen in our lives or to our bodies. That's a hard truth to cling to, but I think the more a congregation understands this, the more willing they will be to do the coming alongside thing. And as with any kind of group, really, it starts at the top. Pastors, elders and other church leaders should be setting the example and even consider preaching about it.
What do you think? How can a church come alongside of those with disabilities? Should it? What are some things that might keep people from doing so?
I know a lot of deaf and hard of hearing people who have a hard time with church. Even churches that provide an interpreter or other accommodations haven’t equipped the rest of the congregation to come alongside of those with the hearing loss. So the deaf and hard of hearing tend to just fellowship with each other. And this doesn’t just happen in church, really, but in daily living. And not just with people with disabilities. We all tend to clump together with people who are like us, regardless of how much we say that we are in favor of diversity and unity and yada yada yada.
So when it happens in church, on one hand, it’s natural and unsurprising. On the other hand, that’s not who God has called us to be in Christ. Scripture says that we are all one in Christ, and that we are part of one body. There shouldn’t be division in the church because we’re all the same before the Lord. I really long to see the church come alongside of people with disabilities, not just to minister to them in the sense of serving them and making life a little easier, but to enter into their world with the intention of learning from them as well. To welcome people with disabilities as wholly functioning parts of the Body, not treat them as a fringe ministry.
I'm so thankful for blogs like The Works of God and Wrestling with an Angel. Both of the men who write these are fathers who have children with a disability. I don’t know the particulars of each and a parent’s perspective is a bit different than the child’s, but I can identify with a lot of what they share and I appreciate their gospel-centered perspective on suffering.
A while ago, John Knight (The Works of God) wrote a post that helped clarify my own thoughts. I encourage you to read the whole thing, but I particularly liked his argument that God cares about disability, so if we are called to care about the things that God cares about, then we need to care about disability, too.
What this means, too, is that the responsibility for caring for those with disabilities in the church should not land only on those who live with it (the individuals themselves or the family members who care for him/her). We should all be concerned for one another, regardless of the state of our bodies, because we are all members of the same body, and we all belong to each other.
But I'll be honest. I'm not entirely sure what it looks like for a church to come alongside of people with disabilities. I think it starts with a solid theology of suffering, though, and an understanding that God is good even when difficult things happen in our lives or to our bodies. That's a hard truth to cling to, but I think the more a congregation understands this, the more willing they will be to do the coming alongside thing. And as with any kind of group, really, it starts at the top. Pastors, elders and other church leaders should be setting the example and even consider preaching about it.
What do you think? How can a church come alongside of those with disabilities? Should it? What are some things that might keep people from doing so?
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The kinship of disability - part 2
On to part two of five(ish). And I know I said this was going to be about disability and church. It's not very church-y or God-y yet. I'm getting there.
Read part 1.
A few months ago, I read The Speed of Dark, which is told from the perspective of someone who lives with autism. I learned a few things about autism and was surprised to find I could relate to a lot of it.
I wish I had the book on me so I could pull some more direct quotes, but basically, Lou, the narrator, talks a lot about feeling like his world is made up of two kinds of people – the normals and the not normals. He has some very specific patterns and environments that he prefers (twinkling lights and the whir of a fan) and even needs to help him unwind. He talks about how he goes to the grocery store when it’s quiet because otherwise, when it’s crowded, his brain cannot assimilate the information correctly. It takes him longer to make sense of all the sounds being thrown at him and creates a stressful situation. So it’s just better if he does when it’s quiet.
I know that I sometimes feel like that – like I am not normal but that everyone else is. Sometimes I really need some quiet downtime to de-stress from the overwhelming noise of life. And I definitely go to the grocery store when I know it will be quieter for the same reason! ;) So even though I don't live with autism, I could identify with the character's feelings and perspective.
I'm a firm believer that while there are a variety of experiences across the human spectrum that not all of us get to know, there is a much smaller spectrum for feelings. Even if I can't identify with someone's experience, I've most likely lived with the same emotions in a different situation. I don't know what it is like to be bound to a wheelchair, or depend on a white cane for sight. I have no experience with Down's Syndrome or spina bifida or mental illnesses. But I do know what it is like to be different, to feel like I am missing out on something that "normal" people get to experience, to be on the outside, to wonder why, in a world of 6 billion people, God in His sovereignty brought this on me, and then in the same breath to praise Him for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I may not get the particulars of what it is like to live daily with a different disability, but emotionally, I've been there.
I also don't think that you have to have a disability to find some way to empathize with the people who do. I think it's less important to understand the disability itself than it is to sympathize emotionally. One doesn't need to have a disability, for instance, to understand loneliness. Or rejection. Or to wonder, "why me?" We would do well to seek common ground rather than stress our differences, methinks. What do you think?
Read part 1.
A few months ago, I read The Speed of Dark, which is told from the perspective of someone who lives with autism. I learned a few things about autism and was surprised to find I could relate to a lot of it.
