Thoughts and Musings from a Progressive Christian

What are we Christians to do with the Syrian refugee “situation?”

There is a lot of talk about the refugee crisis.  There is a lot of talk about Governors and States who will refuse to accept refugees.  Church executives are declaring that following Jesus means we “must” accept refugees in the U.S.

There is a lot of talk…and a lot of positions being taken.  I had to ask myself the question about how my Christian faith informs how I engage with this question.  I even tossed it out there on Facebook, seeking conversation.  Perhaps not surprisingly, there was not much conversation.  I mean really, to be honest, it’s a HARD question.

Sure, there are the passages in Leviticus, and Deuteronomy, and Psalms, and Matthew and Hebrews, and others, about how we should welcome the stranger.  And those are the passages with which I wrestle.  Certainly, I tossed out the Hebrews, Deuteronomy and Matthew passages on my Facebook feed, with the question what are we to do with this?  (There were a few likes, but no comments)

The seemingly popular one is the Matthew 25 passage.  You know, where Jesus says I was hungry and you fed me, naked and you clothed me, a stranger and you welcomed me.  But when did we see you Lord?  Well, he replies, as often as you did it for others, you did it for me.  Okay, I get it.  As a follower of Jesus, I should welcome the strangers and care for them…even the ones I don’t like.  Even when it is inconvenient.  Even when I plain don’t want to.  I get that.  I fall short and I have a long way to go, but I get it.

But here is another wrinkle which troubles me and which I wonder if people are perhaps overlooking.  Who is the stranger we are to welcome and care for?  Jesus spent some airtime talking about defining neighbor, but left the stranger part a bit ambiguous.  (If only Jesus did play the ambiguous card so often!)  So who are the strangers?  Are they ONLY Syrian?

What about the stranger who is a refugee due to economic collapse and job loss?  What about the stranger who is a refugee due to mental illness?  What about the stranger who is a refugee: the homeless person sleeping under the bridge in my hometown; a veteran who served our country and is now homeless; a refugee from urban gang violence; a refugee from a domestic violence situation?  What about the strangers and refugees already among us?  Because let’s be honest, we haven’t welcomed or cared for them yet.  Refugees right under our noses.

So how are we to prioritize which group to care for first?  In a world of limited and competing resources, how does our faith lead us to determine who to care for—and who to turn our backs toward and deny?

It would be a lot easier for me to leave my faith for Sunday only, leave it in the pew when I leave church and pick it up again when I return.  But faith is supposed to be life changing, and empower us to change the world.  Jesus calls us to move beyond our biases, political allegiances, cultural preferences and popular responses, and welcome the stranger—who is him.  Tough stuff indeed.

So what are we to do?

Religious Freedom Laws and Disabilities


Although this was written when the Arizona law was being considered (and ultimately did not pass), Indiana did in fact pass a law yesterday. Unfortunately, this continued interest in discrimination cloaked as religious freedom means that I still feel concerned.

Originally posted on revgunnar:

Recently there has been much ado about states proposing legislation with the intent to “restore religious freedom.” Arizona is that latest to gain attention for such legislation, but they are not alone. Several states (Kansas, Utah, etc.) are engaging in this practice, including my own state of Ohio. “The language of Arizona’s law allows exemptions from requirements that “substantially burden” an individual’s exercise of religion–something that could allow almost any kind of discrimination as long as it is based on sincere religious beliefs.” (

As the parent of a child with a disability, this language is precisely what scares me. Persons with disabilities and mental illness, and their advocates, have worked very hard over many years seeking full inclusion in all facets of society. They have had to fight to overcome stigma and stereotypes. They have had to lobby for the ADA, and special education and coverage under…

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Disturbing Epiphany

Matthew 2.1-12

Our text today paints quite a scene. The wise men travelling so far, having to stop for directions, getting back on their journey after the pit stop and finally arriving where Jesus is. After all that, they worship Jesus, give him gifts and then return home another way.

The amount of narration given for the journey of the magi—the buildup if you will—is extensive. By comparison, there are two sentences, they knelt and gave him homage (worship), and then gifts. It is almost anti-climactic in a way. All the buildup, and then in the blink of an eye (in story telling fashion), it is over. They worship, give their gifts and they go home.

I wonder if we can see something of ourselves in this story. Beginning around the Monday before Thanksgiving, we hear Christmas songs on the radio and see Christmas shopping sales advertisements on TV. The long journey of Advent in preparations. The decorations, the manger scenes, the pageants, the carols.

Now, in about a week after Christmas, decorations are coming down. Trees are being undecorated. Victorian Christmas villages and manger scenes are being packed away, out of sight and out of mind, until next November. We have moved from singing O Come Emmanuel to “should all acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind.”

