Luke 10.1-11, 16-20
May
the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in
your sight, O God our strength and redeemer.
In
our gospel reading, Jesus says ‘whenever you enter a town and they do not
welcome you… say “even the dust of your town that clings to our feet we wipe
off in protest against you.”’ I used to
work in disability support in a university: my colleagues would often say to me
‘we like the sound of your God, but we can’t get on with your church, it is so
discriminatory’. Sadly, this is often
true.
Many
disabled people feel discriminated against by the church due to lack of access
or unwelcoming and discriminatory attitudes. Many have heard things such as ‘if
you had more faith, you would be cured’ or encountered the attitude that disabled
people need things done for us rather than having gifts to give.
You
may have heard of a recent event where a father and his autistic son went to
evensong in King’s College chapel in Cambridge but were asked to leave as the
son made a noise during the service.
Fortunately, in this case, they didn’t wipe the dust of the soles of
their feet and turn away from the church, although that could seem justified.
Instead, the boy’s father sent a letter to the Dean of Chapel which resulted in
him apologising and inviting them in to work out how the chapel could do better
in its welcome in future.
So
how could we, as an inclusive church do better and ensure that we are welcoming,
that people feel that they can belong here? I think there are several clues in
this gospel passage.
There’s
a lot in this passage about hospitality: Jesus is sending out the seventy to be
guests of the local people. What is the
status of a guest? Guests come where
they are invited, not by right; guests accept what is offered – we receive from
those we’ve come to.
Jesus
tells the disciples to ‘stay in one place’ in each town. Why does he do this? Wouldn’t it be better to
meet more people- spread the message further?
I think that it is so that the disciples can build up a relationship
with their hosts, so that they can listen and begin to build trust, to find out
what gifts their hosts have which they can join in with.
So
what does this mean for us, and specifically for our welcome of disabled people?
We need to learn how to be good guests as well as hosts. What
would happen if we slowed down and paid attention to the people around us: to
accept what is offered to us, which might take a while to come to light; to
build trust?
How
can we expect people to be open to God if we’re not open to them and their
experience? If we don’t make our
building more accessible ‘because no one who uses a wheelchair comes in’, or we
say that a person can’t stay in worship because they shout out during the prayers,
we are missing some of the diversity of gifts offered by the variety of people
made in the image of God.
If
we want to build of God’s Kingdom of peace, we need to take part in a
co-production with God and with other people. If its ‘us’ doing things for ‘them’,
does that further God’s kingdom where barriers are broken down, and all can
belong in God’s love? Does it build the peace – shalom which is not
just a lack of war, but the growth of love, reconciliation, mercy and
justice? I would argue it does not, we need
to be working with a diversity of people to realise God’s kingdom – we need to
be open to the surprising shapes which the image of God takes, and not to
reject those who might bring something of God because the shape or medium of
that message is different to we expected.
Jesus
instructs the seventy to ‘cure the sick’, or in other translations to ‘heal the
sick’. This is a phrase which makes me
uncomfortable. In common with many
disabled people, I have had people come up to me and pray for my healing,
without my consent. By healing, they
usually mean the physical cure of my disability. When this doesn’t happen, they see it as a
result of lack of faith or of sin on my part.
I acknowledge that I often sin and that mars my relationship with God
and other people, but I don’t see it as the reason why I’m not cured of my disability.
There’s
a distinction we need to draw between physical cure and healing. Healing is making someone or something more
whole – becoming closer to the peace of Christ’s kingdom, and I think the
following phrase: ‘the Kingdom of God has come near to you’ is important here.
What
happens when the Kingdom of God draws near?
What is the Kingdom of God like? Jesus
says he comes to bring life in all its fullness, and talks about justice, peace
and love. So how does this relate to
healing? If we take healing to be
becoming as whole as we possibly can be in this world: enabling us to draw as
close as possible to God and God’s kingdom, I think it’s probable that we all
need healing to help us to draw as close to God as possible.
