“Sacred Bodies”

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

RIC: Differently Abled

February 4, 2024

1 Corinthians 12:12-31

Matthew 11:2-6

Children’s Message:

(Floor puzzle) Did you hear today’s reading where Paul told the church that they make up the Body of Christ? That’s pretty weird, isn’t it? And he said that some people are feet, and some are hands, and some are eyes and ears. Which one do you think you are?

Personally, I think I might be a mouth. Part of my job is to tell people about God. But what if a part is missing? Like, what if we get this puzzle almost done, but one piece is missing? Will it be complete? No. We need ALL the pieces. Christ’s Body needs ALL the people to be complete. Every person, no matter their age or ability, is just as important as everyone else. And when one is missing for any reason, we’re just not complete.

Which is why we’ve been focusing on being welcoming and accepting of all of God’s people. And why we’ve made a special point to lift some of these people up—because they’ve been left out for so long, they don’t always believe us when we say ‘All.’ Like this puzzle. It may say that it has ALL the pieces, but until we put it together, we’re not quite sure.

Let’s pray. Dear God, you’ve made each of us important and special. Show us how to use our gifts to include others and spread your word. Amen.

Message:

I was putting a 1,000 piece puzzle of Star Wars together a couple of years ago. Brand new sealed box. And it was only as I was trying to get the last few pieces in place—all black with itty bitty stars—that I realized one piece was missing. Now, in all reality, it got lost in our house. The dog ate it or the cat swiped it—or more likely, it was a team effort. But it was so disappointing to get to the end and realize I couldn’t finish.

The message Paul was giving the church was a whole new way of looking at the world. Go figure. The old beliefs identified socialites as the head of society. The wealthy, the powerful, the ones who could pull the strings and influence politics—they were in charge. But the hands and feet—the ones who got dirty in the trenches of hard labor—those were the lower-class. The slaves. They were expendable. Unlike a human body, it was just assumed that if one lowly person was lost, another could just fill their place. It’s grunt work, after all. No special skills.

And those who were unable to work, unable to care for themselves, unable to contribute—those aptly called ‘the disabled’—they were the burden of society. If family couldn’t care for them, they would sit along the roadside begging. There was no place for them in the body of society because they had nothing valuable to offer. They only took.

In part, this approach to disability was grounded in the idea that God punished sinners by giving them ailments. So, when Jesus encountered the blind man in John’s gospel account, the disciples’ first question was, “Who sinned? This man or his parents, that he would be born blind?” Whose fault is it that this person is less than perfect? That his body doesn’t function? That he can’t contribute?

We’re not altogether more enlightened 2,000 years later. We still often see the needs of those who are differently abled as a burden. It’s costly to add elevators and ramps to old buildings. It’s costly to have ASL interpreters or special hearing devices available if we encounter someone who is hearing-impaired. It’s costly to create Braille materials for those who are blind. It’s challenging to worship alongside someone who cannot control their body or voice—who express themselves loudly and may flail about unintentionally.

But consider this. As ‘healthy’ people age, elevators and ramps become convenient, if not necessary. Hearing devices and large-print materials enable folks to participate more fully. And all parents know the challenge of uncontrollable bodies and voices. They also know the glares and grumbles of nearby worshipers.

What we tend to forget in our health and strength is that bodies are imperfect. ALL bodies are imperfect. At what level does society decide that an imperfection is deemed a disability? Probably at about the point where society has to make accommodations. When people need help—to live, to eat, to move, to participate. And so, we tend to spend an awful amount of time and money trying to pretend or hide our imperfections. To control our bodies. To deny our weaknesses. To prove to the world that we are still worthy. Still valuable. Still useful.

We fear becoming a burden, and we pity those who have clear disabilities—because we think that their bodies are a mistake.

Friends, people don’t need pity. People need to be seen, acknowledged as full human beings, honored as beloved, and recognized as valuable to the Body of Christ. You see, the problem isn’t the diagnosis or disability. The problem is the world. In Alessia Cara’s song, “Scars to Your Beautiful,” she sings, “You don’t have to change a thing. The world should change its heart.”

She’s onto something. People often wonder what the final resurrection will be like. Will we look like ourselves? Will we be recognizable? Will we finally be able to walk without pain, speak and be heard, open our eyes to see what is before us? Will all of our diagnoses be wiped away? Revelation says that our tears and pain will be wiped away? Does that mean all of the ways in which our bodies refuse to work the way we think they should?

I don’t have an answer to that, but I have a theory. My theory is that in the resurrection, when God creates a new heaven and a new earth, that new creation will be such that all of our nuanced bodies will not experience the barriers we currently experience in this life. That the challenges we have here might not be ‘cured’ but will no longer pose a challenge in accessing the world and our community in a meaningful way. We won’t have had to change a thing because God will have changed the world’s heart.

In her novels, Louise Penny creates a doctor who has managed, in his work, to create a cure for Down Syndrome. Yet, as he spent time with people who have Down Syndrome, he abandoned his work for a cure and spent time learning from and teaching the people in this unique community. Because he saw their value for who they are, not who he thought they should be.

Nancy Eiesland was born with a congenital bone defect that cause her great pain. In her first 13 years of life, she had 11 surgeries on her hips to combat this disability. She became an associate professor Sociology of Religion and Disability Studies at Candler School of Theology. Her faith and theological development was intimately linked with her disability. At age 44, she died of lung cancer.

She wrote about a Disabled God—one who reveals his scars even after the resurrection. And she said that she hoped her own body still held its challenges in the resurrection. Not because of the pain she experienced but because these bodily difficulties were part of forming her identity—and her faith. It is not a perfected Body of Christ that the disciples encounter in the upper room. Rather, it is the broken, scarred Body of Christ that emerges from the tomb. It is a Differently Abled Christ that paves the way for all of our variously-abled bodies.

It is in that beautiful brokenness that we discover our innate value, just as we are. Just as we are made. Just as we change and transition, as we age and experience all the bodily changes that happen in life. Every body is perfect in its imperfection. Every body is an important member of the Body of Christ.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE