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A sermon given by the Rev. Marja Coons-Torn, Conference Minister, Penn Central Conference

Just about a year ago, I attended my first meeting of the United Church of Christ Disabilities Ministry.

Luke 6:17-26
He came down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them. Then he looked up at his disciples and said: ‘Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. ‘Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. ‘Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. ‘Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice on that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. ‘But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. ‘Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. ‘Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. ‘Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.

This special group meets only once a year. The rest of the year, they conduct their meetings by conference call. In Synod years, they meet for two days prior to the Synod meeting. In non-Synod years, they meet in Cleveland in March. That’s where I attended my first meeting.

Prior to the meeting, we chatted on line about our travel plans. Various people were meeting at the airport and catching taxis or wheelchair vans into Cleveland to the Church House. There was one fellow, however, who, like me, liked taking the light rail from the airport to the center of the city. So I made arrangements to meet David, my unknown friend, outside of the Rapid Transit Station in the airport. He said I wouldn’t have any trouble recognizing him—he’s be the one in the motorized wheelchair.

David arrived with his luggage strapped to his wheelchair. I was surprised I confess when, on meeting David, I learned that he wasn’t just in a wheelchair. Because his diagnosis is cerebral palsy, he also has certain speech patterns that make it seem difficult to understand him unless you listen carefully. But David is very verbal. On our train ride, I quickly learned that David has wicked sense of humor. He is, in fact, a charming man with many skills in addition to his wit and good nature.

When we arrived at the Tower City station of the rapid transit, I led us up the elevator to the top floor of the urban mall. Confident that I knew where we were going, because I had been to our national offices many times and David had never visited, I led us out the door.

It wasn’t long before I realized that I must have turned the wrong direction going out the door. By that time, however, we were too many blocks away to be able to easily retrace our steps. I stopped some people on the sidewalk but they were tourists who had no more idea where to find things than we did. Then we spotted a police office on the corner opposite us.

Thinking I could run over there quickly, I told David what I planned to do. I’d done enough, he assured me. And before I could blink, he was gone in his wheelchair, twice as fast, of course, as I could have done. Pretty soon he was back and leading us to the Gateway Radisson much more efficiently than me. You have to know that he never let me forget my misadventure for the rest of the time we were in Cleveland.

What I learned at that meeting, above everything else, is that we all have different abilities. People with physical or mental limitations are truly no better and no worse than anyone, they are simply different. Some of them are witty, some are smart, some work hard to do what they do, some are good listeners, some are caring, some are shy, and some are bold. Because they look or sound different, it is we who are lacking the care or the patience to get past the differences and find what is special in each person.

That was never the case with Jesus. “They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured.” He gave them hope and affirmed their conditions were not anything that would separate them from God, despite the prevailing attitudes to the contrary. He welcomed them into the church of the left out. Can we do less?

In the introduction to Any Body, Every Body, Christ’s Body, a marvelous congregational resource, the Rev. Jo Clare Hartsig reflects that “the inclusion of people with disabilities and a renewed awareness of disabilities can enliven every aspect of congregational life.” It isn’t just the right thing to do, it’s the healthy thing.

I want to tell you about another friend—one I haven’t met in person yet. His name is Tyler and he is a high school student in eastern Iowa. Tyler created and filmed a DVD for his Eagle Scout project. It’s called “I’m Tyler. Don’t Be Surprised.” I wanted to bring it with me today, but in my enthusiasm for it, I loaned it to my friend Bruce Druckenmiller, who is presently in Namibia, and I haven’t got it back. So I have to tell you about Tyler instead of show you his film.

As the DVD opens, an average looking youth introduces himself as Tyler and tells about his life as an active and interested high school student. He is a member of the marching band, a Boy Scout, a member of the theater club—and the list goes on.

The young man stops at the end of his litany of activity and confesses that, in fact, he not Tyler, but everything he has said about Tyler is true. Then the real Tyler comes on screen. Like my friend David, Tyler has cerebral palsy and several other medical conditions. But he has asked for no quarter, no special treatment, no favors or excuses.

It’s Tyler who has taught me to think about abilities awareness instead of dis-abilities awareness. He is as able as any young man I have ever known. We are all able. But for the sake of the body of Christ, we are called to be present for one another, and to work with one another to make the changes that make it possible for each one to express his or her abilities. [By the way, I had to pop my sermon into 14 point type to facilitate my own vision challenge, a condition of aging called presbyopia.]

Let me share with you a short excerpt from a statement made at the World Council of Churches Assembly meeting in Nairobi, nearly a decade ago now:

“The Church’s unity includes both the “disabled” and “the able.” A church which seeks to be truly united within itself and to move toward unity with others must be open to all; yet able-bodied church members, both by their attitudes and emphasis on activism, marginalize and often exclude persons with mental or physical disabilities. Persons with disabilities are treated as the weak to be served, rather than as fully committed, integral members of the Body of Christ and the human family; the specific contribution which they have to give is ignored. . . . 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.”

Thirty years ago, when I was a young minister, I had the privilege of knowing a minister by the name of Harold Wilke. Harold was a legend in the United Church of Christ because of his strong intellect, his compassion, and his advocacy for the inclusion of all people. Incidentally, he had no arms and had learned over the course of his life to use his feet as if they were hands, writing and eating with ease. Before he died, Harold wrote a poem that I’d like to share with you in conclusion of our time together this morning. It is called Signs of Liberation and Access.

The festivals of the religious year show forth new meanings for access and liberation:
In the glory of Easter – the stone rolled away – we see the barrier removed.
In the wonder of Pentecost the message is heard, understood, and seen by all,
In the liberating act of Passover the message is:
“Let My People Go!” and the parting of the Red Sea.
In the joy of Advent God embodies divinity in human form.

Yet for many persons today – who are blind or deaf or have mental
retardation or who are in wheelchairs – the barriers still remain;
The stone is still in place;
The waters are not parted, the way not opened;
The words cannot be heard;
The flame of the Spirit’s tongues cannot be seen, the message not
understood.

Proclaiming the message in all languages for today means using
Braille or
Larger print for people with visual disabilities, signing
or special sound systems for persons with hearing disabilities; image,
color and drama for people with cognitive disabilities; architectural access for people with physical disabilities
or who are getting older.

Let the stone be rolled away!
Let the glorious message be proclaimed truly, in all languages
So all may hear and understand!