I like to mull.

It is a strange state of being somewhere between contemplation, meditation, musing, and active processing. It happens in the background as I eat breakfast or wander through creation, taking a visual account of neighbours and community, of where I exist and the context I am part of.

I find myself asking questions rooted in my Franciscan formation. What does it mean to live out the Great Commandments that Brother Jesus laid out for us?

36 The expert came to him. “Wisdom keeper,” he asked, “which instruction in our tribal law stands first?”

37 Creator Sets Free (Jesus) answered him, “‘You must love the Great Spirit from deep within, with the strength of your arms, the thoughts of your mind, and the courage of your heart.’

38 This is the first and greatest instruction.

39 “The second is like the first,” he added. “‘You must love your fellow human beings in the same way you love yourselves.’

40 The Law and the words of the prophets all find their full meaning in these two instructions.”

— Matthew 22:36–40, First Nations Version

Learning to Mull

These passages brought me into formal “church” as an adult. They also shaped the path that intersects with my life as an ally, for those who claim me as such, and as a member, depending on the identity piece of the Invisible Majority.

Part of this mulling is rooted in the Franciscan teaching of internalizing a gospel teaching before moving on to the next one. So, being stuck in the love commandments is a unique challenge. It does not mean I ignore the rest of canonized Scripture. It means I see Scripture through this lens.

This lens also shapes my life as a dad of a child with complex medical needs, maybe eight good years shy of joining the Great Tea Party with his family, friends, and classmates who have gone before.

It shapes my life with my own disabilities.

It also shapes the work of raising up the voices of those whom society silences, while sometimes needing others to raise up mine too.

Through all of this, I have discovered a kind of monastic learning dialogue praxis.

The Dialogue We Are Always In

I believe there is a constant learning dialogue we are engaged with.

Philosophically and psychologically, human beings like to know what we know. We also like what we know to be right and true. In our algorithm-driven world, this is part of what creates and continues to perpetuate the polarization of harm and the reassertion of “othering” as holy.

These are real challenges when you exist within a faith framework that has historically supported things such as eugenics, which governments have then turned into policy and law.

Within the confines of colonial Canada, this becomes even more complex. We have 14 different health jurisdictions, and the same number for disability supports and entitlements. Take that number in when you consider what it means to be an advocate for change, whether as a self-advocate, family member, or community member.

Then take into account the harm Cure Theology has wrought on the disability community, both inside church doors and outside in the wider community. Cure Theology speaks to the myth that you must be what the world calls “normal” or “typical” in order to be a person.

Rethinking Healing and Belonging

It reads the gospel healing stories as though people became persons only once Jesus removed their disability, instead of asking why the community excluded them in the first place.

This is part of how I engage with the story of healing for the broken systems of our world. These are the same kinds of broken systems that, when called out 2,000 years ago, led to the lynching of a humble labourer-teacher.

Listening to the Numbers and the Stories

Did you know that in most areas of Canada you can find municipal or county demographic data? It is usually broken down by community to aid in your understanding.

Provincial and federal census data on certain topics also round out the story. These counts do not only help governments determine how to fund our social contract for a just society. They also help researchers begin with aggregate data.

Through this kind of work, issues like restorative justice, harm reduction, and food insecurity can begin to be understood.

This is also why our federal government has contact pages and resources that help people begin to understand the determinants of health, not simply as a social work theory, but as an actual reality in Canadian neighbourhoods.

There are also research hubs, such as Disability Without Poverty and Canada’s Homeless Hub, that help us understand some of our more challenging issues through both evidence and lived experience.

They allow us to listen to and read the data, both quantitative, meaning the numbers, and qualitative, meaning the stories.

It is similar to spending time in the Truth and Reconciliation Commission Reports and Calls to Action, the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls Final Report, or Jordan’s Principle. Each touches on how to heal and replace a broken system that perpetuates harm against nations we are in treaty with.

More Than a Thought Experiment

Does that sound like quite a few things bouncing around inside a brain?

True.

It is also more than a thought experiment, though with my philosophy background, I do like a good thought experiment. Sometimes it is the only way I can fathom an optimistic future.

But this is not only about thought. It is also about considering what we sometimes forget: emotional, mental, and physical responses.

