A Father’s Tears

A Father’s Day sermon based on Mark 4.14-24

It may be no surprise to you that today is Father’s Day, which we set aside to honor Fathers.  It is a day when we see an abundance of merchandise, such as t-shirts and ties dedicated to dads worldwide.  Typically, we speak of the positive attributes of fathers and hear stories of how wonderful and formative father figures have been in our lives.  What may have surprised you is that the scripture we heard today, on the surface seems like a father’s day story only in the way it depicts a father’s encounter with Jesus, and certainly does not fit the traditional mold of talking about how wonderful accomplishments of the father.

A father brings his son, who suffers from a neurological disorder, to the disciples.  In other words, the father brings his son to a community of faith.  The disciples, however, are unable to alter the boy’s condition.  They are unable to cure or reverse his disorder. 

Many parents today, when their child is diagnosed with a neurological disorder or disability, will undergo a similar journey.  There might be countless visits to doctors, specialists, physical therapists, occupational therapy, speech therapists, and the list goes on.  And while these professional might help in different ways, all too often the result is the same; the condition, while more manageable, still exists and the difficulties of life are still present.  Indeed, there are some conditions which the modern day disciples of Jesus are still unable to cure.

So the father then turns to his faith and asks Jesus to intercede.  Although we heard the story from Mark’s gospel this morning, it is one that appears in all three synoptic accounts of Jesus.    In Matthew’s account the fathers asks Jesus to “have mercy on my son,” while in Luke’s text we hear the request as “look at my son; my only child.”  Mark says I brought you my son.  And Mark is the only one in which the father exclaims “I believe, help me with my unbelief!”

The father asks Jesus to have compassion on ‘us’ and help ‘us’.  “The plural ‘us’ includes at least the father and his son, and perhaps the whole family and their friends.  And while we can debate the meaning of the word ‘us’, what I think is more important here is that it illustrates that the neurological disorder from which the boy has been afflicted for years, affects more than just the child, it affects the whole family and social circle.

Jesus asks the father how long this situation has been occurring, to which the father replies “from childhood.”  At first glance, it may appear that Jesus is gathering more information, which is a valid way to read the text.  But I think there is a bit more to it than simply information gathering.  See, Jesus is taking the time to engage the father in conversation.  Jesus invites the father to say more about his situation.

The father could have simply answered with information: since childhood.  Yet he provides Jesus with an extended answer, as he describes further what life with this disorder is like on a daily basis.  He says “it has often cast him into the fire and water, to destroy him.”  Imagine how sad, anxious and overwhelming it must feel like for the father, that this disorder constantly places his child at risk of being destroyed!  It is no wonder then, that one commentator notes that “Jesus experiences a loving father who is at his wit’s end.”

The text continues, offering: “immediately the father of the child cried out ‘I believe, help me with my unbelief.”  There is a footnote to the text, however, which offers that other ancient texts read with tears.  So as the father of the child describes the lifelong situation to Jesus, he does so with tears. 

Perhaps, through his tears, the father is expressing the reality of how difficult it is to journey through life with faith, when you have a child with an incurable disorder that seeks at every turn to ‘destroy’ them.  Maybe we can hear the father saying, in tears, “I have faith, but some days are so overwhelming that it is hard to hold on to my faith.  I do believe that you can make a difference, Jesus.  Please help me to remember and believe that in the most trying of times and the darkest of days.”  So according to one commentator (Donahue; Sacra Pagina: Mark) Jesus intercedes in the situation, not only to bring healing to the boy, but also to bring peace of heart to the father. 

I think this insight is significant, if we consider the father’s tears up against the message many greeting cards fathers will receive today—on Father’s day.  Greeting card messages such as “world’s greatest Dad,” “#1 Dad,” or “Super Dad,” able to fix anything, able to endure all things with a steady disposition, always able to stay strong in the face of adversity, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. 

Yet, compare those greeting card messages to a survey completed by Florida State University, which indicated that fathers of children with disabilities experienced greater stress in daily parenting hassles, family life events and changes and health stress. Another recent study noted that “Fathers want someone to talk to from outside the family about their worries and concerns, but are not very good at seeking for this type of help or support.”

In contrast to those cultural and greeting card images, the father in our scripture today approaches Jesus with vulnerability—in tears.  What can this mean?  Maybe, in the presence of Christ, fathers are freed to be themselves instead of meeting the cultural expectations of being strong at all costs.  And the father’s cry captures the mixed character of faith within the experience of most people.   Life situations will, at times, overwhelm us and the best we can do is hand it over the one in whose hands our eternal restoration is assured.  The significance of this text is that despite the pain, grief, tears, struggle, and isolation fathers (and mothers) face in raising a child with a neurological disorder or disability, they can find new horizons, new hope and healing through faith.

And that’s where I think we come in to the story.  As the church, the body of Christ, we are called to exemplify the ministry of Jesus in the world today.  As Kathleen Bolduc writes in her book A Place Called Acceptance, the first step is for a community of faith to meet a family where they are and hear their story. Jesus brings a non-anxious presence that heals and empowers not only the boy, but his father as well.  The church can do this too.  As we strive to become a more open, welcoming and inclusive faith community, we can come alongside not just persons with neurological disorder and disabilities, but also their parents, family and friends. 

Yes, we can start by asking how long they have been enduring their situation, but then we can go deeper by inviting them to share their stories and struggles with us.  We can affirm that it is not only their child who is affected, but them, their families and friends too.  We can enter into their situation and journey with them toward healing.  Instead of reinforcing cultural expectations, we can give them sanctuary—a safe place and space to be vulnerable, even to the point of sharing their tears with us.  We can be there for them not only in their faith, but especially available in those difficult times of unbelief. God in Christ can work God’s healing will in and through us. 

Jesus gave the father of the boy with a neurological disorder a gift that day.  He gave the gift of his compassion in inviting the father to share his story instead of telling him to be strong.  In the midst of a father’s tears, healing was found.  That same gift may be the greatest one the church can give Dads for Father’s day, Moms for Mother’s day and families every day.  Amen.

Who Told You That You Were Disabled?

“They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.  But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?”  He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.”  He [God] said “Who told you that you were naked?” Gen 3.8-11a

You may recognize the above passage as coming from the “temptation” or “fall” narrative in Genesis.  One way to understand the temptation was explained well by Old Testament Scholar Claus Westermann, as he described Adam and Eve as listening to an outside voice instead of the voice of God.  We hear this in God’s question: who told you that you were naked?

Listening to an outside voice is something we all fall prey to in our lives.  Who told you that you were not good enough?  Who told you that you couldn’t do, or try, what your heart was set on doing?  And I would even go so far as to offer the following:  Who told you that someone (or yourself) was “disabled?”  Who told us that we are “able” or “normal?”

In our culture, we listen to the voices, definitions and frameworks that are handed down to us.  And after we hear them, we adopt those frameworks to define others as well.  When someone looks or behaves different from us, we are conditioned to categorize or define them.  In some cases, that defining takes the form of “abled” or “disabled” (in clinical terms, we pathologize persons).  In her book The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability, Nancy Eisland wrote “the locus of the problem of disability is neither the psyches nor the bodies of individuals with disabilities, but rather it is the system of social relations and institutions that has accomplished the marginalization of people with disabilities as a group.” (pg. 62)  What she describes is that outside voice: who told you that you were disabled?

Yet before the temptation narrative, we hear that God created Adam (in Hebrew = the human) in the image and likeness of God, and God declared the creation of humankind to be very good.  The voice of God claims we are very good, while human voices talk of “abled” and “disabled.”

Persons with disabilities are first of all persons.  Each of us is created in the image and likeness of God.  And each of us has gifts and graces.  The temptation we often still face today is to listen to the voice of God instead of the external voices.  And I think one way we can resist such temptation is that when we look at someone different from us, instead of hearing the external voice which tells us “this person is disabled,” we hear instead the voice of God which whispers “this is my child with whom I am well pleased.”

Bond Issue promotes “Ableism”

So our local school district has a new bond issue on the ballot today. And because I am concerned about our kids–I voted NO.

