Created Whole
Have you ever listened deeply to the songs that you sing during your worship services? I’m guessing the answer for most of us is probably “No,” however, recently I was reminded of how each and every word in our worship services has meaning and intention, just as how each and every person attending the worship service has a place and a voice within the liturgy. “Liturgy” after all translates to work of the people.
During worship at my church we sang the hymn “Songs of thankfulness and praise” while transitioning from the liturgy of the Word to liturgy of the Eucharist, where communion is blessed and received. Initially I found the song pleasant, until the third verse when the lyrics “manifest in making whole palsied limbs and fainted soul” appeared on my bulletin page. Upon seeing these words I literally stopped singing and muttered to myself something to the effect of “Hell no, I’m not singing this.” It was then that I knew in my heart that I needed, and wanted, to share with one of the priests how the words in this song affected me. I’m already whole, “palsied limbs” and all, thankyouverymuch mister hymnist.
Now, I absolutely adore my church. The community is welcoming and wonderful, the clergy and staff are personable and discerning. Not for a second did I think this hymn was chosen to cause any hurt or harm to anyone. Following the service I took a deep breath and set out to find and communicate my experience with one of the priests. While searching I was greeted by a priest, and after a brief moment of small talk I said I had a comment and question about worship today. And so, with a voice that got surprisingly, increasingly shaky and upset, I told him that this particular verse didn’t sit well with my soul. He graciously listened with gentle attention as I recounted this story from my youth and apologized multiple times for how distressed I sounded.
One Sunday when I was in middle school the nun who taught my Sunday school class imparted to us that in heaven, everything-from our suffering to our injuries-would be made perfect and whole again. For a middle school disabled girl, this was such glorious news. No more cerebral palsy! No more struggling with x, y, z…yes! As I’ve grown and matured in my understanding of my self, theology and ministry, I’ve come to see things in a different light. While there are certainly times when I’m wrestling with various situations and circumstances, I now hold dear that my cerebral palsy is an important and integral part of who I am as a person. I wouldn’t be me without my cerebral palsy. I am already whole in my body.
As I expressed this to the priest, he heard me with a kind warmth and openness. He apologized for the oversight in how the lyrics in the song affected me. He explained how this hymn is often sung during the liturgical season of Epiphany as the other verses in the song reflect on the magi and other Scripture we hear in the season. Despite this fact the hymn wouldn’t be sung again. As we talked about the power words and lived experience have in theology and liturgy, he brought up a similar example in the Ash Wednesday litany prayer where deafness is used to describe not hearing God. As we concluded our conversation, he asked if he could take what I’d told him and inform the other clergy and staff. I agreed, offering up any other insights and help I could as they explore a theology of welcoming and belonging deeper and further.
The focus of my Master of Divinity capstone project was disability theology and ministry. It was during this time that I was introduced to the thoughts and work of Nancy Eiesland, a disabled theologian who was at the forefront of disability theology. In her book, The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability, Eiesland writes about how Jesus’ incarnated and resurrected body, “suggests a re-conception of wholeness. It suggests a human-God who not only knows injustice and experiences the contingency of human life, but also re-conceives perfection as unself-pitying, painstaking survival.” Once I read this new understanding of Jesus, the seeds of change were planted. Jesus truly understood what it was like to live with a disability, and indeed, through the resurrection He kept and uplifted the wounds He acquired in His death. I am created whole.
We are all created whole. Each of us, body and soul, has a place and a purpose in our communities and in the world. I am grateful that I found a church community that I feel at home at, comfortable enough in my sometimes upset and shaky voice to speak my truth in an authentic way that I know will be heard. May we all find a community and home where we feel a true sense of belonging.
The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability, by Nancy Eiesland, page 101 is quoted above.