We also have to realize that as much as we try to distance ourselves from our own bias or lived experience, which is simply the life we have lived, we can never fully do so. New information always comes into contact with who we are, what we have experienced, and what we have been taught.

Empathy as Gospel Practice

If one existed in a universe of one, it would be easy to put aside what we did not want to accept as real, valid, or true. It would be easy to accept misinformation, such as the idea that empathy is a sin.

In reality, empathy is a pillar of Gospel agape.

It is part of knowing that we are also called to love ourselves. Not in a stuck-up way, but in a way that shapes the questions we ask:

If this was me, is this how I would want to live?

Is this how I would want to be treated?

What Is the Value of a Life?

When we engage in conversations with governments, a certain question often arises:

What is the cost of the program?

When we engage in conversations with churches, a similar question often arises:

What is the cost of the ministry or renovation?

This creates a concept of social capital where people measure the value of a life by what it contributes to the economic engine or, in the church, the donor engine.

Asking Better Questions About Access

What if accessibility shifted from that?

Could something different shape our eyes and ears for accessibility?

We might begin by looking and listening to the community most likely not to come into church because, as it is, church may feel like one more space where people have to advocate for their personhood.

Instead of worrying about the politics of inclusion, what if we approached individuals and their chosen families with authentic openness and curiosity?

We could also notice those moments when we talked to the person we were most comfortable facing, rather than the person directly involved.

We could notice when we infantilized people with disabilities.

Then comes the scariest thing after listening: we act.

And we sort out the cost later.

The Rainy Day Is Here

How many hearts went aflutter with that statement?

In sacred communities, we can hold onto savings for a “rainy day” while architectural barriers remain. We can hold onto funds while sacramental, discipleship, and spiritual formation barriers remain. We can hold onto reserves while universal design for learning is treated as optional.

And still we say there are no funds.

Yes, I realize this can be disruptive.

But think of how Jesus was.

Samaritans, women, disabled people, tax collectors, sex-trafficked people, slaves, non-persons, and those Empire treated as less than persons, to name only a few.

He had eyes to see and ears to listen. He forced open hearts by showing the intrinsic value of every person created in the image of God, in all their dis/abled glory here in creation.

We are called to love God, neighbour, and self.

Seeking Trustworthy Information

But how do we know the information we are mulling alongside the Gospel is accurate or trustworthy?

This is a good question.

We cannot simply default to religious branding as proof. We must do some work and seek out credibility.

This does not always mean scholarly or academic, though it might. It means asking whether the source is reliable. Does it provide accurate information? Does it clearly show the purpose behind the publication, video, or site? Is it relevant? How old is it?

It amazes me how often people still quote something they read 50 or more years ago without asking whether it has ever been updated or whether it is still relevant today.

When looking at studies and research groups, ask:

• Who funds them?
• What are their values and belief statements?
• How was the data collected?
• Whose voices are included?
• Whose voices are missing?

For speakers and authors, it takes some digging, especially in an algorithm-driven, democratized misinformation superhighway. We need to ask:

• Who are they?
• Where does their expertise come from?
• Who trained them?
• What lived experience and intersections shape their work?
• Have they received awards or recognition?
• Are they receiving anything for this work?
• Is there a major financial interest or ideological drive that may cause them to overlook evidence or spread misinformation?
• How do others in the field view them?
• What shapes their viewpoint?

These are starting points for assessing an information source before allowing it into our mulling.

A Gospel World

This is why I walk and roll with my son.

As I ponder, we explore creation and let it percolate. We engage with neighbours, both human and furry. We pay attention to how we have designed our world.

Does it work for all?

If not, why not?

It may not be a “give me a church feel-better moment,” but as we mull, we can begin to remove architectural and other barriers to participation.

We can begin to remove the things we refuse to enact for another person’s vocational purpose in community simply because we have never done it before. That is the trap of tradition.

We can start asking better questions.

How do we create healthy kin-dom?

This is what Brother Jesus told us was near. And it is up to us to bring it here.

The verses that opened this reflection have taken us on a meandering path, much like the way my mind works in sync with my body, soul, and emotions. They open me up to my neighbour and to myself. They ask what is needed to love.

For it is in that movement toward connection that our souls truly belong with one another.

Now, are we ready to mull for a Gospel world?