"A church with an accessible culture makes sure a diverse community can participate in everything they do. That's not a burden on a church - it's a cultural shift that benefits everyone."
"This is a book about justice." So reads the first sentence of At the Gates: Disability, Justice and the Churches. Written by Naomi Lawson Jacobs and Emily Richardson, who are themselves disabled, At the Gates draws on interviews with dozens of Christians with disabilities to put together a picture of how they have been treated at church. In the book, the interviewees are called storytellers.
All too often, the stories tell of lack of access, hurtful comments, and unfounded assumptions about their abilities and faith. This, the authors describe as ableism - an ideology that gives power to those who are able-bodied and neurotypical, while regarding others as deficient.
What is the book about?
The first part of the book covers the issues that disabled people have in having full access to a church community. It starts with the obvious - physical access - which is often still a problem. Then it moves on to cultural issues. On the one hand, there's the idea that church members should be "present every Sunday, active in church, and able to join in socially", which is difficult for those struggling with pain or exhaustion. At the other extreme, churches may assume that disabled people are only there to be ministered to, overlooking their gifts for ministry or service, and relegating them to the sidelines.
The second half of the book is more theological. It discusses distinctive views of God which arise out of the experience of disability, and the difference between healing and cure for those living with long-term health issues. It talks about spaces which disabled Christians have made for themselves "on the edge", particularly online communities, and - having been published in 2022 - starts to evaluate the effect of covid-19 on church accessibility.
What did you find encouraging?
I found it reasonably encouraging to evaluate how accessible my own church is. We benefit from a fairly new building, so there is flat access, a lift for upstairs, automatic doors, and so on. Worship leaders usually remember to say, "Stand up, or sit if you prefer," (I was amazed to read just how helpful some people find this) and there are spaces to escape to outside of the main worship area.
I was also pleased to read that the Methodist Church has guidelines for supporting ministers with ill health or disability, and I know they are trying hard on EDI (Equality, Diversity, Inclusion), having done some of the training myself.
It's always much harder to see the people who aren't there, though, because we didn't meet their needs. "When we [disabled people] quietly leave, churches may stay ignorant of barriers they have created."
I was challenged by the section about providing information in advance, such as this comprehensive guide from Windsor Castle, that shows all the stairs and gives details of the lift dimensions. In my experience, this takes longer than you'd think to put together. But I can imagine how useful it would be, and it wouldn't really be very difficult to do.
What challenged you?
One of the main messages of the book is that disabled people want to take a full part in the church. It's not enough to make sure there's a ramp to the front door, if you then create barriers to people taking communion, leading prayers, or joining in with activities. "These were churches that invited our storytellers, and even had good intentions to include them, but which were not always willing to transform to welcome disabled people."
I feel like that could describe me - I'm kind of well-intentioned, but I don't know if I'm up for the challenge of actually transforming. It reminded me of Brenda Salter McNeil's book Roadmap to Reconciliation, which is primarily about racial injustice. She talks about a "catalytic event" needing to take place in order for a community to realise their need for reconciliation. Then there is a realisation that transformation is costly; you gain some things, but lose others.
There are many parallels between racial and disability justice. Jacobs and Richardson assert that gaining the full participation of disabled people enriches a church communally and theologically, but many churches see the cost first, not the benefits. And we are often unaware how inaccessible we are until someone comes in and says, loudly and repeatedly, "This doesn't work for me".
How has it changed how you see things?
I found the section about healing particularly powerful. Disabled people are often the target of healing prayers, whether they request it or not. "It is assumed that everyone wants a cure from all illness and impairment, and that we should all want a cure." Instead, many of the storytellers in At the Gates believed that they had been made perfectly in the image of God, disability and all. "I'm happy that I know that God isn't going to heal me," says Nicki.
The book distinguished between cure - the disappearance of the particular illness or disability - and healing - gaining wholeness in God. When churches focus exclusively on cure, this can be very damaging for the person who is not cured. It is often implied that there is a lack of faith, or unconfessed sin. Also, it puts all the emphasis for change onto the disabled person. As storyteller Andrew remarked, "There is no need for churches to change when all disability has been cured."
Healing, on the other hand, recognises the difficulties of disability, but also "God's power at work in and through their lives as disabled people". Many of the storytellers had gained new insights and wisdom through their illness or disability. They reflected that Jesus "disabled himself" by becoming a human, and that he still bears the scars of crucifixion even in heaven. Healing is much more complicated than cure, but it honours the reality of disabled people's experience.
What would you like to explore further?
Chapter 7 is entitled Church on the Edge. It looks at how those who are excluded from mainstream church make their own places to belong - through online worship and initiatives such as WAVE (We're All Valued Equally), or even just by hanging out in the kitchen during a service. The book points out that often, creativity and change come from these edges, rather than the comfortable centre.
I have to admit that I'm not a very edgy person! Then again, I'm sure many with disabilities aren't either - they find themselves there by default. Probably the closest I've been is as a parent of young children. When you have a baby, suddenly a church service becomes impossible to sit through. You find yourself in the creche most weeks, or sitting near the back, ready to slip out whenever you need to. Prayer becomes a thing that you fit into odd moments. Usually there is a community of others in the same situation, and sometimes you feel that the conversations in the creche room are more real and vital than the sermon you are missing.
One scholar, Krysia Emily Waldock, asks why there are edges at all. "The fact that there are margins disconcerts me." I found that odd - surely there have to be edges, by definition? They may change, as some margins move towards the centre, and a different set of people find themselves near the edge. But I can't see how you ever remove them altogether. I guess there is a value to recognising that they are there, and trying to make channels for creativity and change to flow inwards, and for acceptance and justice to flow outwards. That seems like a big topic to explore.
What is one thing you will remember?
One storyteller, Rhona, quotes Matthew 21:12-14.
Jesus went into the Temple and drove out all those who were buying and selling there... The blind and crippled came to him in the Temple, and he healed them.
Rhona's comment was, "Jesus cleared out the Temple so the disabled could come in. I liked that a lot!"
I rather liked that, too.
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