When
Jesus heals people, he first asks them what they want – he listens, not
assuming that he already knows. Then his
healing restores people to their community: in his times, that often included a
physical cure as there weren’t the systems which enabled people to be fully
involved in society whilst having an impairment. Now, however, I, and many people with
disabilities see disability as something of a gift: it’s a part of how God made
us, and has provided us with gifts and opportunities we would not have
otherwise had. We must also remember
that we follow a disabled Christ: when Jesus was resurrected, he retained the
wounds of his crucifixion in his transformed body.
A
few years ago, I went to the OuterSpace Eucharist for LGBT folks at the Greenbelt
festival. We sang ‘I the Lord of sea and
sky’. There was an error in the service sheet which said ‘I will send the poor and lame’ instead of, ‘I
will tend the poor and lame’, but I
didn’t notice at first as it seemed so natural to me. Ever since, I’ve thought it a strangely
appropriate mistyping.
Jesus
says to the seventy ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few; therefore
ask the Lord of the harvest to send out labourers into his harvest’.
When
I first read this reading, my initial thought was of those who go out into the
fields with scythes and actually cut down the grain, but on further reflection
it occurred to me that I was missing a large proportion of the harvest
labourers, without whom the harvest would fail.
There
is, in fact, a diversity of labourers needed to reap the harvest: in order to cut
the grain, scythes are needed so there need to be blacksmiths and woodworkers
who make and sharpen the tools. People
are needed to cook food and bring drink to refresh the field labourers. There’s the person with the weather lore who
knows when its going to be right for harvesting; those who plan the harvesting
so that its done efficiently and nothing is wasted; those who go behind and glean
anything that is missed and so on. If we’re
going to work for the harvest of God’s kingdom of love and peace, where are the
gaps in our team of labourers: who are we missing or excluding?
Are
we assuming that disabled people can’t be labourers in the harvest because they
don’t look like our picture of the ‘harvest labourer’: able bodied, fit,
energetic, getting up and doing. Perhaps
because of an impairment to speech, mobility, learning etc? Perhaps we need to be thinking more broadly
about our picture of the harvest-there are a diversity of jobs which need doing
and therefore a diversity of people needed.
As St Paul says, ‘the body of Christ has many members’ and if the whole
body were an ear, how would it smell, or a foot, how would it hear?
Perhaps
we need to be listening and looking with God’s eyes at the gifts given to each
in different shapes and guises. For
example, one of the best sermons I have ever heard, was delivered at Greenbelt
by a fourteen year old who is a non verbal, wheelchair user, speaking through a
voice synthesiser.
Until
I moved from High Wycombe, last summer, I had the privilege of working as a
chaplain in a nursing home. I learnt a
huge amount from the residents, who often felt isolated and useless, about God. For example there a lady who was no longer able
to speak by the time I met her and had lived most of her life in institutions
due to severe and multiple disabilities but was always faithful to God and
showed a huge capacity for joy and hospitality; every week when I went to ask
who wanted to come to worship, she would enthusiastically put her hands together
in a praying motion. There were the
residents who cared deeply for each other every day: one helping the other with
her deep confusion due to dementia or the resident who cheered all the staff up
by caring about and encouraging us. When
we ignore those with a disability, we ignore part of the body of Christ – we become
less whole so let us celebrate the gifts that God brings in the whole diversity
of God’s people.
I’d
like to end with a poem I wrote about experiencing signed Deaf worship, at
Greenbelt, it is called ‘Eyes Wide Open’ as Deaf people pray with their eyes
open:
Eyes
wide open
To
the glory of the Lord
Shining
in person, grass and
Unexpected
grasshopper
Neatly
folded on shoe
Eyes
wide open
To
signs
Of
worship and praise
Expressing
God’s love through
The
whole body.
Eyes
wide open
To
catch a glimpse
Of
Joy as the inexpressible
Is
touched upon
Without
words. Beyond words.
Eyes
wide open
To
the Stranger
And
the Stranger
Signing
‘I love you’
One
handed
The
other hand to
Embrace
the Other.
Eyes
wide open
To
see beneath the skin
Through
the barriers
Erected
by fear and hate
To
the lovely core within
Eyes
wide open
To
the complete
And
utter Joy
Of
the Dance and signs
Of
life.
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