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Disability Pride and the Case for Joyous Self-Definition

The older I get, the less willing I am to hide my disability. Deliberately hiding it and attempting to misrepresent myself as somehow “better” than I am has never done anything good at all for me. Besides, I don’t need to be “better”--whatever that means. I already know that at the beginning of time, God looked at me and said that I am good. What more do I need to do? What else do I have to prove? And yet this has been the defining struggle of my adolescence and young adulthood: time and time again, I find myself trying to hide and failing, trying to pretend I’m somebody else and emerging with a mere shadow of who I could be. Time and time again, I’ve sacrificed my own mental health for the comfort and approval of others.

In claiming my disability, I leave all of that in the dust and hold fast to the life God gave me, the path I am called to walk. In claiming my disability, I refuse to let others sift me through a definition I have not approved and insist on living into my own definition: one of joy, struggle, vibrancy, love, and hope.  The older I get, the more I realize that living my life as an openly disabled woman is anti-shame, anti-fear, and anti-guilt. It’s pro-life, pro-health, and pro-dignity. In that sense, it is more than worth any negative consequences of open identification. 

This #DisabilityPrideMonth, I am disabled and I am proud. My needs aren’t special, and my life isn’t an inspiration just because it’s my life. My life is human, my needs are human, and my dreams are the same as yours. To future generations of people with disabilities: I want you to see this and know that you are worthy, valued, and loved exactly as you are. Welcome to the disability community. We need you here.

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Wednesday morning lexical wonder

I read with the abandon of one who has just discovered that background music sharpens her focus. First, Irish reels played in swirling fashion by folk bands I wish I was in, then the  dreamy tones of the hammer dulcimer that I wish I could play--my mind swimming in bittersweet nostalgia and words, words, words. 

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Christian Justice and the White Church in the Age of Black Lives Matter

Jesus didn’t come to this earth so that when our Black neighbors are murdered in racist attacks by their own police departments, we can go on living our privileged White Christian lives and pretend like nothing is happening. Jesus didn’t come to maintain the status quo; he didn’t come so that things could continue as they’ve always been. Jesus changed the world forever, radically, unapologetically. He spoke to the Samaritan woman, healed the lepers, and ate with tax collectors. He stood specifically and intentionally with those whose lives had been overlooked and devalued. You should, too--and I must say, your silence, White Church, is deafening. I ask you to use your voice. Affirm to your relatives and your friends, Black and White, that Black lives matter, unequivocally and without hesitation. I can assure you that your Black friends are definitely watching you. I know I am. 

I know some of you will say “Jesus wasn’t political” or “politics and religion don’t mix.” The fallacy here is that human rights are not about politics; they are fundamentally about morals and human dignity. If we must talk about politics, though, it’s worth noting that Jesus also automatically politicized himself when he spoke and acted in opposition to those in power in his day. The Sadducees, those presiding over the Temple and the Sanhedrin (the Jewish legal/political system), had the backing of the Roman government, and he spoke out against them multiple times. The Sadducees and Pharisees usually didn’t get along, but Jesus threatened their order enough that they cooperated to get rid of Jesus. They both hated him for what he did. What was he thinking, healing people on the Sabbath? What was he thinking, preaching that he was the Son of God? Who was he to publicly turn the tables in the Temple and disrupt the status quo? The Sadducees and Pharisees plotted to have him killed, and he died on the cross because he challenged the political establishment of that time. Please don’t tell me that Jesus wasn’t political. The established political system made him so. 

Along that same vein, I’ve heard some of you say, “Well...we don’t want to alienate anyone.” I would submit to you that though Jesus loved everyone and was willing to forgive, he also wasn’t afraid to make people uncomfortable in speaking out for what was right--and when he did, the Jewish leaders alienated him in the most brutal way imaginable. The net effect of this was that his actions distanced him from those comfortably siloed in their power and privilege and drew him toward those crying out to him from the margins. It was for Christian justice that Jesus died at the hands of the powerful Jewish aristocrats. As followers of Jesus, we are called to draw near our marginalized neighbors in the same way that he did. We are called to do the uncomfortable work of challenging racist systems. We are called to educate ourselves, speak up, and act for justice. If we lose friends, so be it. So did Jesus. Christianity isn’t always comfortable. Jesus certainly wasn’t comfortable on the cross.

If we have not moved toward justice yet, know that there is hope for us. In Luke 19, Jesus visits the home of Zaccheus, a tax collector. Zaccheus had been comfortable in his position of power and privilege; as a tax collector, he worked the system in his favor by charging citizens much more than they owed the government. But when Jesus came to his house, Zaccheus repented of his sin, saying “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” When Jesus saw that Zaccheus was willing to make an uncomfortable sacrifice for his faith (as Abraham had in offering up his son Isaac as sacrifice) he rejoiced and forgave Zaccheus’ sin: “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.” 

The racist oppression perpetuated by the White Church, particularly in the form of silence and non-action, may not always have been intentional and calculated as in the case of Zaccheus' unjust tax-collecting, but there has been an injustice committed, all the same, for which we as the White Church must repent and make sacrifices. The White Church needn’t feel guilty. It need only speak up, repent, and move forward, embracing this new discomfort in the name of the sacrificial Christian justice begun by the Son Himself, who died for the lost on the cross. Jesus will forgive us, but we must act. Faith without works is dead: 

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.

But someone will say, ‘You have faith and I have works.’ Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith. You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder. Do you want to be shown, you senseless person, that faith apart from works is barren? Was not our ancestor Abraham justified by works when he offered his son Isaac on the altar? You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was brought to completion by the works. Thus the scripture was fulfilled that says, ‘Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness,’ and he was called the friend of God. You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. Likewise, was not Rahab the prostitute also justified by works when she welcomed the messengers and sent them out by another road? For just as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead (James 2:14-26, NRSV).

This passage is a powerful exhortation for our time. Faith is made complete with works toward justice. So what are we to do, as White Christians, in this age of widespread affirmation that Black lives matter? We can start by educating ourselves. I recommend the following resources, both Christian and secular: 

The 1619 Project, an interactive website with resources and an excellent podcast from the New York Times put together by Nikole Hannah-Jones on the legacy of slavery and Black history in this country

13th, a Netflix documentary about the 13th amendment and the racist problem of mass incarceration in the United States

This list of scaffolded anti-racist educational resources put together by some divinity students

Sojourners, a Christian social justice magazine and website

We can continue by not only educating ourselves, but also taking action. Here are some starting resources I recommend towards that end:

This list of anti-racist educational and social action resources for White people

This list of 75 anti-racist things White people can do to further their anti-racist work

A list of bail funds across the country. Read about bail funds

This is our time, White Church, to learn and do better. Act, in the name of Jesus.