You heard me right, I am concerned about out kids and I voted against the bond issue. Although that may seem like a paradox, here’s why:

The bond issue hopes to use taxpayer funds, based on homeowner property values, to improve buildings and, get this, build new athletic fields. That’s right, athletic fields.

Now, I agree that school buildings could use improvement. Especially when it comes to the fact that they are minimally accessible for kids with physical and intellectual disabilities. Have you seen how may stairs and few elevators are in these schools? Absolutely, the buildings could be drastically improved and modified to promote inclusion and accessibility!

But there are those athletic fields, because the football team feels that the one they already have is not good enough. Or the baseball/softball teams need artificial turf too.

The problem I have is that this priority reinforces “ablesism.” Those who are “able–which is the dominant culture–determine what is needed in society. And these fields are built for those who are “able”, they will not promote inclusion. Rather they perpetuate the thought that those who are able deserve more than those who are disabled. That is not inclusion, it is exclusion. And when the funds come from the general public, then it is also discrimination.

So improve the buildings. Modify them to include ALL kids and improve accessibility for education. But let the booster club hold bake sales for astroturf.

From Grief to New Life

(Based on Acts 9.36-42)

The story of the Holy Spirit raising Tabitha (also known as Dorcas) from the dead, through the discipleship and prayer of the Peter is not a new story when it appears in the book of Acts.    We hear a similar story in 1 Kings with Elijah, in 2 Kings with Elisha, in the Gospels with Jesus when he raises Lazarus and the young girl, with the resurrection of Jesus himself, and now again in the book of Acts. Indeed, it is not a new story.  Rather, it is a story which illustrates God’s Continuing Testament of being a God who has been, is and will continue to be life giving.  God’s actions in the world and relationship with God’s people cannot be overshadowed or overcome, even by death itself.

When we read these stories closely, there is another common theme, that of grief.  In each one we hear the grief of family and community over the loss of their loved one.  Perhaps the most poignant are the words of Martha when she says “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.” (Jn 11.21)  In our story today, when Peter arrives, we hear that “All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them.” (Acts 9:39)

We still observe a similar tradition in our grieving process today.  When a loved one or pillar of the community dies, we gather together in a church or funeral home.  We gather to weep.  We share memories, pictures and stories together, mementos of the life the person shared with us.  We remember the life contribution that person made, which made a difference in the lives of others.

When we grieve in such a way, we are also acknowledging a difficult reality.  Because of our loss, life is going to be different.  We may not yet know what the “new normal” will be, but we do know that life as we knew it will not be the same. And that realization is painful.

Grief is a difficult process for us and it is also not relegated only to physical death.  Sometimes we grieve over the loss of anticipated hopes and dreams.  Sometimes we grieve over the loss of traditions which have been meaningful and life giving for us.  Sometimes we grieve over the loss of a way of life.  In my personal life and in my work as a minister, I have experienced the grief process in many of these ways—and I am sure that you have also, for grief knows no boundaries and makes no distinction among persons.

Several years ago, my Grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases.  The last few years of his life were especially difficult, when he no longer remembered us and required care around the clock.  We began to weep and share mementos and stories long before he finally passed.  As a family, we all experienced anticipatory grief, as we mourned the loss of the gifts and person we knew him to be.  As we gather together as a faith community today, I wonder how many of us share similar experiences.

As the parent of a child with a developmental disability, grief came early.  When our son was diagnosed, I had to face the difficult reality that my hopes and dreams for his life might not come to be.  Dreams like being a football star or the president of student council.  Many parents have similar hopes and aspirations that for their children.  As I have talked with other parents, we share a common bond of grieving over the loss of those hopes and dreams.  Together as a disability community, we share stories together, weep together and seek to understand what our “new normal” might look like together.

Christianity has faced its own share of grief as well.  For years churches have been lamenting the loss of full sanctuaries.  Traditions like Christmas Bazaars, sewing circles, women’s guilds, etc. have either declined or passed away from the life of the church.  Congregations themselves are facing stark realities of decline, death of lifelong members, loss of a culture that values what church has meant for many over the years, death of congregations themselves, and the fear of what may lie ahead for those remaining.  Together we share stories of how wonderful life was together in the past.  We share mementos of the life we shared together when the church was thriving.  We grieve over the loss of the church as we knew it and share a common anticipatory grief over what may come to be of the church in the not too distant future.

