Following the disability conference, I’ve had a few people ask how to move forward. They loved the Bible studies, the closing talk, and the honesty about ableism, Scripture, and lived experience. They left encouraged, but unsure how to move forward while honouring disability theology and the spiritual belief in healing, wholeness, and sin. They want to support disabled people without falling into the traps we named. It’s a valid question.
There is a belief many disabled and neurodivergent people carry quietly, formed by years of being treated as problems by churches, Scripture, and faith.
This week has been a lot. Good, important, exhausting, and revealing.
Disability Sunday is next week. For the first time, I’m pleased to say, my church will theme a service around it, and I’ll be preaching.
Five months have passed since I wrote about the meeting with my DDO and ADDO regarding my discernment process for ordination. It feels longer. So much of this journey has been shaped by waiting, discerning, and understanding how calling and institution meet in real life. Those early months were hard. I was still processing the February meeting and learning how to navigate a system that had not yet learned how to navigate me.
After naming the distortions that have shaped how disabled and neurodivergent people are seen in the church in Part 1 of this study, we can turn to what Scripture actually says about the Image of God — and the picture is far more expansive, embodied, and hopeful than many of us were taught.
For years, disabled and neurodivergent people have been told—directly or indirectly—that their bodies sit uneasily within the doctrine of the Image of God. At a recent disability conference, I explored why these distortions persist, and why Scripture itself tells a very different story. Below is the first movement of that study.
I’s 7.19 am, I’m on the train, and I’m heading to The Living Well in Nonington, Canterbury. It feels strange to write that sentence as it carries more weight than a simple blog post entry. This is something I have longed for, as I prepare to give a bible study at a disability workshop. I’ve not publicly spoken outside of church in years, yet here I am, reading my notes, rehearsing, and trying to steady my anxiety.
The Church of England, through the General Synod, has approved the new Clergy Conduct Measure, and I felt something I didn’t expect. Relief. Not because the system is perfect or harm will suddenly disappear. Relief because the Church is naming what many of us have lived through for years. It’s listening and acting.
This week Archbishop Sarah Mullally shared that neurodiversity is a gift, not a problem to be solved, while speaking at Synod about the need for neurodivergent-led training, structural change, and a network of Neurodiversity Champions across every diocese. She spoke openly about her dyslexia, the assumptions made about her, and the way she learned to see herself as intentionally made by God. Reading this felt like a blessing that landed at a time when I’m still processing my own ASD diagnosis, the battles it took to get it, and everything it has reframed, especially as I received my ASD assessment report the same day this article was published.
Tomorrow we gather to honour my curate, Sue at her thanksgiving service. 175 people have signed up. Our church fits around 140 – 150, and more will likely arrive. The hall across the road is our overflow space, livestreaming the service for those unable to fit in the church. It will be a big day. It should be. She was an incredible presence.
Anyone who has followed my mental health posts will know the journey hasn’t been simple. I’ve shared my breakdown in 2012, the years of rebuilding, the Dependent Personality Disorder diagnosis, the slow climb back to stability, and the long process of understanding who I am. I’ve also written about communication differences, sensory needs, routines, overwhelm, and the traits I recognised in Will and James long before I recognised them in myself. It all led to this moment.
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Being a victim and being a survivor sound similar, yet the difference determines how people treat you, hear you, and decide whether your story is valid. This difference has come up in several conversations recently, from ordination discussions, the current CoE safeguarding audit, and general chats. This has caused me to reflect on what I name, why I name it, and how I understand the harm I have survived.
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I walked into Monday’s meeting with my DDO and ADDO prepared. I was calm and willing to shine a light, not fight, on the meeting with the Bishop, especially after meeting with Tim Goode.
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Church Times published an article on a Church of England report today exploring the wellbeing of disabled and neurodivergent clergy. The opening line speaks of “encouraging steps” towards inclusion. The irony isn’t lost on me. Even the metaphor reveals how deeply ablest language is embedded in our culture.
Let alone terms in the article like “physical impairment” that reveal a worldview that frames disabled clergy as deviations, manageable problems, and assessable risks. The Church cannot claim progress while its structures, language, and processes remain shaped by ableism.
