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Epilogue
I first became aware of the need for disabilities ministry when I was
living in New York. Sharlini De Mel, a Houghton College student,
wanted to take a team of people on a mission trip to her home town in
Sri Lanka. I agreed to help her plan the trip, and together we
raised close to $14,000, enough to send her and six other students to
Sri Lanka for two months that following summer.
“You’re planning on going with us, aren’t you
Steve?” Sharlini asked one afternoon, after most of the money
had been raised.
“I really want to go,” I said. “But I’m not
sure yet if I’ll be able to make the trip.”
“You have to go,” Sharlini protested. “The
people over there need someone like you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Steve,” she said, “if you’re disabled and live
in Sri Lanka, you have nothing. Life is horrible.
There are no jobs. The government doesn’t help. You spend
twelve hours a day sitting on the street corner, begging for money.
If you are lucky, you have enough collected at the end of the day to
buy some food that night. If not, you go to bed hungry and hope
that the next day will be better.”
I never made it to Sri Lanka, but I had the
opportunity a few years later to see something similar to the
deplorable conditions that Sharlini had spoken about. Nine of us
had traveled to Mexico City for one of Golden Clay Ministries’
short-term mission trips, and the day we visited one of the homes that
house many of Mexico’s severely disabled left an indelible mark on my
memory. The first thing to catch my eye was the building itself,
which looked more like an institution than a home. As many as a
dozen kids slept in each of its many dormitory-style bedrooms.
The bunks lining the walls reminded me of a medium-security prison
that I had once visited in Attica, New York, where the inmates were
warehoused and purposely kept away from the rest of society. The
fence surrounding the yard of the home, although necessary to provide
security for the kids, added to the prison motif.
Many of the residents had been abandoned in
infancy and left to the care of the state by parents either unwilling
or unable to raise a disabled child. The state, in turn, had
handed them over to the Sisters of Charity who, as a last resort, had
brought them to this facility. Our visit reminded me of what a
man from Madagascar had once told me. “In my country,” he had
said, “the same word used for disability is also used to refer to the
garbage that people throw out at the end of the day.”
Unfortunately, that is a very accurate depiction of how the kids in
this home are perceived by the outside world.
The needs of people with disabilities in such
places as Sri Lanka and Mexico City are heart-wrenching and dramatic.
But the needs of disabled Americans are great, as well. We need
to be less marginalized, less isolated, and much more evangelized.
People with disabilities are the largest minority group in the United
States. There are more of us in this country than there are
African-Americans, Latinos, or any other group. Yet, there are
also fewer of us who attend church regularly compared with the members
of any other minority group. That disturbs me, and if you truly
believe that the love and grace of our Lord is meant for all people,
it should disturb you, too.
I believe that God has called me to use my own
life to communicate his grace to both disabled and non-disabled
people. I am grateful for the work that Golden Clay Ministries
is doing to help churches integrate people with disabilities into
their congregations. But no matter how many books I write, or
sermons I preach, or classes I teach—I can’t make a difference in the
lives of more than a handful of people with disabilities without your
help. My message won’t mean much unless ordinary Christians who
hear it put the muscle of their own effort behind my words. So,
at the risk of sounding like I’m preaching a sermon, I close this book
with a challenge. Open your church to people with all kinds of
disabilities. Make sure the sanctuary is accessible, but don’t
stop there. If you work with someone who has a disability,
invite that person to attend church with you. Provide
transportation for people who don’t drive. Visit the ill who
have trouble leaving their homes—both elderly people and younger
people like my wife, Randi. Baby-sit a disabled child so that
his or her parents can get a night out to themselves. But most
of all, give the gift of your friendship. Let people with
disabilities know that you want them as a part of your congregation.
Let your church be to many people with disabilities what Youth for
Christ was to an insecure teenager named Steve Chance in the 1970s—a
place to belong.
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