And not just with our decorations. In the days leading up to Christmas we saw toy drives on TV, the People in Need Christmas clearing house, and the Common Ground “Miracle on William Street,” just to name a few.

The long build up, and then we worship, give our gifts and go home. In less time than we spent on the journey to get here, and having accomplished that which we set out to do—our celebration of the birth of the Christ child, we are ready to move on. Maybe before we move on so quickly we should reflect on the buildup of the journey…

In the midst of Matthew’s leading narrative, we hear the about how the magi stopped and encountered Herod. They shared with him about how they had heard the new King of Kings was to be born and they were following a star to worship him—not King Herod, but this new King.

When King Herod hear this, he was frightened and all of Jerusalem with him. The Greek here is intriguing; it reads more like when King Herod hear this, he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him. Herod—and all of Jerusalem—felt troubled, worried and unhappy.

Perhaps we can understand why Herod felt anxious. He was King and Christ, the King of the Jews, had been born. Herod may have felt that his position of power was in jeopardy, thus feeling troubled. But why would Matthew say all of Jerusalem was disturbed? This news, after all, was about the Messiah, the one who would redeem the faithful and about whom they ought to be rejoicing. Yet they felt disturbed. Maybe that is why we like Luke’s Christmas story. Everyone is rejoicing, the heavenly host is singing. Everyone seems joyful. No one is disturbed.

I don’t know about you but I don’t like being disturbed. Especially when it has taken me a while to get everything just the way it should be, and I can finally settle down into the comfort of the conditions I have created. Whether it be the comfort of going to work each day, the regularity of routines and rituals, or even the familiarity of my favorite Christmas traditions; I dislike disturbance.

But Matthew wants us to hear something: the coming of Jesus is (or ought to be) disturbing, especially to those comfortable with the status quo, and also those within the faith community.

This Christmas season I have felt disturbed, which is to say shaken from my complacency of going through the motions of remembering the Christmas story to a moment of Epiphany where God was made visible. “So what makes God visible?  Our eyes must be opened; our vision must be corrected so that the blur that we were once unable to comprehend becomes clear.  This comes with a community that helps us to see God, a community through which God reveals himself.  The teachers of such a community might not be the ones we expect.” – (See more at:

It was following one of those Christmas season of giving events, when I had comfortably volunteered my time to serve on the TV station phone bank for the MidOhio Foodbank double your donation drive.  As I answered the phone for one of the callers, she began by asking me if the foodbank served those in her community.  After I assured her that the service area included her county, she made her donation, knowing it would be doubled, to help those in need.  Now, I had taken phone calls before hers, with donors giving 100, 200 and even 500 dollars.  So when I asked her how much she wanted to give, she replied five dollars.  She had heard that each dollar provides four meals for someone hungry and that her donation would be doubled, and she wanted to be able to help provide 40 meals.  She only had a little bit, but wanted to give.

In that moment it was as if that woman opened my eyes and I was able to see a glimpse of God, because it was as if Christ was bringing alive the story of the widow and her two mites. It wasn’t gold, frankincense or myrrh, but she opened her treasure chest and gave what she had to give as a humble servant.

Epiphany is about the seeing the manifestation of God in Christ.  And when did we see you Jesus?  I was hungry and you fed me, I was naked and you clothed me…as often as you did this for the least of these, you have done it for me.  As we gather this morning, there are those in our community, perhaps even some among us who are still in need of food, clothing or shelter, even though Christmas is “over.”  If we open our eyes to see the need around us, to see Jesus, it should make us feel uncomfortable, anxious, and worried.  Indeed, like all of Jerusalem, we too should feel disturbed.

I wonder: how are we reacting to the reality that born among us is the One who challenges our long developed, comfortable every day and Christmas traditions? This holy child whose birth we have totally over-celebrated, once again, last week. Are we also agitated and troubled by the thought that allowing this child to continue to grow in our “homelands” may cost us too much, and disturb our comfortable kingdoms more than we care for? Have we comfortably put Christmas behind us in the New Year season resolutions, of Bowl Games, NFL Playoffs, etc.? Where now are the toy drives and the food campaigns?

One of my favorite moments in the Old Testament story is when Joshua gathers together the elders of the faith community, challenging them with the words: choose this day whom you will serve—the foreign gods of your ancestors, or the One who has delivered you. We too have a choice. How do we want to hear the Epiphany story this year? Do we want to “see Jesus” or “put Jesus away” this Epiphany?

