Greater Honor

Bridging the Chasm Between the Church and Disabled Image Bearers

Any Disabled person, should we feel safe and brave, would describe a deep desire to feel accepted by our community. Instead, plagued with feelings of unworthiness, we are often shunned into silence. Historically, Disabled humans have been murdered, left for dead, experimented on, enslaved, made victims of genocide, silicide, and infanticide, abused, and imprisoned in unsanitary institutions not even fit for farm animals. And while there has been some progress, many of these horrific things still happen to this day. Unaware of Disability history and in light of some progress, the western Church has put on a veil of niceties, cutting us with infantilization, rejection, judgment, disgust, inaccessibility, and otherness until we are spiritually bleeding out. We are often doubted, blamed, isolated, ignored, laughed at, misunderstood, or pitied for our apparent weakness. So it makes sense that the Disability community and our allies would respond by standing on 1 Corinthians 12:22 to advocate for our inherent dignity:

“On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and on those parts of the body that we think less honorable we bestow the greater honor…” 

— 1 Corinthians 12:22-23a ESV

In verse 22 the word “seem” (ESV and NIV—omitted by the CSB) and in verse 23 the phrase “we think” (ESV and NIV) or “consider” (CSB) are the same Greek verb, dokeo. Dokeo means, to be of opinion, think, suppose, to seem, to be accounted, reputed (Strongs). The scripture is not saying that those who are weak are indispensable but those who are thought of as weak. Unfortunately, many have read the passage through a lens of ableism glossing over the word dokeo. This alters the meaning of the text and misrepresents the Disability community (and anyone else considered weak or less honorable), perpetuating the prejudice that assumes we have nothing to offer and resulting in the Church not valuing Disabled lives. A poor reading of this passage results in disunity in the body, as some members are not receiving the same care from one another (1 Corinthians 12:24b-26, Romans 12:13), as well as missed contributions from those in the Disability community. Paul is not calling the strong to condescend to the weak. He is calling us all to wake up to wisdom higher than our own.

An Introduction to the Information Gap

The Disability community is constantly told, more blatantly now since the pandemic, that our lives are of little importance. Despite the inherent dignity we possess as God’s children, we are viewed as acceptable collateral damage. Not only are we co-heirs with Christ by grace through faith, but we also chronically share in the way Christ was treated on earth. Not having form, majesty, or beauty that is valued or desired, we are despised and rejected, full of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and those from whom men hide their faces, despised, and not esteemed (Isaiah 53:2b-3). To choose to fellowship with and reflect Christ in these circumstances takes great strength.

It takes Holy Spirit empowered strength of faith to profess before God that you will follow him even if he takes everything. God honors this faith. And yet, when God cripples your body, giving you more pain than you could think up or imagine, then, as a result, he takes your livelihood, then takes the roof from over your head and food from your mouth, then your friends and family, your dreams and aspirations and your very mind, replacing these with isolation, reviling, pity, and scorn from anyone who sets eyes on your public vulnerability—if you endure all of that, not in a day or a week, but in an ever-flowing river of pain for decades, and you still choose, not only to live but to worship in the presence of this God—that is supernaturally empowered strength. The Disability community is considered weak, and while we do possess weaknesses just as every human affected by the fall, culture has allowed our apparent weakness to overshadow the incredible strength our faith requires.

Those who assume that life is better without illness and disability pity our Disabled lives. Yet, in God's economy, the life of someone who is not sick or Disabled is not better—easier, yes, but not better. In fact, in God‘s kingdom, upside down from our earthly understanding, Disabled life is honored. Because God values us so highly, it is lamentable when our stories are exploited from the pulpit for the inspiration of people who do not share our experiences. We are belittled when our bodies become prayer requests before anyone asks our name. Our atypical minds are not celebrated but pitied when fellow believers assume that what is different is less than. Our unique limitations, paired with society's general ignorance of how we live life affected by these limitations, leave us staggering behind the pace of the life of the church. Disabled people do backbreaking work to function on a level that the non-Disabled majority does with relative ease, and it seems very few people take notice. When people do notice, it is rarely followed with restructuring programs to make church experience more equitable. This perpetuates the assumption that Disabled parking and a wheelchair ramp make a place accessible. These are first steps toward campus accessibility but only the tip of the iceberg of what is needed for Disabled saints to feel accepted by the family of God. We are laboriously treading water, repeatedly slapped by riptides and caught in the undertow—and instead of throwing us a lifeline, many in the church give us a high five. Congratulations for not drowning.

Actions and inactions like these leave the Disability community fighting to be a part of the church body yet repeatedly excluded by the people of God. Individually, these actions may seem trivial, but thousands of these slights push the Disability community away from the Church. We don't want to be left behind but it is often too harmful to stay.

I Lived It

I began allowing myself to be left behind in early 2019. I noticed that attending my local church was not growing me in love but in bitterness. When people saw the fatigue weighing my body down I seemed to them wholly weak. When people saw my wheelchair, they supposed I am wholly unable. When my Autistic characteristics escaped from my tight grasp, people assumed incompetence. When my bacterial infected brain, exhausted from trying to keep up, caused my emotions to spiral out of my control, I was shamed. People showed me this in the way that they responded to me—some with infantilizing pity, some unable to look at me. Some would physically or metaphorically pat me on the head like I am a child, and others attempted to remedy my “problem” as if my situation was not God-ordained but a failure of my own. However, the starkly few people who truly know me, who have lived life with me, who have practiced humble sacrificial hospitality to meet me where and as I am, and who neither focus on nor ignore my limitations, know what strengths I possess.

These saints see the immense invisible weight that I have been carrying for decades. They see the result of an intense and increasing spiritual workout, ongoing long before my first confession of faith. They see the false securities stripped from my grasp so that I can rely only on God who is my strength. They see Spirit-led, brave faith that calls out in ways unpopular and culturally embarrassing. They see me, in the face of repeated loss, choose to lay limp in the Father's hands. They see joy inexpressible as I tread this holy ground with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit in me. They see the strength of faith to trust God even if (and when) he strips me of his graces, including my sanity, my agency, my mind. Instead of a mere opportunity for others to express their gifts, they see me as one who is herself gifted by God and contributing to the kingdom. They see someone with the gifts of discernment and prophecy, able to teach, able to bring healing, helping, and administering the gospel in ways they are unable. And God sees more.

It is undeniable that the complex combination of conditions of my body and mind affect my abilities. Yet it is this weakness that God wields to display his wonders and strength (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). It is this weakness and foolishness that is my most painful and exhausting calling and contribution to the body of Christ—to live as an odd, uneducated Disabled woman, inviting repentance-inducing shame to those who might overlook the contributions of someone considered weak (1 Corinthians 1:27).

An Invitation 

To those who are considered strong, I invite you to lean in with the posture of a student to learn how to fellowship with Disabled saints. I am inviting all to celebrate and share in the richness of God's glory and goodness displayed through those considered to be weak. It is uncomfortable grace, and it is wildly, breathtakingly resplendent. A beauty that people affected by disability have the opportunity to experience chronically, every minute of every day, as our differences have us cleaving to the Father. It is a unique beauty that brings to completion the body of Christ should the Disability demographic be honored authentically.

To my brothers and sisters whose weakness is on display, as well as to those who feel the need to hide your physical, emotional, psychological or intellectual limitations or differences for fear of scorn, I pray that you will come to know and believe that you are the apple of God's eye. He has bestowed upon you spiritual gifts and strengths, and these, combined with your unique perspective, make you indispensable to his church. Whether you ever feel it on this earth, in God’s eyes and in his kingdom awaits for you greater honor.

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