It started with a text message. I reach for my phone as I sit with a friend over coffee. The blue iPhone message bubble appears on my screen. “I’m having contractions.” Seconds later, another blue bubble appears. “I need you to come home.”
We had been through this process two times before but this was earlier than expected. Just an hour later with a confused and concerned face, the midwife says, “I’m sorry, but you will need to go to the hospital to deliver this baby.” Waiting ensues as we find ourselves on the delivery corridor of a nearby hospital. At 9:15 p.m., the beauty of the night sky through our window is outdone by the birth of our beautiful boy. Names had been discussed, but his surprise arrival has us guessing and wondering what he should be called. For now, “baby boy” will do.
The morning dawns. The pediatrician comes to do his routine newborn assessment. His brief smile becomes an inquisitive brow as he examines our boy. What should take a few short moments has turned into several long minutes as he carefully traces the large center crease on our baby’s palm. Out of the silence he turns to us and asks one question: “Did you do any genetic testing on this child before he was born?” Our words become a series of stuttering sounds, and finally we respond with “no.” After a pregnant pause, the doctor says, “The reason I ask is because your child has many of the markers of Down Syndrome.” He leaves. The sterile smell of the hospital becomes suffocating as I attempt to swallow both my saliva and the news we have just received.
In the Kingdom of God, unexpectancy does not always mean being unprepared. Moments of unexpectancy can become “thin spaces” where God pulls back the curtain separating Heaven and Earth to give you both comfort for your present circumstances and clarity of your calling.
During the previous year before our son’s birth, I had found myself reading through every single one of Henri Nouwen’s books. During the best years of his career, Nouwen had left his teaching positions at the most prestigious universities to serve a community of men and women with various forms of disability. It was this striking detail of Nouwen’s life that had most captured my attention and affections. Like those unexpecting disciples standing with their tangled nets on the shore, Jesus is whispering to my wife and me in that hospital room: “Come, follow me.”
As Summit explores different facets of Christian identity, arguably one of the most neglected and overlooked aspects of our formation as Christians is how we understand the identity of those who would be characterized as “disabled.” In my recent experience as a parent of a child with Down Syndrome, there are not one, but two crucial aspects of identity that must be explored: inclusion and contribution.
Inclusion
In the book of 2 Samuel, there is an incredible story of a man with a really strange name. His name was Mephibosheth. He was the son of Jonathan and the grandson of Saul. Years before, David had made a covenant with his best friend, Jonathan, that contained a promise. The promise was that regardless of what the future held, David would show kindness to Jonathan’s descendants when he became king over Israel.1 Years later, the recently anointed King David looked to fulfill his promise to the house of Jonathan. He inquired of his aides if there were any of Jonathan’s descendants still alive.2 The answer was yes, but there was one problem. He was lame in both feet. Mephibosheth was disabled.3 A few chapters earlier, we learn that Mephibosheth became disabled because his nurse dropped him while fleeing danger.4 David summons Mephibosheth to his presence. Mephibosheth comes in fear and trepidation because he is not only disabled, but the grandson of Saul, David’s enemy. To his surprise, Mephibosheth is not met with destruction, but welcome. It’s a shocking moment.
The Old Testament is filled with laws that seemingly prevent the disabled from entering into places where God’s presence dwelled.5 Furthermore, those who had a form of disability were never welcomed into the presence of royalty. Yet King David, God’s anointed one, not only welcomes Mephibosheth, but invites him to sit for the rest of his days at the king’s table: the ultimate picture in the ancient world of identity, status, and inclusion.6
This story is a revolutionary symbol of belonging in God’s Kingdom for those who are disabled. For Mephibosheth to sit at the king’s table is a striking re-affirmation of the creation story where every human being, regardless of ability or capacity, is fashioned in the image of God and is invited to pull up a chair.7
Whether consciously or unconsciously, the practices and language of many cultures, including in the United States, exclude, segregate, and isolate those with various forms of disability. Whether it’s a “self-contained” classroom in a school system where those with disabilities are permanently separated from typical peers or an overwhelmed children’s ministry in a local church, those with disabilities and their advocates engage in the endless work to prove that they, their children, spouses, or friends belong in this space. They belong because they belong at the table of our God and King.
Contribution
But belonging is not enough. Inclusion without recognizing the meaningful contribution those with disabilities are able to make can be experienced as a form of damaging tokenism. In 1975 at the World Council of Churches in Nairobi, Kenya, leading missiologist Lesslie Newbigin said this about the needed contribution and witness of those with disabilities:
The Church cannot exemplify ‘the full humanity revealed in Christ,’ bear witness to the interdependence of humankind, or achieve unity in diversity if it continues to acquiesce in the social isolation of disabled persons and to deny them full participation in its life. The unity of the family of God is handicapped where these brothers and sisters are treated as objects of condescending charity. It is broken where they are left out… How can the Church be open to the witness which Christ extends through them?”8
One of Jesus’s most repeated phrases was “eyes to see, ears to hear.”9
The question for Christians is: Do we have eyes to see and ears hear how those with disabilities have meaningful contributions needed to fully display the person of Jesus Christ in our cities?
Instead of focusing on the perceived “deficiencies” of those with disabilities, what if our attention was directed to our real deficiencies as communities of Christ when those with disabilities are not present and therefore not exercising their gifts for the good of the entire community?
Conclusion
A diagnosis of disability for many in our cultural moment is interpreted as a death sentence. Yet in the Kingdom of God, disability becomes another doorway into the love, presence, and work of God. This doorway becomes the reality that those with disabilities not only belong at the table, but also in the kitchen crafting the most delicious meals.
There is one more important detail to know about the birth of my child. His name. We named him Henri, after Henri Nouwen. Like his namesake, we pray our Henri will create pathways for those with and without disabilities to encounter a fuller picture of the Kingdom of God and the unbelievable reality of our identity, from the creation story to the crucified and risen Christ.
About the Author
Charlie Meo serves as a pastor with Missio Dei Communities and as the curriculum director for the Surge Network in Phoenix, Arizona. He also contributes as a curriculum creator for City to City North America. He is married to his wife Keaton and together they are raising three kids.