Choose this day who you will serve. We can simply pack this shepherd king away with the Christmas tree and lights, as we dismantle them on the twelfth day of Christmas—or even earlier—and safely tuck them away in the crawlspace or attic—till next Advent. In other words, we can choose to have the journey to Jesus, with our comfortable Christmas seasons and routine traditions, remain undisturbed.

Or we can choose to allow the story of Jesus birth and the journey of the magi to disturb us like all of Jerusalem, confronting us with our comfort and challenging us to break with our own status quo. Perhaps we can be brave enough to see Jesus, offer our worship and gifts and move in a different direction afterward, like the magi.

Which one will you choose?

All the People (A Christmas Message)

Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel/And ransom captive Israel/Who mourns in lonely exile here/until the Son of God appear.

As I have written and preached before, sometimes a Christmas message comes to me unexpectedly.  Despite all of the plans and preparations, Christmas dawns anew for me…and to quote the Grinch “it came without packages, boxes or bags!”  This year, the words of O Come Emmanuel lingered with me, along with the birth narrative from Luke.  And perhaps an influence from Matthew too.

While the words lingered, those of mourning and exile grew.  I remembered the words of the Sermon on the Mount “blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” remembering also that in context those who mourn was understood (in the Aramaic) to be those who are “overwhelmed with the stuff of life.”

Come Emmanuel.  Come this Christmas eve to those who mourn in exile.  Come to those who are overwhelmed with the stuff of life.  Come to those in exile: the marginalized, outcast, shunned, bullied, forgotten, overlooked and stigmatized, longing to be accepted and included.

Come Emmanuel—for the person with mental illness who doesn’t have access to mental health care, and who mourns in the exile of a perpetual revolving door in and out of the emergency room.

Come Emmanuel—for the person with a disability who mourns in lonely exile of a world which defines (and devalues) people according to “ability.”

Come Emmanuel—for the parents of children with Autism, who mourn in lonely exile seeking inclusion for their children.

Come Emmanuel—for those who are homeless, and hungry, mourning in exile for a warm shelter to sleep or a hot meal.

Come Emmanuel—for those who are unemployed, or underemployed, mourning in exile from economic factors beyond their control.

Come Emmanuel—for the person who identifies as a Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual or Transgender, mourning in exile because their family has shunned them.

Come Emmanuel—for the person struggling with addiction, mourning in lonely exile.

Come Emmanuel—for those who mourn in exile for reasons and factors we cannot see or describe.

Come, ransom the captives who mourn in lonely exile here.

And then into the darkness of lonely exile, breaks the light:  “In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.10But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: 11to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

And there it is: good news—of great joy—for ALL PEOPLE!

REJOICE, REJOICE!  Emmanuel has come to thee O Israel!

The Messiah was announced: Emmanuel, God with Us, who freed the captives mourning in lonely exile.  In time he would wander the countryside interacting with mourning parents, those with disabilities, those with mental illness, the homeless living in caves, the hungry, the outcast, the shunned—all those who had been excluded from full participation in society.  When he came they found themselves included!  No more lonely exile!

That’s the message, isn’t it?  It is for us, yes, when we are overwhelmed by the stuff of life.  But it is not JUST for us.  We don’t get to hear it at Christmas and keep it to ourselves.  There is something we will need to do with it.  And there will be time for us to be called into doing.  But tonight we need to let the message linger—let it wash over us and stir us—because before we can do something with the message, we need to feel it.

What is your exile, in which you are lonely and mourn?  That is what tonight is about.  You no longer need to feel lonely, or mourn.  Emmanuel, God with Us, God for Us, has come and we are freed to live life differently from this moment.  And not just us.

ALL the people.

So how will we live differently because of the message? This event also calls us—yes us—to be the body of Christ, the hands and feet who reach out to those who mourn in lonely exile today.  So how will we make a difference—reach out to those mourning in lonely exile—because we have been changed by this powerful message?

Come Emmanuel.  Come to us mourning in lonely exile this evening.  Come for us.  Lift us with your love, your grace, your light, your joy and your peace and free us from all that holds us captive.  In the name of the One who came for ALL the People, Amen.

Eden, Babel, and Wrestling with Autonomy

Over the last week I have been wrestling with the concept of autonomy. Actually, I should qualify that, I have been wrestling theologically with autonomy.

This wrestling has been motivated by the cultural debate sparked by the “Death with Dignity” conversation and the complex decision of Brittany Maynard to end her life through Physician Assisted Suicide/Death. For supporters of PAD, there is a desire to support the autonomy of individuals, including a person’s autonomous capacity to decide when and how to end his/her life when diagnosed with a terminal condition.

But in the conversation about autonomy, the consideration of limits is not frequently discussed. So I began to wonder, with such a high value on autonomy, what are the limits of autonomy? And while this question can be engaged within bioethics, philosophy and other disciplines, for me it is more about reflecting from my faith perspective.

We read in Genesis 3:22 that God is concerned about humans eating from the Tree of Life in the Garden, and decides to protect it. Later on, in Genesis 11, God is concerned about the humans building the Tower of Babel: “this is only the beginning of what they will do…” (11.6)

Walter Brueggemann (Interpretation Commentary Series: Genesis; John Knox, pg. 54) offers the following thought on the Eden narrative: “Our mistake is to pursue autonomous freedom. Freedom which does not discern the boundaries of human life leaves us anxious.” Claus Westermann (Genesis: A Practical Commentary; Wipf and Stock, pg.82-83) comments on the Babel narrative, offering “God is afraid that the building will lead to human autonomy; such a development would call into question human finitude, which is inherent in being created by God.”

Taken together then, perhaps we might discern that in our anxiety about human finitude, we exercise a greater desire for autonomy, pushing the boundaries of human life (and death). Instead of finding clarity, perhaps what we then experience is greater anxiety.

Does this imply that we should have no autonomy? Something within me says no. God does give us free will (the freedom to which Brueggemann alludes) and autonomy. But is autonomy then limitless? If not, then what are the boundaries of autonomy? In our pursuit of autonomy, when do we discern and accept our human finitude?

These are complex questions, just as facing death comes with complexity. And given the complexity of terminal illness, facing death accentuates human anxiety with wonderments of how death will approach, how painful it will be, how emotionally painful and financially difficult it will be for family members, and other deeply wrenching questions.

So, given the Genesis narrative, theologically is the autonomy associated with choosing Physician Assisted Death within the appropriate boundaries of human life, or outside of acceptance of human finitude?

Is It Time Yet?

Dear Church:

Is it time yet? Are we there yet? Have we yet come to the place when we might take a critical look at our guest list of people we have invited, and expand our invitation?

We have looked about and lamented over our declining church. We have wrung our hands, wondering why people aren’t joining like they used to. We have tried church growth strategies, and marketing schemes, and advertising campaigns, all designed to attract people to our church. We have tweaked our liturgy, and our worship style. We have written a plethora of welcome statements, designed web sites, set up “Facebook” pages and even opened twitter accounts—all in the interest of attracting people to our beloved, declining, church. After all of this, a few have come, but we are still a shadow of what we used to be—in the “glory days.”

Since so many people have not accepted our invitation, is it time—just maybe—to invite those whom we have not invited before?

Luke 14:16-21 Then Jesus said to him, “Someone gave a great dinner and invited many. 17 At the time for the dinner he sent his slave to say to those who had been invited, ‘Come; for everything is ready now.’ 18 But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, ‘I have bought a piece of land, and I must go out and see it; please accept my regrets.’ 19 Another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I am going to try them out; please accept my regrets.’ 20 Another said, ‘I have just been married, and therefore I cannot come.’ 21 So the slave returned and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and said to his slave, ‘Go out at once into the streets and lanes of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame.’

After all of the preparations had been made, and no one came, then the decision was made to invite the outcast, the separated, the stigmatized—the persons with disabilities. Those who had been overlooked and marginalized, were finally extended an invitation—and they came.

But before you think “A-HA, our next outreach strategy!” please be cautious. Persons with disabilities are not a strategy. They should not be invited as a mere means to grow a church. THEY ARE, however, persons who are longing for a spiritual home. They are a community longing to be invited and genuinely, authentically, welcomed into the life of the church.

Here are two stories which parents have shared with me and given me permission to share:

“My husband and I are members of a very large [deleted denomination] church…going on 8 years. After 5 years of not missing a Sunday or Wednesday, our infant son was diagnosed w/autism and a few other physical problems. Attendance started to dwindle as he was not enjoying all of the over-stimulation. One of us always ended up taking him out to the car and getting his stroller and pushing him around the large parking lot. We would alternate so we would each have a chance at a spiritual feeding.

It became difficult. Putting him in the nursery or toddler room without myself or my husband was never an option. We started to really miss being there as a family. Attendance dwindled more. If fact, I expect a letter any day letting me know our membership will be null and void if we don’t return. We absolutely
loved this church. It makes me sad. But it is probably the most unfriendly to someone with sensory integration disorder. We slowly gave up on spiritual feedings in public.” And the closing words of her story pained my very heart as she said “I miss the love.”

