Disability Justice at God's Table: Reimagining Our Faith Communities
Rev. Tonetta Landia-Aina
A few years back, I found myself in a setting I had never envisioned—completing my clinical pastoral education (CPE) at the National Institutes of Health hospital. I wasn't particularly drawn to hospitals; my knowledge of medical environments came primarily from watching Grey's Anatomy, more interested in the drama between McSteamy and Callie than the intricacies of human anatomy. But those mornings in intensive learning sessions with my cohort, followed by afternoons visiting patients, taught me two profound lessons.
First, I learned that health is more complicated than we often acknowledge—it's a moving goalpost dependent on countless factors. As Sonya Renee Taylor eloquently puts it:
"Health is not a state we owe the world. We are not less valuable, worthy, or lovable because we are not healthy. There is no standard of health that is achievable for all bodies."
The second lesson emerged from my body's reaction each day when I drove off campus—the relief, confusion, and nagging shock at how disconnected my patients' world was from the one I was driving into. Not just disconnected, but hidden away—a world rarely discussed unless you have the misfortune of forced contact.
I realized we've grown far too comfortable hiding away whatever doesn't conform to our standards of a "good body," "good health," and a "good life." This explains why many people don't realize that 25% of us are disabled—we've been taught to keep disabilities of our bodies and minds private, to eliminate disability from our social imagination.
Yet that is not the way it should be among disciples of Jesus.
Defining Ableism: The System We Rarely Name
Before we can dismantle something, we need to name it. So what exactly is ableism?
Dr. Amy Kenny simply describes it as "the belief that disabled people are less valuable or less human than our non-disabled counterparts."
For a more comprehensive understanding, we can turn to Black, queer, disabled, non-binary writer Talia A. Lewis, who defines ableism as "a system of assigning value to people's bodies and minds based on socially constructed ideas of normalcy, productivity, desirability, intelligence, excellence, and fitness. These constructed ideas are deeply rooted in eugenics, anti-Blackness, misogyny, colonialism, imperialism, and capitalism."
This systematic oppression leads to people and society determining others' value based on their culture, age, language, appearance, religion, birthplace, health, wellness, and/or their ability to satisfactorily reproduce, excel, and behave. Importantly, you don't have to be disabled to experience ableism.
Dr. Lamar Hardwick adds that "ableism perpetuates the view that disabled bodies need repair or supervision. It assumes incompetence regardless of the type or scope of disability." It's not merely the ranking of which bodies matter most—it's also claiming the power to interpret the behavior and intentions of bodies deemed deficient or disabled. Ableism assumes the power to define which bodies are best and which behaviors are normal or dangerous.
In our current political climate, where we have a president who regularly discusses "good genes" and "bad genes" with concerning rhetoric about bloodlines, these eugenicist ideas are finding fresh air. In March, the government withdrew 11 pieces of guidance related to the Americans with Disabilities Act to remove "obstacles" to businesses making more money.
But that's not the way it should be among disciples of Jesus. As Pastor Rich Villodas reminds us, "The way of following Jesus requires a steadfast refusal to get caught up in the pace, the power, and the priorities of the world around us. We are called to have our lives shaped by a different kind of power, pace, and priorities offered to us by God."
Luke 14: Jesus Reimagines the Banquet Table
In Luke 14, we find Jesus attending a dinner at a leading Pharisee's house on the Sabbath. Being Jesus—and never one to shy away from controversy—he heals someone on the Sabbath and then begins addressing his dinner companions.
First, he addresses the guests, noting they've chosen seats that would bring them honor in society. Following the advice from Proverbs, Jesus tells them this is folly—they should choose the lowest place. What's interesting is that while Proverbs advises moving down one place as a strategic social move, Jesus takes it further: go to the lowest place, and you will be exalted.
Then Jesus turns to the host with even more radical advice: "When you throw a party, don't invite your family, friends, or associates—invite people who cannot reciprocate." Specifically, he mentions the poor and disabled.