In all of these diverse experiences of grieving, where is the good news?  Peter represents the early church in the book of Acts.  And through Peter’s actions we catch a glimpse of how God, people of faith and the church bring good news to those who are grieving.

The first way in which Peter responds is to listen to the tears and grief of the widows in the story.  He enters into their situation and listens as they share stories and talk about the mementos and gifts Tabitha/Dorcas gave to the community.  As people of faith, we can model this covenant when we too enter into the experience and walk beside those who are grieving.  We can share the stories of the devotion, good works and acts of charity given by those who have gone before us.

The second way in which Peter responds is to pray.  Peter pauses in the midst of the situation to pray with and for those who are grieving.  And he enters into his time of prayer after listening to the grief of the community and before he does anything else.  Peter seeks the presence and guidance of God who hears the cries of God’s children, knows their sufferings and enters into the human situation to redeem them.  And following Peter’s prayer, it is God who intercedes with hope and new life in the midst of grief and death.  And we hear in the text how this became known throughout the area and many believed in the Lord.  As people of faith and as the faith community, we can remember and model that before we do anything; we seek God through prayer and affirm that it is God who brings hope and new life into our experiences.

The third way in which Peter ministers is through going to those who are grieving.  His is an active rather than passive ministry.  As we read the text, Peter was nearby, but in a different location from the grieving widows.  They were in Joppa, while Peter was in Lydda, near Joppa.  Peter did not wait for them to come to him; he went to where they were.  As Peter represents the early Church in the story, we are invited to remember that God brings the good news to those who are hurting.  And God brings this good news, this hope in the midst of grief, not by anticipating that they will come to us, but by calling us to be on the move.  God calls us to be active and take our ministry from where we are to where they are.

The Church today is in a place similar to Peter in Lydda.  There are people hurting in Joppa.  How will we respond?

Here is the good news today:  God continues to act through our discipleship.  When we go to those who are hurting and listen to their grief, when we enter in to their situations and covenant to share their experiences, when we remember to pause, pray and seek God’s involvement, then God breathes new life into loss and death.  When we encounter the diverse experiences of death, grieving over loss of life, hopes and dreams, traditions and our former ways of life, it is God who lives and moves among us.  God works through us to be a very present help in times of trouble and calls us to an active, portable discipleship as people of faith.  God can bring us through grief, as persons of faith and as a church, to a place where death has no power over us.  Only one question remains.  Are we willing to take the journey?

Tired of Awareness

Well, here we are again.

April is Autism Awareness Month.  What started as a good idea has become, in my opinion, cliche.  And I think it has lost it’s uumph.  Some of the latest statistics are either 1 in 88, or 1 in 50 kids will be diagnosed with Autism.  And thanks to the work of non-profit advocacy agencies, the work of awareness has progressed.

But here is where I have a difference of opinion.  It is time to move beyond awareness.  Don’t get me wrong, awareness is important.  But I think people are aware.

I know that I am.  I am aware of Autism. So are my family and friends, my church and my circles of influence.  We live and breathe Autism Awareness.  Not just in April, but every day and every minute of every day.  That is what happens when you have a kid on the spectrum.  And we are also acutely aware of how isolating, and frustrating the journey has become.

Awareness is not the issue anymore.  While our culture is aware of autism, our kids are still marginalized.  They are still separated from full participation in society.  They are still not provided the supports they need to excel, while “typical” kids are.

Awareness is not what we need anymore.  Acceptance is what we need.  And equality.  And integration.

Acceptance that kids with Autism are created in the Image and Likeness of God, and do not need to be fixed, but affirmed.  Acceptance that they need to be given an equal chance at success with educational methods and supports that build them up and encourage them.  Acceptance that they can fully participate in society to the best of their ability, when they are integrated into the workplace with jobs where they can use their God given graces, talents and skills.

I am also aware that I write these words on Easter Sunday, as an Ordained Christian Minister of the Gospel.  My faith tells me that today we remember that Christ rose from the dead, which among other things means that he defeated the powers of the world which would marginalize and separate people.  His was a ministry of acceptance, to which we are called to participate.

