LifeDate Summer 2024 – Made For Life
by Rose Acquavella
How we treat people with disabilities matters more than we might imagine.
Although it is not commonly known, people with disabilities make up one of the largest minority groups in the United States. Moreover, it is a minority group that one can unwillingly join at any time, facing all the discrimination that can come with being “other.” I never thought it would include me. Tomorrow, it might include you. For that reason, how we treat people with disabilities matters more than we might imagine. (For this article, I will speak primarily about physical disabilities. A disability “substantially limits one or more major life activit[ies]” – adata.org.)
I would like to share some of my experiences at two different churches. While I was at the first church, which belonged to a different denomination, my physical health started failing significantly. I was only in my early 30s and had had some health problems, but suddenly, I could only eat 600-800 calories a day. I was frantic as I struggled to fulfill my responsibilities while my doctor provided no treatment. The church prayer team prayed for me, but over time, it seemed they were getting tired of the same prayer request as my health kept getting worse, not better.
It was found that my body was riddled with arthritis; I had major surgery; and I ended up needing a walker for reasons my doctors could not explain, especially since my eating was improving with better medical care. Church members started avoiding me, as if I were “too much.” I met with the pastor about this, and he recommended only that I pray through the church directory. In other words, it was my burden to “fix this” by praying for the church in my exhausted state, not the church’s burden to hold space for people with disabilities. (Diane Langberg, in her book Redeeming Power, describes how the people who speak about problems within churches are often themselves considered the problem, as happened to me there.)
I stayed too long at that church thinking I had nowhere else to go, but ultimately, I had to leave. I was not exactly theologically Lutheran, but a phone call with the now-retired Rev. Barry Hildebrandt made me feel more than welcome.
I began attending Cross of Christ Lutheran Church in Chattanooga, Tennessee, on Pentecost of 2020. I was received as a member by confirmation that November after Pastor Hildebrandt and I determined that the differences in theology were minor enough for me to fit well there. Nobody seemed to care that I now wore a wide brimmed hat due to light sensitivity or that I occasionally still used a walker or a cane. That Christmas Eve, the church secretary gave me one of the church’s handmade Christmas quilts, telling me that I was a gift to them. I did not understand, but I was very touched.
The next year, when children’s Sunday school (ages 3-10) started back up after COVID-19, I began helping under the direction of Byron Brakenhoff, an elder and the lead teacher. I had years of experience working with children in various contexts, and the children who, not knowing me, had previously referred to me as “Hat Lady” were now asking “Miss Rose” for everything from affirmation of their drawing to another snack. Something interesting started happening: the church gladly worked with my needs. If I was having a bad day and was using my walker, there were extra hands, both small and large, to help clean up after Sunday school, or even an adult volunteer in the class to provide extra support. When I was heartbroken over an experience of discrimination, Byron arranged substitute Sunday school teachers for months until I could teach again. Church members listened to me, prayed for me, and even got angry for me. No one made me feel like a burden during that time, especially when it was lengthened by another major surgery, or asked me to step down as a teacher. Thankfully, I have been back to teaching for a while now with the same consideration from my church. They see that I have a gift with the kids, but they are a gift to me in making it possible for me to serve. I do not even think they realize how much they have done.
How do we demonstrate the value of the lives of people with disabilities?
By creating systems where they are welcomed, where they are as much a part of the church as the typically abled. Where those who can hardly speak are still included in conversations, where those who can serve in limited ways are enabled to serve when they can, where the burden is borne by the able-bodied to make the less able-bodied just as important in the church’s life. Where, if you become disabled tomorrow, you also will feel fully welcomed as a child of God.