A few weeks ago, I was talking with a woman (we’ll call her “Sally”) in my office, and she was telling me about her faith. She explained that she has always had a strong faith and a strong connection to the church. When she and her husband had children, they were active in worship, and the kids were in Sunday school.

Their one son was diagnosed with a developmental disability. Unfortunately, due to his disability, his behaviors did not match those of “typical” children in church. In other words, he didn’t behave the way children should in church. He was deemed to be “high maintenance.” The looks and stares, along with comments, from members of the church became part of each Sunday worship experience. Eventually, Sally told me, feeling hurt and betrayed, felling judged as bad parents, Sally and her family left the church and searched for another.

They found a new church, one where everyone was excited to welcome a new family, so they started attending. After all, we all know how we churches rush to greet a visiting family with kids! Yet a few months later, it was the same situation occurring all over again for them in this new church. So Sally and her family searched for a new church, one that would welcome and understand their situation. They wanted to be included in a church family, and live out their faith. They tried a third church…to no avail. They tried a fourth church…

After four churches, their feelings of hurt, shame, discouragement and anger with their experience of churches became too much. They gave up. After trying four churches, they stopped trying. And they stopped going. Sally tells me that these days, she sits down at her computer and watches a sermon on the internet. That way, she says, she can nurture her faith without the worrying about the judgment.

The stories these two parents shared with me are not isolated stories. There are many more. One writer shared the following (see footnote below): “family members of many faith traditions, living with a disability…reported that their children remained marginalized within faith communities…” “Without fail, parents believed…that their children had a deep spiritual connection to God; that they had the capacity to develop such a relationship; or that through their active involvement and visible presence in the church community, they could enhance the spiritual lives of the members…nothing created so much sadness in the lives of parents as the failure of faith communities to value the spiritual connection or community role of disabled children.”

There’s just this invisibleness; they really don’t see you. Or they stare at you; one of the two. I want her to feel welcome. Not this invisible person. I don’t want her to be looked over like she’s just not there.

Matthew…has gifts, said his mother. He loves music. He can’t look a person in the eye, but he can sing like an angel, and he wants to be in the choir. Why couldn’t he be part of a choir? Because the pastor says he is too strange.

It was a shock for us when we were told that Gregory could only attend one more time in the classroom, and even then only if a parent would attend with him because they couldn’t do it. Do it yourself, they said.

Eight year old Carl’s mother was most anguished because she believed that her son had been “deleted” from church life: I really almost lost my faith over this whole ordeal, but it’s my faith and I won’t quit my faith because of a few rotten apples.

Persons with Disabilities, and their families, are longing for a church home. They are praying for a faith community in which they can feel welcomed, included and loved.

Is it time yet? Is it time yet to revisit the guest list, and instead of inviting all those who aren’t coming, invite those who want to be invited?

If not………then when will it be time church?

Rev. Gunnar Cerda, Parent of a child with a “disability”

Speraw, S. “Spiritual experiences of parents and caregivers who have children with disabilities or special needs.” Issues In Mental Health Nursing 27, no. 2 (February 2006): 213-230. CINAHL with Full Text, EBSCOhost(accessed October 15, 2014).

No More Hushing

Matthew 20:29-34 As they were leaving Jericho, a large crowd followed him. 30 There were two blind men sitting by the roadside. When they heard that Jesus was passing by, they shouted, “Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!” 31 The crowd sternly ordered them to be quiet; but they shouted even more loudly, “Have mercy on us, Lord, Son of David!” 32 Jesus stood still and called them, saying, “What do you want me to do for you?” 33 They said to him, “Lord, let our eyes be opened.” 34 Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes. Immediately they regained their sight and followed him.

As we hear our Gospel passage this morning, Jesus is leaving Jericho and a large crowd is following him. Sitting by the roadside, separated from the crowd, are two persons with a disability. Wanting to be noticed, they shout out to Jesus for mercy.

The reaction of the crowd is striking. The crowd sternly orders them to be quiet. Two persons with disabilities are shouting out, wanting to be noticed by Jesus, wanting to be included in his grace, and the crowd wants them silenced. And this is not just a “hush,” this is a stern order, a strong reply designed to deny the voice of those with a disability. It is a response which illustrates that the crowd of followers wants to keep the persons with disabilities in their place.

My guess is that these two persons were used to the stigma. Unfortunately, they were accustomed to being treated this way by society. But in that moment, they had enough. This time they decided they would not be silenced by the crowd. Today, they decided, the crowd would not determine what they were allowed to do or say. So, refusing to accept the crowd’s denial of their agency, the two persons with disability shouted even more loudly: Have mercy on us Lord, Son of David!