So, how about we change the conversation.  Let’s make April “Autism Acceptance month”, and really work for some change.

Because our kids deserve more than awareness.

An UNexpected Easter

Reblogged from revgunnar:

How many of you are surprised to hear today that Christ is Risen?

 As I imagined, most (all) of us expected to hear the good news today.  In fact, we might even go so far as to say that we were planning on it.  We planned to buy Easter lilies for the sanctuary.  Maybe we planned to purchase a new Easter outfit or accessory. 

Read more… 742 more words

Some Are More Equal Than Others…

You may or may not recognize the title as a quote.  Although I have not pulled out the book to double it’s accuracy before using it, suffice it to say that it is at least a paraphrase.

The “laws” of the time stated that all were equal.  Over time, some came to more power and added to that law that some were more equal than others.  So the rule became “all animals are equal, but some or more equal than others.”  Yes, I am thinking of Animal Farm.

Some are more equal than others.  You may be surprised to hear that I am not referring to marriage equality, even though it is THE hot topic today.  As we are all created in the image and likeness of God, I wish my LGBT friends experience the highest court in our land to be impartial in it’s deciding about equality.

And isn’t it funny how those who decide about equality are those who do not have to feel UN-equal???

Anyway, what I wonder tonight is when those persons–who are created in the image and likeness of God, and happen to have disabilities, will have their day seeking equality before the Supreme Court.

When will it become illegal to deny health insurance coverage because of disabilities?

Or how about those school districts which, when facing budget difficulties, cut intervention specialists, but not math or science teachers–or beloved sports programs–which adversely affects ONLY those kids with disabilities?

How about higher education which determines admissions based on test scores, when kids with disabilities test poorly?

How about buildings which are legally “accessible” because they have a ramp, elevator and a single “handicapped” bathroom, yet still can not fully be accessed by persons with disabilities?

All humans are equal.

Unless you have or love someone with a disability.

In which case you realize——-

Some are more equal than others.

Time for the Dreaded Science Project

Well, here we are again.  It’s that time of the year where my son (and his parents) have to tackle the dreaded annual science project.  And it feels like the descent through the seven levels of hell.  Come to think of it, the seven levels might be less stressful….

Why might such a “normal” activity seem so stressful, you might ask?  Ah, well allow me to share our concerns.  

Let’s start with the grading rubric provided in advance by the teacher.  The student’s presentation will be grading on achieving the following outcomes:

1. Eye Contact: holds attention of entire audience with the use of direct eye contact, seldom looking at notes.
2. Body Language: Movements seem fluid and help the audience visualize.
3. Poise: Student displays relaxed, self-confident nature about self, with no mistakes.
4. Enthusiasm: Demonstrates a strong, positive feeling about topic during entire presentation.
5. Elocution: Student uses a clear voice and correct, precise pronunciation of terms so that all audience members can hear presentation.

Riiiiight.  Let’s review elements of the Autism Spectrum and Asperger’s Syndrome, which by nature is a neuro-psychological disorder affecting several areas.

1. Eye contact:  Persons with an ASD will display limited amounts of eye contact.  While this is an are which can be coached over time for progress, many will demonstrate difficulty in this area for thier entire lifetime.
2. Body Language: It is difficult for persons on the spectrum to understand, interpret and model appropriate non-verbal cues, including body language.
3. Poise:Spectrum disorders are anxiety disorders.  Persons struggle with feeling non-anxious and confident, especially in front of other people.
4. Enthusiasm: Persons on the spectrum, by nature, tend to have and display flat affect. This means that not only is it difficult to name emotions, it is also difficult to display the appropriate affect, especially if anxious, overwhelmed and put in the spotlight.
5. Elocution:  Autism Spectrum Disorders affect the executive functions of the brain, as well as impacting receptive and expressive language skills.

So, the nonverbal and verbal skills portions of the rubric combine for 20 points of the overall grade.  But wait, there’s more.  The content is graded on organization (executive skills), presentation quality which includes creativity (as opposed to “just the facts ma’am!”) and mechanics (expressive language).  These areas combine for a total of another 20 points.

