Radically Inclusive: Disability Theology and the Justice of God

Tonetta Landis-Aina and Panel

I'm wearing my "radically inclusive" hat today. It's my favorite hat, and I'm wearing it despite being raised to believe you shouldn't wear hats in church. I got it a few years back walking around Georgetown, passing a shop called Biddy and Bo's Coffee. What caught my eye was the merchandise in their display window – apparel with phrases like "leave your doubt" and "not broken." I wasn't sure about spending money on something new, but I doubled back. I had to have this hat with its bold proclamation of "radically inclusive."

I expected a mundane transaction, but what I found surprised me. Everyone working in the coffee shop had intellectual and developmental disabilities. I later learned that Biddy and Bo's sees itself as "a human rights movement disguised as a coffee shop," providing dignified work to a marginalized population that's severely underemployed.

I bought the hat knowing its message would always challenge me. People might associate it with my desire for the world to radically include queer folks. After all, we expect people to show up for their own interests and proclaim them loudly. But every time I wear this hat, it reminds me to ask: whose neck is my boot on? It reminds me to look for intersections between struggles for justice that might not seem connected at first glance. And it reminds me that God is constantly drawing us to widen our circle – and to let that wider circle change and free us.

Why Disability Theology Matters Now

Last week, we started our sermon series called "Embody: Disability Theology and the Justice of God." Dr. Amy Kenny began with spectacular insights from her book "My Body is Not a Prayer Request." If you haven't heard that sermon, please go back and find it on our website – it's brilliant.

There are two reasons why this series matters especially now. First, in times of crisis, it's easy to close down and consider only your own survival. That makes logical sense. But because of that tendency, we need each other to remember to raise our heads above our narrow interests.

Our inspiration is Jesus, a colonized Jew living in the Roman Empire who, instead of pursuing the programs of ethnic and religious purity that others thought necessary for survival, invited his own people to open up instead of closing down. In our current political moment, we need the same reminder. Like many marginalized groups, disabled folks are being disproportionately impacted right now, and we must stand in solidarity.

Second, this series is a perfect fit for the Easter season. Contrary to what our consumerist culture suggests, Easter isn't just one day. Eastertide extends from Easter day until Pentecost, 50 days later. During this time, Christians worldwide reflect on the meaning of the cross, the resurrection, and the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus in the gospel stories.

It's precisely in these scriptures that disability theologians invite us to see and worship a God who is disabled.

Jesus as Disabled Christ

In her book, Dr. Kenny reflects on the cross this way: "Jesus on the cross is disabled, physically impaired by sweating drops of blood while nailed to a wooden stake. Jesus is also disabled in a social sense. A person who was crucified bore the weight of social stigma in the ancient world, highlighting the social model of disability. Jesus inverts all our shame and preconceived notions about what power looks like into a cross. Jesus disables himself on our behalf."

This goes directly against our notions of self-preservation and victory by demonstrating how God's power is self-emptying, radically forgiving, and displayed through disability. The disabled Christ is the definitive revelation of God to humanity. The disabled body is the source of our redemption.

Think about how we might treat disabled people differently if we lived with such an understanding.

The Resurrected Disabled God

Dr. Nancy Eiesland, a pioneer of disability theology, offers a powerful interpretation of a post-resurrection encounter with Jesus. In Luke's gospel, two disciples encounter Jesus on the road to Emmaus and then tell the others they've seen the resurrected Christ:

"While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, 'Peace be with you.' They were startled and terrified and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, 'Why are you frightened and why do your doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and feet. See that it is I myself. Touch me and see, for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.'"

Eiesland points out something we might have missed: "Here is the resurrected Christ making good on the incarnational proclamation that God would be with us, embodied as we are. In presenting his impaired hands and feet to his startled friends, the resurrected Jesus is revealed as a disabled God."

Jesus calls for his frightened companions to recognize in the marks of his impairment their own connection with God, their salvation. This disabled God reveals true personhood, "underscoring the reality that full personhood is fully compatible with the experience of disability."

I'm a beginner on this journey, and I suspect many of you are too. But we must show up for our own disability and for the disability of our siblings. It's time to shift our imaginations.

Voices from Our Community

To help us do that, I invited a panel of folks from our community to share their wisdom:

Madison: Co-leads our Disability Affinity Group and has a service dog named Frog. She offered this insight about what the church gets wrong: "The idea that in heaven disability will not be present. I believe that my entirety is made in God's image and will be celebrated in life after this. Recognizing that our entire bodies will be whole as they are now, as they are disabled also in heaven."

When asked about unhelpful healing prayers, Madison shared: "The weirdest is people who say, 'Can I pray for your parents' sins that have caused this in your life?' Don't say that to people."

Madison experiences ableism primarily through access issues – not being able to sit with friends at concerts because she needs disability seating, or not always having accessible bathrooms. She finds resistance through rest: "Taking time for myself to actually rest and rejuvenate." Her recommendation for everyone: "Read as much as you can. In the U.S., 25% of people are disabled, and if you're not disabled now, you likely will be in the future if you live long enough."

Udim: Uses they/them/it/we pronouns, is a teaching artist in DC public schools, and relaxes by dancing or drawing. Udim's experience of ableism is tied to their immigration story: "Coming to the U.S. at three, I had to learn all the ways that are different from me. I had to be perfect. My ableism was perpetuated at a very young age, so it took me a long time to know I was neurodivergent because I was conditioned to shape-shift."

Udim's acts of rebellion include: "Wearing cat ears, dancing randomly in hallways – things that seem disruptive to other people but I don't care anymore. Being myself is rebelling." When a student asked why they were wearing cat ears, Udim replied, "Because I want to."

Gwyth: Co-leads the Disability Affinity Group and the Black Affinity Group. She shared: "As somebody who's neurodivergent, physically disabled, and neurologically disabled, I wish the church would have a change of perspective on disability – seeing it as part of difference and diversity and the holiness of God's divine design. Some birds fly in the sea. Some birds fly in the sky. Some birds don't. They're still all birds. And God looks at them and says, 'very good.'"

Gwyth experienced traumatic "healing" prayers: "I was put into a supposed 'courts of heaven' prayer program that was a combination of cookie-cutter incantations that condemned me for not being faithful enough, for being demon-afflicted and cursed."

Despite having advanced degrees, Gwyth has been called stupid, incompetent, and less than human. Yet she found meaning in this through scripture: "God chose what the world thinks is foolish to shame the wise, and God chose what the world thinks is weak to shame the strong." Her form of resistance: "Rather than trying to overcome my disabilities or eradicate my differences, I own and celebrate my thorns."

A Call to Radical Inclusion

These voices remind us that disability isn't something to fix or overcome, but a divine aspect of human diversity. When we widen our understanding of what bodies are "normal" or "whole," we also widen our understanding of God.

My "radically inclusive" hat isn't just a fashion statement – it's a daily reminder of the work we're all called to do. Looking for the intersections of justice. Drawing the circle wider. Letting that wider circle change and free us.

In a world that often treats disability as a tragedy or an inspiration, disability theology offers us a more beautiful gospel – one that announces collective liberation and the renewal of all things, not by erasing our differences but by celebrating them as part of God's divine design.

The disabled Christ on the cross and the disabled God of resurrection invite us to recognize our shared vulnerability, our shared humanity, and our shared divinity. And perhaps most importantly, they invite us to recognize that our bodies – in all their diversity – don't need to be fixed. They need to be loved.