“Our work here is not only about making soup; it’s about building confidence, community, and faith.” Monica Theysen reflects on her transformative journey at The Raw Carrot, where meaningful employment and a faith-centered environment have brought purpose and hope to her life and others.
A genuine welcome goes beyond simply opening the doors; it requires sacrifice, as Christ sacrificed himself to welcome us into his body. To imitate Christ, we must extend that same welcome to all—abled or disabled—who seek to come to Christ.
Disability is not a barrier to the work of God’s grace in someone’s life. Jesus saves disabled people, as they are, without condition. The Church must embrace this truth, welcoming people with disabilities into full participation in worship and community, recognizing their unique gifts and the ways God is working through them.
God works through disability, using what the world sees as weakness to accomplish His plans. Jesus Himself chose to bear the scars of suffering even after His resurrection, showing solidarity with the weak. As the Church, we are called to do the same.
What does it mean to be an integral part of the Church when attending worship means facing barriers? While I’ve never felt unwelcome as a disabled person, many disabled individuals have. Some of this exclusion stems from a lack of access, but often there’s also a lukewarm or resistant attitude toward disabled people in the church.
When the church functions well, it provides friendship, support, justice, spiritual resources, safety, and a space where people feel heard. More importantly, when the church truly embraces people with disabilities and their families, it also receives their giftedness, which helps it more authentically become the church it is meant to be.
As the parent of an adult child with a disability, it strikes me that far too often the topic of sex and disability is avoided, particularly in faith contexts. This post is an attempt to dispel some of the myths and fears around the topic and to relay some of my thoughts in this regard, as I consider the impact these approaches may have on my own family.
For four years, I’ve reported on the expansion of medical assistance in dying (MAiD) in Canada. I’ve listened to disabled Canadians share their fears and stories, feeling their sorrow deeply. Through this, I’ve found that MAiD starkly reminds me of Jesus’s hope, generosity, and presence in grief.
When did society shift to evaluating the existence of a person, based on what they “contribute”? And when did society adopt the mindset that suffering is not valuable to the human condition? How did the Canadian way of life become a real-life version of Squid Games?
As I trimmed Aunt Wilma’s “Good Luck” card, memories flooded back. Aunt Wilma’s vibrant prayers had always brought comfort, yet she couldn’t foresee the darkness that claimed her life. She died alone, a victim of Medical Assistance in Dying (MAiD). We thought it was a cleaning service, not assisted suicide.