So this means 40 points are at stake in my son’s most difficult and challenging areas.  Which of course means that without “mastering” these evaluative criteria–which have nothing to do with the subject area of the presentation, it will be difficult to receive a passing grade.

Still wondering why we are stressed?

Can we make it any harder on our kids?  It is challenging enough when our country has increased it’s focus and importance on math and science, taking time away from other areas.  It is challenging enough when decreases in school funding are felt in the special education and intervention areas, as fewer intervention specialists have more kids and less time per child.

And I know that I am not alone.  The stress my wife and I feel is shared with hundreds of thousands of parents raising kids on the spectrum in an educational system that is designed for “normal” kids.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any formative ideas on how to “change the system,” for it is a complex issue.  But hey, do we have to make it so hard for the kids who do not fit the mold?

Ah well, time to embrace our stress and go into survival mode.  But what a sad note that our goal is not learning, but surviving the task.

 

 

What’s One More Day?

Have you noticed how good most of us are at looking away? We can catch each other’s eye across a room or in a public place and look away so quickly that we pretend it never happened. We do it in the grocery store; we do it when we pass the homeless on the street; we do it with the visitor sitting next to us in church. We even do it in our own homes and with the people that we know the best and love the most. A lot of us have gotten so good at this that we really can genuinely say, “Oh, I didn’t see you standing there.” And a lot of us know the flip side of it too. We want to disappear, not be seen, because we’re ashamed of what we think they will see if they look in our eyes.  So looking away becomes a way of life.

We don’t know much about the woman in the story from Luke’s Gospel (13.10-17). She’d been bent over by a spirit for 18 years, with what we might diagnose as osteoporosis today, forced to look at the ground as she went through life.  Eighteen years—the text reads—that she was afflicted by the spirit that crippled her, that bent her over, that wore her down.   Eighteen years.  But a burden such as here cannot be measured so simply in years.  6570 days; 157,680 Hours; 9,460,800 minutes, through which she was bent over by the weight and oppression of her affliction.

See, many Jews considered physical infirmity a sign of God’s displeasure.  Anyone with a physical deformity would also be socially deformed – that is, they would be shunned and outcast – lose their family support and become poor.  So the woman in the story is also oppressed by a social system that devalues her, by a world order that sees her as more or less of no account.  She is oppressed by the burdens of measuring up to others’ expectations, the pain of being pushed aside, pushed down, isolated, devalued, deflated and diminished by the world in which we live—even though she is one of God’s chosen ones. After eighteen years—9,460,800 minutes—of her affliction, she had learned her place, to try and avoid the gaze of others, to try and become invisible.

But Jesus did not leave her to herself.  When Jesus saw her he called her to come forward. I wonder what she felt and thought in the hushed silence, with all those eyes on her. In front of the crowd, Jesus did something that I’m sure no one had done to her for a long, long time, something that violated the gender taboos of the day. He “put his hands on her” and touched her. Then he said, “Woman, you are set free from your infirmity.”

The process of healing-freeing begins with Jesus speaking to the woman – in so doing, he initiates a relationship with her that everyone else would have studiously avoided – and it is not hard to imagine that this may have been the first time in 18 years that anyone has ever directly, personally spoken to her.

The way Jesus looked at her and put his hand on her communicated the message that Jesus spent his entire ministry to convey–that God loves exactly who she is and she is worth infinitely more than her community had ever communicated to her.  Although the world might look away, God would not avert the divine eyes from a suffering child.  Jesus, through his actions, proclaims that the world’s ways are not God’s ways, and he reaches out in a beautifully restorative moment to affirm the ailing woman.

Now it’s ironic that in this gospel report the very next thing that happened, after this woman’s transforming experience, is that Jesus was challenged for doing what he did. Why? Because it was the Sabbath day and that was the kind of work that should have been postponed until a weekday.  It is as if those gathered around Jesus were focused on the accepted rules instead of the person.  It was as if they were asking Jesus, why couldn’t you wait one more day?  What’s one more day?  And Jesus’ response comes as a shock, because he focused on the person.  It is something like “why should she have to wait one more day?”

How do we view physical infirmity, or disability, in our culture?  In light of our modern scientific knowledge, we have moved beyond viewing disability as a sign of God’s displeasure.  Yet we do still separate people according to customs and habits, where those who are deemed “Able” are valued more than those deemed “Disabled.”  I heard one person describe this phenomenon a few years ago.  He wrote: “When your child is diagnosed with cancer, neighbors stop by your home bringing precooked meals, hugs and support. When your child is diagnosed with [a disability], families who see you in the supermarket will slip away down another aisle.” (Dr David Feinberg 2007)

So, when it comes to looking at and engaging with, or looking away from a person with a physical or intellectual disability, how do we respond? When it comes to taking the first step to re-integrate into our community persons who have been isolated and devalued, do we act or hesitate—do we say “What’s one more day” or “why wait another minute?”

We have been seen and known by a God who will never say, “Oh, I didn’t see you standing there.”  Today’s lesson invites all of us who seek to follow Jesus today to ponder the ways in which our own rules, customs, and habits of what is right and proper have in fact become “Bad News” for the poor, the oppressed, and those with disabilities.  And we are invited to break those bonds so that we might ourselves be proclaimers of Good News of release, recovery, and freedom.

It’s really only as we live in Jesus’ gaze that we find the power and the courage to really see those around us.  I suppose that’s the question that gets posed in our Gospel text for today: Having been seen by God, will we now see? When the person with a disability is coming down the aisle of the grocery store or the aisle of the sanctuary, will we see? Will our eyes meet in such a way that we would both be changed and raised up?  It is in these faces that come before us that we will find the face of Jesus. And it is in the risks of human relatedness, the reign of God is set to surge forward into the world.

Jesus set the woman free from her ailment.  In a similar way, the Peace of Christ which surpasses all understanding can set all of us free from our ailments.  There is healing in those words, healing in Christ.  And this healing is unleashed in the world when we dare to look into one another’s eyes and be remade in the image of Christ.  We could start tomorrow, but there are lots of people in our world who have spent 10 million minutes or more waiting to be included.  So why wait another day?

“Shelter of Refuge”—-Based on Psalm 91

I want to begin this morning by sharing a piece of a story with you.  Mark Johnson grew up in the church.  As a young boy, he and his brothers attended worship, Sunday School and participated in youth activities.  Marks parents were active in the church too.  His dad served in leadership positions.  His mom sang in the choir and planted flowers in the church garden every year.  They were, by all accounts a family of faith.

Everything changed just two weeks before Mark’s twentieth birthday, when he sustained a spinal cord injury in a diving accident. Although the Johnson family had endured trying times in the past that had tested their faith, this event brought them to their knees, spiritually speaking.  

Mark wrote about that time, in his memoir I Love Today, describing his parent’s struggle.  “My parents were beginning to lash out at the God they had served for so long,” he said, “feeling that he had betrayed them. My dad, in particular, was furious at God. More than anyone, he had believed that if he did everything right and worked hard in the church, God would protect him and his family. My mother’s anger was not as concentrated. She knew implicitly that God had not caused—or even allowed—my injury; however, she still wrestled with her sense of loss and grief. Together, they agreed that they would not return to church, at least for now.”[1]

I lift up Mark’s story in light of our hearing of Psalm 91 this morning.  This Psalm, along with other passages in the Bible, presents us with images teaching that if we have faith then God will be our great protector.  And often, Psalm 91 has often been understood as something like a magical guarantee against any form of opposition or distress.

After all, as we heard, the Psalm says no evil will befall us.  No scourge will enter our house; our foot will not be dashed on a stone.  We will be protected and rescued.  Yet Mark’s story and the life experiences many of us have faced challenge us.  A loved one has an accident resulting in a spinal cord or traumatic brain injury, cancer strikes, a child is diagnosed with a disability.  Evil does befall us, our feet do get dashed on stones.

Our lives are fraught with fears of all sorts and deceit beyond measure. We worry about our health, our finances, our children’s welfare, global warming, unemployment, poverty, natural disasters, and the burden keeps growing year by year. What, then, can the psalmist mean when he assures us that we are in the care of God’s holy angels?