At this point, someone pipes up saying, "Blessed is anyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of heaven." We all know this type of person—trying to get in good with the teacher without actually understanding the lesson. As we might say colloquially, they're "all up in the Kool-Aid but don't know what flavor it is." This person vaguely connects Jesus's teaching to the kingdom of God but misses the point entirely.
Jesus responds with another parable about a man hosting a banquet. After invitations are sent and accepted, the host sends a servant to notify guests that everything is ready. But when the time comes, the guests make thinly veiled excuses revealing their true priorities. The host then tells his servant: "Go and center the margins. Invite the folks who are poor and disabled. Go outside the wall of the city to the back alleys and invite those people in so that my house might be full."
I wonder what accommodations had to be made to achieve that dream. And I wonder what accommodations each of us is invited to embrace out of the dream of our radically welcoming God.
Three Lessons from God's Banquet Table
1. Disabled People Are Invited Just as They Are
In God's banquet, people aren't required to change their fundamental identity markers to be welcome. Scripture speaks of Jesus as the "first fruits" of new creation, and when Jesus appears after resurrection, his nail marks remain—scars that aren't erased or eliminated. This suggests something profound about the continuity of our bodies into new creation.
When I contemplate this, I think about how in the new creation, I would like to be Black and queer and gender nonconforming. That's partly because I know that the quality of life that is heaven—that I can only truly experience it if I am fully embraced as who I am there by something I've never fully experienced here. That will be paradise for me. That will be true healing.
I can imagine for folks who experience their disability as part of their identity, it might be the same way. The healing isn't in erasing disability but in creating a world where disability doesn't equal exclusion.
2. At God's Banquet, There Is Plenty of Room
Even after the servant invites all the marginalized people, there is still plenty of room. The Spirit of God creates space for us to flourish. Part of our resistance to ableism is to take up space if we are disabled and, if we are not, to encourage those who are disabled to take up space. As the Black spiritual tradition reminds us, there is "plenty good room."
I return to Sonya Renee Taylor, who reflected after hearing a podcast featuring a woman with multiple sclerosis who felt ashamed using mobility aids:
"Some of us have no problems taking up space. Google 'manspreading.' While others move closer to invisibility daily. I long for a mutiny of space. May there be 10 million wheelchairs, canes, service dogs, and mobility aids on every street in our city, in our country. That there be double seats for fat bodies. And may every boardroom and decision-making entity be brimming with young and old, Black and brown and transgender bodies."
That's what radical love looks like.
3. God's Dream Is That the House Be Full
In the parable, the host tells his servant to "compel" the poor and disabled to come in so the house may be full. God's dream is that the house be full—and the fullness is contingent on who's there. Not just the centered and privileged, but the marginalized and excluded.
What will it mean for us to zealously extend invitations? What will it mean for us to become what my friend Claire calls "table setters"? I love that phrase. At The Table Church, what will it mean for us to become table setters? Because somebody had to set the table, and somebody had to go and invite. Somebody had to think about the preparation and accommodations that would be needed.
From Ableist Fantasies to God's Dream
It's interesting that the only healing that occurs in the Luke 14 passage is at the beginning. A man with generalized edema is healed—and in the ancient Mediterranean world, this condition was often used metaphorically by scholars as a euphemism for those "swollen with greed," a critique of people with insatiable thirst for prestige, status, and honor.
The only person healed in the story is the one prioritizing material security, ease, and playing the world's status games. Perhaps that's the most profound lesson of all.
May we as a church be healed from our ableist fantasies, which rank some as more valuable than others. May we instead be delivered into God's dream of a full house, with disabled folks given the best seats.
If you are disabled, may you know that you are an honored guest at God's table. And whether disabled or non-disabled, may we all shift our concern from whether we will be invited to the banquet to whom we will invite to the banquet.
Reflection Questions:
When was the last time you noticed ableism operating in your community, workplace, or place of worship? What specific accommodations could you advocate for to create more access and belonging?
What does it mean to be a "table setter" in your context? Who might you be called to invite to the table who has previously been excluded?
This blog post is based on a sermon originally delivered at The Table Church in Washington, D.C. For more content on living out a more beautiful gospel that announces collective liberation and the renewal of all things, visit thetablechurch.org.