A Week of Disability Theology, Church Battles, and Calling

This week has been a lot. Good, important, exhausting, and revealing. 

Last Friday, the Enable Team met to finalise tomorrow’s disability conference. In the middle of that meeting, my friend, who also joined the team, mentioned our Disability Awareness Sunday service. She signs through our services, mostly for herself, although she’s never been up front or signed the whole service. I asked her to do it this time. It felt right for our first disability‑themed Sunday. It also felt overdue.

The week leading up to it wasn’t easy. The person leading the service pushed back on almost everything. I offered five disability‑themed Psalms. She ignored all of them and chose her own, but, as able-bodied people seem to do, she chose one about suffering. It partially fit, so I agreed, but only through respecting that the person leading the service has that right to structure it in a way they feel fit. I then suggested we sing one song without lyrics in solidarity with blind people, especially those who walk into church for the first time and don’t know the songs or style. She didn’t want to do it because she felt uncomfortable. That was the point. She couldn’t see it, ironically. She tried using items, gimmicks, or demonstrations, but that also misses the point. We need to show the lived experience. 

I suggested another moment of solidarity where we sit through a song for wheelchair users. I hate it, as I'm often blocked. Bodies standing around me as I sit awkwadly between them. Again, pushback. Eventually she said she’d leave all the disability stuff to me. It shouldn’t be that hard for an able‑bodied person to listen to someone who lives this every day. I’m a disabled man, an advocate, a disability blogger, a disability theologian, and part of the leadership team. It should have been simple, but like most things, the able-bodied person doesn't get it, so it has to become about them, their experience, or what they want rather than being present, willing, and ready for something new or challenging. 

My friend and I talked about this at the meeting. Everyone understood the frustration. She then mentioned my “brilliant idea.” She always promotes me better than I do myself. I’d built my sermon around God Must Hate Me, the song I wrote about recently. The Disability Advisor loved it so much she asked me to bring it into the conference. I wasn’t sure. It was written for my church, shaped around our harvest series. She asked me to use it as the closing talk. That’s a massive honour. So I went home, rewrote it, and made it fit the conference. I’ll post it tomorrow.

She also roped Will into doing the prayers. I don’t mind. He’s seventeen, autistic, and brilliant. He always does the sermon in our Youth Led services. Everyone loves him. Her children don’t do public speaking, so she named him instead. It was a last‑minute addition, like most things she throws my way.

Sunday itself was difficult. The service mattered to me. Fifteen years in that church and this was our first Disability Awareness Sunday. Our tech guy was on holiday with his wife was who also preaches and leads services, and it was youth group week, which I coordinate. A recurring tech issue pushed me into a stressful place. I asked for space. I was ignored. I said I needed air. Unfortunately, this friend followed me outside with her husband, moaning, pushing their thoughts, and missing that I needed that break. She’s intense, possibly due to her ADHD and ASD. It overwhelmed me. The service went well. Everyone enjoyed it. Except me. She pushed my boundaries and tainted the day.

Church work does that. Sometimes it takes the church out of it.

In the middle of all this, I visited my Ordination Placement church this week. It’s thirty minutes from home, not the ninety that I normally do. It’s beautiful. Rev Sue is lovely. It’s accessible, has a proper disabled toilet, inclusive theology, community outreach, and traditional practices. The latter being something that I am interested in but not used to as a Church style. It’s everything I hoped for. I’m excited to start.

All of this in seven days. Today will be spent preparing for tomorrow. The nerves have kicked in. That’s how I work. In the moment, adrenaline carries me. Beforehand, I’m anxious. Afterwards, I overthink every detail, much to Hannah’s annoyance.

Tomorrow is a big day. I’m presenting a Bible study workshop on Disability Theology under the Image of God theme. Then I’m giving the closing talk. All to worship leaders, lay ministers, readers, church wardens, priests, archdeacons, and maybe even bishops.

The person who has lived through church harm because of disability. The one who promotes the Fearfully and Wonderfully Made report. The one who holds people accountable when ableism breaks through.

Up there. Doing it. Properly.

Let’s hope it goes well.