Unfortunately, this story has occurred not only in Jesus’ time. As one author writes: “Within a society which uses the criteria of independence, productivity, intellectual prowess and social position to judge the value of human beings, people with . . . disabilities will inevitably be excluded and downgraded as human beings of lesser worth and value.” Even in today’s world, we hear persons with disabilities calling out to be included, only to be met with responses designed to deny their voice, agency and full participation in the community. Even the Gospel text we heard has been omitted and skipped over in the Revised Common Lectionary. Maybe it is not always a stern order to be quiet, but sometimes actions speak louder than words.

What might it sound like today? We want to be able to access buildings! Oh hush, we already built a ramp. We want to be able to park and go shopping like everyone else. Oh hush, we already designated one handicapped parking space. We want the same education. Oh hush, we already hired one intervention specialist. We want to work. Oh hush, we don’t have any jobs which can accommodate your disability. We want to be able to participate fully in the life of the church. Oh hush, we welcome everyone to worship. Hush, hush, hush, we have already decided what accommodations we will give you.

A few weeks ago, I was talking with a woman (we’ll call her “Sally”) in my office, and she was telling me about her faith (She gave me permission to share her story with you). She explained that she has always had a strong faith and a strong connection to the church. When she and her husband had children, they were active in worship, and the kids were in Sunday school.

Their one son was diagnosed with a developmental disability. Unfortunately, due to his disability, his behaviors did not match those of “typical” children in church. In other words, he didn’t behave the way children should in church. He was deemed to be “high maintenance.” The looks and stares, along with comments, from members of the church became part of each Sunday worship experience. Eventually, Sally told me, feeling hurt and betrayed, felling judged as bad parents, Sally and her family left the church and searched for another.

They found a new church, one where everyone was excited to welcome a new family, so they started attending. After all, we all know how we churches rush to greet a visiting family with kids! Yet a few months later, it was the same situation occurring all over again for them in this new church. So Sally and her family searched for a new church, one that would welcome and understand their situation. They wanted to be included in a church family, and live out their faith. They tried a third church…to no avail. They tried a fourth church…

After four churches, their feelings of hurt, shame, discouragement and anger with their experience of churches became too much. They gave up. After trying four churches, they stopped trying. And they stopped going. Sally tells me that these days, she sits down at her computer and watches a sermon on the internet. That way, she says, she can nurture her faith without the worrying about the judgment.

Persons with disabilities (and their families) are not defined by their disability, they are persons just like us, and created in the image and likeness of God, with the same spiritual hopes and needs we have. One author described it this way when writing about a person he had formed a relationship with: “Stephen doesn’t need to be judged, controlled or confined. He has as much right to have a valued place within society, as anyone else. He, like all of us, needs to be recognized as a valued person, loved and above all else understood. He needs people to take the time to enter into ‘his world,’ to sit with him, and together discover that the world in which he lives is the same world in which they live, even though the way he experiences it may be very different from the way many others do. Above all else he needs to be recognized as a person in his own right, with hopes, dreams and expectations for his life, and not a ‘disability’ that simply needs to be controlled, healed or overcome.”

As we heard in our Gospel today, Jesus did not hush the persons with disabilities. Instead, moved with compassion, he reached out to them. In that moment, their voice was heard and the Kingdom of God was seen when their life was forever changed. They found healing and the hush fell instead upon the crowd.

The good news is that Christ has redeemed us from our sins, and we can feel freed to move in new ways. Through Christ we are empowered to be the individuals who challenge stigma instead of perpetuating it. As a crowd who follows Jesus, we can be the ones who reach out to those who have been hushed, offering healing.

Martin Copenhaver, in his book titled This Odd and Wonderous Calling, writes of a situation he encountered while pastoring one of his congregations. He writes of how welcoming the stranger can be messy and tells the story of a gentleman named Bernie. Bernie was bright, well educated and had a true gift for music. He could often be found playing the piano in the sanctuary and you would think you were sitting in a concert hall.

Bernie also had Tourette’s Syndrome, an illness which causes a person to burst forth with involuntary exclamations, sometimes obscenities or something similarly inappropriate. In Bernie’s case, he had a tendency to unexpectedly bark. Yes, bark, like a dog. Due to his disability, Bernie could not hold a job. His family couldn’t handle it and turned him away. So he was homeless and had a disability. And then one day Bernie decided to join the church choir.

Martin confesses that the first time he saw Bernie in the choir, his first thought was not “thank you Jesus.” But despite how uncomfortable it felt at first, Bernie sang in the choir and he had a beautiful voice when he was not barking. And while the church had many discussions about “what to do about Bernie,” in the end they decided to do nothing but let it be as it was.