 When we struggle with a major life crisis, we may also look at our dire circumstances and jump to the conclusion that these terrible things have happened because God has abandoned us. We cannot comprehend how God could still be with us and yet allow us to undergo such suffering.  But the deliverance, salvation, and satisfaction that God promises do not mean a care-free, unopposed life.   Claiming the promises of God we hear in Psalm 91 as a way to avoid the suffering of life, is a self-serving approach. 

Instead of testing God, it is probably more faithful for us to trust God. The keyword in Psalm 91 is “refuge” which assumes the need for protection and help.  And the protection and help that God promises assumes the existence of all manner of trouble and opposition, especially enemies, illness, and ferocious attack by people.  Those who fully entrust themselves to God experience deliverance, salvation, and satisfaction in the midst of opposition and trouble.

The good news is found at the end of this Psalm.  And it is to be found in the presence of a rarity in the Psalms, that God speaks and answers the lament of the Psalmist.  In the midst of crying out God’s reply comes as follows: “Those who love me, I will deliver; I will protect those who know my name. When they call to me, I will answer them; I will be with them in trouble, I will rescue them and honor them.  With long life I will satisfy them, and show them my salvation (14-16).” Deliver, rescue and honor—these are the ways in which God will respond to those in need.

The psalmist insists there is only one place where we can be truly safe — in the shelter of the Most High.  According to Jewish commentary, the shelter of the Most High is the Temple, which we can understand as the Church.  So while God may intercede in our individual lives, God also delivers, recues and honors through the church.

As Paul Harvey used to say—“here’s the rest of the story.”  I began with Mark Johnson’s story of tragedy and his family’s crisis of faith.  What I haven’t shared yet is how their church responded.  “Their church at that time, Carmel Presbyterian, immediately rallied around them. The pastor visited, and church members prayed incessantly for them and sent a steady stream of hot casseroles and pecan pies to fill their stomachs. As Mark’s parents sat vigil around his bedside, their friends ran errands, fed the dog, and shuttled news and people back and forth from the hospital.

Within four years of Johnson’s accident, his parents had also reconciled with their faith and returned to church—his mother with a sense of peace, and his father with a mixture of wariness and hope. Because Mark was still living with his parents, he attended church with them. The congregation welcomed them warmly and did what they could to accommodate Mark and his wheelchair. Among other things, they built a beautiful ramp for the church’s entrance and approved the use of their gym for the local wheelchair basketball team.”[2]

God used the church as a shelter of refuge for Mark and his family.  I wonder how many of us have stories like that too.  How many of us have found a shelter of refuge in God and the church?  How many of us are hoping to find such a refuge here?  Who do we know who is searching for a place of refuge?

The world is full of folks, who experience pain and suffering everyday of their lives, people who have not heard this good news, people with illness, people with disabilities, parent and families of persons with disabilities who feel isolated, without a spiritual home and community, who are longing to hear this good news.  They desperately need someone to be there and that someone is you and I.  God uses us, the Church, the Body of Christ, as his instrument to hold a hand, give us a hug, kneel beside our bed and pray, or to simply offer us an encouraging word when we are struggling.  God calls us to be a community of caring and connectivity to God and each other.

How will these persons know that we are here to love them?  The answer comes from Paul in his letter to the Romans (10.13-15), when he writes: “¹³For, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”¹⁴But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? ¹⁵And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”

That’s us alright, we are the folk with beautiful feet who bring the news that everyone who calls on God shall be saved—given a shelter of refuge from the harshness of the world.  And this can happen if we live into the words of one of our beloved hymns: “I love to tell the story of Jesus and his love…”  But what we need to tell is how God loves everyone as we hear in the Bible—balanced with modern day story of how we have personally experienced the love of Christ in our lives and in our church.  So how will you interpret the good news of today’s Psalm to those who need to hear it the most?

Reference:

Pinsky, M. I. (2012). Amazing Gifts: Stories of Faith, Disability and Inclusion. Alban Institute.

 

 

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[1] (Pinsky, 2012, p. 163)

[2] (Pinsky, 2012, pp. 162, 164)