I wish I had the book on me so I could pull some more direct quotes, but basically, Lou, the narrator, talks a lot about feeling like his world is made up of two kinds of people – the normals and the not normals. He has some very specific patterns and environments that he prefers (twinkling lights and the whir of a fan) and even needs to help him unwind. He talks about how he goes to the grocery store when it’s quiet because otherwise, when it’s crowded, his brain cannot assimilate the information correctly. It takes him longer to make sense of all the sounds being thrown at him and creates a stressful situation. So it’s just better if he does when it’s quiet.
I know that I sometimes feel like that – like I am not normal but that everyone else is. Sometimes I really need some quiet downtime to de-stress from the overwhelming noise of life. And I definitely go to the grocery store when I know it will be quieter for the same reason! ;) So even though I don't live with autism, I could identify with the character's feelings and perspective.
I'm a firm believer that while there are a variety of experiences across the human spectrum that not all of us get to know, there is a much smaller spectrum for feelings. Even if I can't identify with someone's experience, I've most likely lived with the same emotions in a different situation. I don't know what it is like to be bound to a wheelchair, or depend on a white cane for sight. I have no experience with Down's Syndrome or spina bifida or mental illnesses. But I do know what it is like to be different, to feel like I am missing out on something that "normal" people get to experience, to be on the outside, to wonder why, in a world of 6 billion people, God in His sovereignty brought this on me, and then in the same breath to praise Him for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I may not get the particulars of what it is like to live daily with a different disability, but emotionally, I've been there.
I also don't think that you have to have a disability to find some way to empathize with the people who do. I think it's less important to understand the disability itself than it is to sympathize emotionally. One doesn't need to have a disability, for instance, to understand loneliness. Or rejection. Or to wonder, "why me?" We would do well to seek common ground rather than stress our differences, methinks. What do you think?
Monday, October 25, 2010
Defining Disability - Part 1
I have a lofty goal this week, my friends. I've been thinking a lot about hearing loss and disability and how the church can come alongside of people who live with disabilities. I had so many thoughts (um, what else is new?) that I wound up with what would have been a freakishly long post, so I decided to break it up a little. So far I have four parts. Okay, three and a half, but let's just round it up. I'm planning to make it a five-parter, which means I might actually post every. single. day. this week. Which has only been a goal for the last, oh, five months. Procrastinator Extraordinaire, at your service! Also, I don't really have a fancy name for this series, so put your thinking caps on. Ideas. Need. Brain. Hurts. Thanks.
Anyway, here's part 1. It's short, but it's Monday. I didn't want to have to think too much on Monday.
I mentioned some time ago that I tend to view my hearing loss as a disability. I'm hesitant to share that because I have deaf and hard of hearing friends who probably cringe at the term and I certainly don't want to cause a division between us. And I'm hesitant to use the word disability because I feel like there are so many people who have more challenges than I do that claiming a disability, I worry, makes light of their situations.
It is not my intention to divide or belittle with the word "disability." I just take the definition literally. Dis-ability. Which basically means un-ability. And I do not have the ability to hear without assistance. I'm lacking a very specific ability that most people have and it interferes with my life in the sense that I need to work a little harder and utilize outside resources to accomplish regular tasks. In our culture of "everybody is unique," we are slow to use words like "normal," (because how could there possibly be such thing as "normal" if everyone is "special?") but the truth is that wearing hearing aids is not normal. That does not mean that it is unacceptable or weird or gross. It simply means that the vast majority of people do not have to wear hearing aids and I am different for doing so.
So that's what I mean if or when I ever reference hearing loss as a disability. I could also write a whole other post, or series of posts, on how, for me, hearing loss is also more than a disability; it's become part of me. But that's for another day. Or week. What I'm just trying to establish right now are my thoughts on the word "disability." Capisce?
Anyway, here's part 1. It's short, but it's Monday. I didn't want to have to think too much on Monday.
I mentioned some time ago that I tend to view my hearing loss as a disability. I'm hesitant to share that because I have deaf and hard of hearing friends who probably cringe at the term and I certainly don't want to cause a division between us. And I'm hesitant to use the word disability because I feel like there are so many people who have more challenges than I do that claiming a disability, I worry, makes light of their situations.
It is not my intention to divide or belittle with the word "disability." I just take the definition literally. Dis-ability. Which basically means un-ability. And I do not have the ability to hear without assistance. I'm lacking a very specific ability that most people have and it interferes with my life in the sense that I need to work a little harder and utilize outside resources to accomplish regular tasks. In our culture of "everybody is unique," we are slow to use words like "normal," (because how could there possibly be such thing as "normal" if everyone is "special?") but the truth is that wearing hearing aids is not normal. That does not mean that it is unacceptable or weird or gross. It simply means that the vast majority of people do not have to wear hearing aids and I am different for doing so.
So that's what I mean if or when I ever reference hearing loss as a disability. I could also write a whole other post, or series of posts, on how, for me, hearing loss is also more than a disability; it's become part of me. But that's for another day. Or week. What I'm just trying to establish right now are my thoughts on the word "disability." Capisce?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