After a few weeks the congregation became accustomed to Bernie’s outbursts. The understood him and loved him and the gifts he brought. When visitors would come to the church and hear one of Bernie’s outbursts, they would look around and be amazed that no one seemed to be disturbed. What they saw was a community who accepted and included him. When they noticed the lack of response, they would often have a look on their face as if to say “what kind of strange place is this I’ve wandered into?” And Pastor Copenhaver came to the conclusion that perhaps that question is the highest compliment a church can receive.

My friends, people with disabilities are still shouting out today. And we are the crowd following Jesus. How will we respond—as “hushers”……or as Christ, moved with compassion?


(Swinton 42); 2 (Swinton 34); 3 (Copenhaver and Daniel 97-8)


Copenhaver, Martin B. and Lillian Daniel. This Odd and Wondrous Calling: The Public and Private Lives of Two Ministers. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans, 2009.

Swinton, John. “Building a Church for Strangers.” Journal of Religion, Disability & Health (Vol. 4 (4) 2001): 25-63.

Let Go and Let God

There are phrases that just stick with you. Like those 12 step phrases. Of course, the popular one is “One day at a time.” But another returned to mind today: “Let go and let God.” It came to mind thanks to the sermon I heard at church this morning.

Sometimes when I read a Gospel passage, I see, hear and identify with a person in the narrative. Today’s passage in Matthew 15.21-28 is one of those. There is a woman who advocates on behalf of her daughter, who has been possessed by a demon. Of course, sociocultural commentary teaches us that the ancient Mediterranean culture ascribed demon possession to unexplained conditions like disabilities and mental illness. And such persons were subjected to stigma—much as they still are in our culture today.

So we have a parent, advocating for a child. The disciples urge Jesus to send here away, because she keeps shouting after them. In other words, the mother is persistent, displaying commitment and dedication to advocating for her child. She will neither be silenced nor give up. And then she is so bold as to engage Jesus in a repartee. He says that he came for the lost sheep of Israel. In other words, in this passage (typical commentary about this displaying the humanity of Jesus set aside for now) he saw his mission as being for those whom were not the marginalized and stigmatized. Yet she persists, and Jesus accommodates her request. Here it is:

Matthew 15:21-28 Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 22 Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” 23 But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” 24 He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 25 But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” 26 He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 27 She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” 28 Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

So there I am thinking about how this passage really validates our role as advocates for our children who need to be included in our schools and culture. Here I am thinking that the interaction illustrates that when we parents of children with disabilities persist in shouting after the disciples (the church) for inclusion, we are justified through the actions of Jesus in this passage. Here I am thinking this Gospel passage is PERFECT for all that I am concerned about!

Then came the sermon. And the focus was on Jesus’ response “let it be done for you as you wish.”

Sometimes I find myself really challenged by a Gospel passage. “Let it be done for you.” Sometimes, you need to be still and know that God is God. Sometimes you need to hit the pause button in your persistence and advocacy, in order to give God some space to work. Sometimes you need to….well, let go and let God. He did not say let you do as you wish. He said let it be done for you.

It is about control. See, there are so many times with our kids that we need to be in control. There are schools to hold accountable to following IEP’s. There are politicians who haven’t seen the need to craft laws which include persons with disabilities—so we need to advocate. There are the dirty looks and stares from people who don’t understand and need to be educated. There are stigma to overcome. There are…well you get the idea. There is so much “we” need to do. But how often do we pause and let it be done as we wish? In all of our advocating and persistence, when do we stop and give God a chance to change people’s hearts. When do I hit the pause button? When do I stop “shouting after them” long enough to see what God has done for us?

So tonight I reflect on how I might seek a better balance. Holding in tension that I feel called to advocate, alongside needing to give God some space to work: when and where do I need to let go and let God? Oh, and maybe “Keep it Simple too….

The Touchy Language of Blessed

I read a HuffPost Religion Blog today (here) where the author said: “I’ve noticed a trend among Christians, myself included, and it troubles me. Our rote response to material windfalls is to call ourselves blessed. Like the “amen” at the end of a prayer…On the surface, the phrase seems harmless. Faithful even. Why wouldn’t I want to give God the glory for everything I have? Isn’t that the right thing to do?…we hijack the word “blessed” to make it fit neatly into our modern American ideals, creating a cosmic lottery where every sincere prayer buys us another scratch-off ticket.”

I agree with the author, but from a different perspective than he was exploring. The word blessed is often used to refer to life situations, like the parent who is talking about a child and says “I feel so blessed.” How could this be troubling when it sounds so innocent?

