From The Desk of David

It was a pleasant afternoon. It was a strange mix of pleasantly cool and a brisk breeze. It was cold and hot all at the same time. I was scrolling through my twitter feed and suddenly, “#AbledareWeird,” appeared on my screen and glowing in a light blue shade. Something drew me to tap on the hashtag. I suddenly was confronted with an odd mix of pain and triumph. Each individual post was a representation of an individual’s story – a small glimpse into the world of those who also struggle with disabilities, both physical and mental. Some of the posts extracted smile, some caused me to laugh, some snapped my heart into pieces, and others caused me a to nod in agreement. Some of the stranger’s posts angered me. Others provided with the satisfying feeling that someone understood what I went through. However, something is unsettling about all these posts. I suppose it may have been the fact that I understood the heartbreak and pain behind every single one of the posts. Perhaps it was the busted up and broken hearts placed on grand display for the entire Internet world to gaze upon – with no responsibility to the individual and the heart. Did I support my disabled brothers and sisters for sharing their stories of being outcasts and misfits from an able-bodied society? I suppose. I suppose I agreed with the telling of the story – I’ve always been a fan of telling stories. I believe telling stories is one of the most humanlike things someone can do. And I’ve always been a sucker for good narrative. But there’s something off about these particular narratives, these stories of pain, tragedy, triumph, overcoming, all boiled down and simplified to 280 characters that didn’t sit well within my spirit. Perhaps it was such a narrow version of the narrative that didn’t sit well with me. Narratives are never to be told in parts, but rather be told in full completion. Perhaps the problem with the simplified stories that places one’s pain on grand display and provides no context for the pain itself. As pastor and author, Rich Wilkerson Jr, so eloquently stated, “without hardship, there is no triumph.”

So, I suppose I have no issue with my disabled brothers and sisters sharing their stories, in fact, I admire their bravery and courage to speak out against the societally imposed hardships because they were made differently. But here’s the problem I do have, just posting about your struggles and blaming others without recognizing the God-given potential even given because of your differences, do nothing but continue to forge the narrative that it is able-bodied people versus disabled people. This is not the case. Able-bodied people are not weird. Sure, they may not understand what to say. Their curiosity may get the better of them, and they may say something the wrong way. And yes, they may even just be downright rude. Oh, but please hear this disabled brothers and sisters, able-bodied people don’t discriminate because you’re disabled, they discriminate because they’re broken people. We’ve all been corrupted, or dare I say, disabled by the curse of sin. In fact, our physical differences are a direct consequence of the reality we live in a sinful world.

Is it fair? No. Is it just? Absolutely not. Do I struggle to remember this? Oh absolutely. But here’s the hope. Just because we may not look like our able-bodied brothers and sisters, it doesn’t mean that we were not made in the image of God, just like they were. It also doesn’t say that our disability disqualifies us from the grace of Jesus. Yes, you may never be healed on this side of eternity. Trust me, I had to wrestle with that idea myself. I begged and pleaded and prayed to be healed, and so far, Jesus hasn’t. But here’s the conclusion I reached, and I believe the same for you. Our disabilities – both physical and mental – demand that we consistently conquer and overcome hardships and barriers set up by the broken world we live in, and it is that God-given ability to overcome that we have been given the privilege to so gloriously display. We can overcome because Jesus overcame. And perhaps you may not even believe in the gospel. But please, oh please, know that God loves you – even in your disabled and broken state. 

And finally, dear church, dear Jesus loving, able-bodied brothers and sisters, please do better. For years, you’ve written off the disabled community for a multitude of reasons. Perhaps you may not have the answers. Maybe you may not have the resources to support us. Or maybe you view us as a distraction. Well, guess what? I’m over it. I’m calling your bluff. I’m sick of you placing your own comfort above others – and that goes far beyond the disabled community. Yes, ministering to the disabled community is one of the messiest and hardest things – just me, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the pain and frustration that a disability leaves an individual with. But guess what, I’m sure the cross was messy and complicated to endure.

Jesus stepped down from the throne room, left behind his own comfort and self-interests, to die a brutal death, something I’m sure that wasn’t easy. So perhaps it’s time for the church to leave behind its own self-interest and comfort for others, just as Christ did. Do I have all the answers? No. But here’s what I do know, the disabled community needs the gospel just as much as anyone and I’m tired of the church shying away from the conversation because it’s uncomfortable or perhaps, “there aren’t enough people with a disability in our church.” Did you really buy into that life in the pit of hell? Sure, maybe there are people with disabilities in your congregation, perhaps you should fix that. But here’s what I’ve learned, people with disabilities have the potential to be some of the most effective ministers of the gospel, and it’s not because of what we have, but rather, it’s what we don’t, and it’s our desperate need for the sustaining grace of Jesus.