I remember reading an internet “Dear So and so” (like Dear Abby) site a few months ago, from a parent who wrote seeking some understanding when she wrote: “…it always feels like a slap in the face when people, knowing my situation, say they were blessed with healthy children. Are only the healthy and wealthy blessed?” The language we used, while it sounds harmless, can be touchy and hurtful.

Imagine for a moment you (or your spouse, parent, child, sibling, friend, etc.) are a person with a disability, mental illness, disabling chronic illness or syndrome, terminal illness, age related condition, etc. When someone says they “feel blessed” because they received a raise at work, or found the perfect house, or their child scored a goal in sports, how would that sound? How would that feel? And when those who do not experience whatever the “blessing” is, are they (or you) not blessed? If you are not blessed, are you then cursed?

Of course I pulled out a favorite book of mine (Social Science Commentary on the Gospels by Bruce Malina) and came across the following: “Contrary to the dominant social values, these “blessed are…” statements ascribe honor to those unable to defend their positions or those who refuse to take advantage of or trespass on the position of another. They are not those normally honored by the culture.” Another way to understand this might be that those whose life seems great, or encounter a windfall, etc. misunderstand the context, those things are not the blessings. The above makes sense in the context of the beatitudes “blessed are the poor in spirit, those who mourn,” and so on.

While a thorough exploration of the theology and biblical contextuality of blessing would be helpful, it is beyond the space of a blog post. And while what it means to “be blessed” may be complex, I am not suggesting we strike the phrase from our vocabulary or culture. I do however think that we could benefit from refraining to use the word blessed so easily in our culture, and describe our situations in more sensitive ways.

Perhaps in the meantime we can simply pause and ask ourselves: how will another person hear it when I say I’m blessed and how will the other person feel hearing it?


(In)Justice and (Un)Fairness

As I sit here at my computer in this moment, I feel very sad. And angry. Angry with the injustice, unfairness and misunderstanding towards persons with disabilities.

To be up front, I feel sad for my son, for myself, for my wife and daughter. Because as I have written about before, my son is a great kid, who happens to have a disability.

Imagine how proud I felt when he got a job a few months ago with a local business, and how thankful I felt for the manager who gave him an opportunity to learn social skills, job skills, life skills and responsibility. All the things that all great kids need to grow in our world. I was so thankful for that manager, and her compassion for my son. And then, as happens in life, people pursue opportunities, as was the case for the manager. She moved on and a new manager came on board.

And then my son lost his job.

Just like that. You are no longer needed. You will feel uncomfortable when it gets busy. You will feel overwhelmed. This isn’t the right environment for you. Can I help you find a place to volunteer? Other people said you didn’t like working here…why, because he doesn’t express emotion and didn’t “act” excited every day? But you haven’t even scheduled him to work with you and assess his abilities yet. What about a job coach—we have arranged for a job coach to help. Well maybe you can use the job coach over the summer somewhere else and try again in the fall. But there is nothing for you to do here.

WHAT??!! We felt blindsided. My son (as well as he can articulate) feels disappointed and hurt. He had a job and now he doesn’t. How can I explain it to him when even I don’t understand? I’m sorry buddy, some people don’t understand what it means to have a disability. Some people don’t understand how to get to know you. Some people don’t understand how proud you were of your job. No, you didn’t do anything wrong. No, it’s not your fault.

And although I am angry for my son and myself, I realize there is a larger issue at stake here. The issue is how ALL persons with disabilities are treated in the workforce. Presumptions and assumptions are made. Paternalistic statements like “let me help you find a volunteer opportunity” send a message that you are not valued as employee. They send messages like “you don’t belong here.” They demean and belittle the potential and skills that a person does have. They lessen feelings of self worth. They reinforce the dominant ideology that persons with “abilities” have power over, and determine the opportunities of, persons with disabilities. They determine who is included in society and who gets “let go” from participation in the workforce.

But you can go volunteer.

How many persons with disabilities are told they can go volunteer somewhere? And how is that either Just or Fair?

I am reminded of the words of the Apostle Paul, as he wrote to the Corinthians: The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you”… but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it. (1 Cor 12.21-26) Did you catch that??

So I have to wonder, how many persons with disabilities have to have to suffer such demeaning treatment—being told they are not needed? And what do we need to do to help our society understand that it is beyond time that persons with disabilities feel empowered and are honored? It is beyond time to INCLUDE NOT EXCLUDE persons with disabilities from full participation in the workforce.

There is a bigger issue here. And although I feel hurt, I also feel that it is time to take a stand. On behalf of my son, because I am his Dad and will stand by his side no matter what. And on behalf and alongside persons with disabilities. Because where there is injustice, my faith calls me to seek justice.

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