A Groundbreaking Conference on Disability, Accessibility, and Inclusion in the Church
“Gathered as One Body: Disability, Accessibility, and Inclusion in the Orthodox Church” was an unprecedented, multi-day conference that brought together Orthodox hierarchs and clergyman, theologians and lay leaders, and parishioners and disability advocates from across the country, representing a panoply of enriching perspectives. Organized by the Huffington Ecumenical Institute (HEI) at Hellenic College Holy Cross and co-sponsored by the GOA Center for Family Care, “Gathered as One Body” marked the official launch of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America’s “On Behalf of All” pilot program on parish accessibility, funded by a generous grant from the Lilly Endowment.
The conference formally opened on the evening of Thursday, May 1st, with keynote addresses delivered at Taxiarchae Greek Orthodox Church in Watertown, MA. On Friday, May 2nd, presentations and large group discussions were held at St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church in Weston, MA. Of special note was the convening of five Orthodox hierarchs, including His Eminence Archbishop Elpidophoros of America, for an open forum discussion with conference attendees. This unique opportunity for dialogue followed the celebration of an “adaptive” Divine Liturgy on the morning of May 2nd, featuring a variety of accommodations for individuals with disabilities. The conference concluded on the evening of Saturday, May 3rd, after a day dedicated to conducting small group, issue-specific workshops.
Any attempt to summarize the personal stories and intimate encounters shared throughout the conference would certainly prove futile. Not only is there simply too much material to be sufficiently covered, but the blessed kairos of having been “Gathered as One Body” would be betrayed by such a generalization. Instead, I can only offer my thoughts and impressions as an attendee, and a mere observer at that; though, if there is one insight I will surely come away with from this conference, it is that there is no place for mere observers in the Church. There is no issue affecting any one member of the Church to which we might safely position ourselves “on the outside looking in.” Offering our whole lives to Christ in the Church, we become “individually members of one another” (Rom 12:5); our bodies cease to be our own (cf. 1 Cor 6:19). Unfortunately, we often narrow the scope of our recognition of this radical interpenetration of whole lives in Christ, focusing inordinately on the problem and preponderance of personal sin. We concentrate on the many ways in which any one member might find itself alienated from the Body of Christ. We pay markedly less attention to how the Body subsequently suffers from the loss of any one of its members, regardless of the reason for separation. We seem to forget that “God has set the members, each one of them, in the body just as He pleased.” Our differences—the very strengths and weaknesses, abilities and disabilities that make us precious children of God—constitute the first fruits of self-offering we are called to present to Christ in the Church. If we foolishly expect that every member will bring forward an identical offering, contributing to the life of the Church in a manner that is ultimately redundant, it is St. Paul who asks us: “Where would the body be?” (1 Cor 12:18-19).
To speak of the “body” as Orthodox Christians conjures up an ornate tapestry of allusions to Scripture, the writings of the Church Fathers (and Mothers), and the lives of countless saints. It is safe to say, however, that St. Paul offers us a definitive perspective on the body and experience of embodiment, at least in so far as we who have been baptized “have put on Christ” (Gal 3:27) and have been incorporated together as members of His indivisible Body, the Church. Yet it is easy to mistake the rich symbolism of Pauline ecclesiology for mere metaphor intended to only rudimentarily capture ineffable spiritual realities. For every symbolical affirmation of the Church as the Body of Christ (cf. Col 1:18; Eph 1:22-23; Rom 12:4-5; 1 Cor 12:12-31, etc.), there is to be found in the teachings and writings of St. Paul a moral, pedagogical, or pastoral point pertaining to a practical connection between embracing the vicissitudes of human embodiment and entering into the common, ecclesial struggle to attain eternal life. As St. Paul observes in his letter to the Ephesians, the Church as the Body of Christ is “joined and knit together by what every joint supplies, according to the effective working by which every part does its share.” His point is clear: the meaningful participation of every single member of the Church—facilitated through the “joints” of interpersonal communion—is essential to “the edifying of itself in love,” (Eph 4:16) the building up of the Body of Christ.
And yet, the Orthodox Church has historically failed to accommodate the needs of her most vulnerable members, especially disabled individuals and their loved ones. She has shamefully ignored or largely devalued their necessary participation in the whole life of the parish, beginning with the Divine Liturgy and spreading out across the various ministries that promote Christian fellowship and sow the seeds that sprout “the liturgy after the Liturgy.” Seeking to address this twofold problem of accessibility and inclusion within the Orthodox Church, “Gathered as One Body” provided a truly unprecedented opportunity to bring these shortcomings to light and begin discerning potential paths forward. For Orthodox Christians, to be “Gathered as one Body” implies the notion of synaxis, a dynamic and dialogical assembly of unique persons united in the Spirit of Christ, whose seal of communion manifests the fullness of the universal Church. In this notion of synaxis, we see how the “macro” mystery of the Church is inseparable from the “micro” mystery of the person. Although we are all uniquely graced as individuals with gifts from the Holy Spirit, our true destiny as persons is discovered only in the communion of the Church. Our crosses may be deeply personal; they are more readily apparent for some than they are for others. But our resurrection is the common hope of the Church, a shared promise vouchsafed to us in the risen Christ, who eternally proclaims, “Behold, I make all things new” (Rev 21:5). Together as a Church, we give witness to and anticipate the moment in which we “all come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a perfect man, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Eph 4:13).
The fullness of Christ is our personal and ecclesial ideal. How, then, as His Eminence Metropolitan Nathanael of Chicago put it so poignantly in his keynote address delivered on May 1st, can we claim to exhibit the fullness of Christ when we are aware of fellow members of the Body who have been left outside the doors of our parishes? When all it may take to begin to welcome them in is providing an accessibility ramp, or offering a warm smile and a helpful set of hands, or making an extra stop on our Sunday morning commutes, what excuse do we have not to act? His Eminence reminded us of Christ’s encounter with a paralyzed man at the Pool of Bethesda. For thirty-eight years, he had waited alongside many others to be healed at the miraculous stirring of the waters. Yet he confessed to Christ, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; but while I am coming, another steps down before me” (Jn 5:7). “I have no one.” Loneliness, alienation, disaffection—for many Orthodox Christians with disabilities, these conditions of isolation define their experience of the Church. At a time when increasingly empty pews are a tragic reminder of the predominantly secular world in which we live—one that tends to be impersonal, unfeeling, and antagonistic—it may be wise to begin to address this plank in our eye as a Church before looking elsewhere to place the blame for our cratering stewardship totals and shrinking attendance rolls.
However, it became abundantly clear throughout the conference that isolation had not yet given over to despair. Justifiably frustrated, many attendees spoke boldly of the countless slights and humiliations they have faced in their attempts to find a niche within the life of the Church. Yet these were not simply complaints. They were pleas for much-needed attention that evinced an underlying hope in the Church’s inspired capacity to change for the better. They were a testament to the Christ-like humility of those who have borne this mistreatment without losing their faith and a template for our common edification as a Church. Over three days’ worth of speeches, presentations, and workshops, many practical suggestions for how we might begin to move forward together were shared. But the conference’s climax, in my opinion, was the open forum discussion with our hierarchs. Although they were more than gracious with their time and expressed a shared commitment to learning from and adapting the parish environment to better accommodate individuals with disabilities, there were still many uncomfortable and even tense moments of discussion. One of the most pressing questions directed to them—“How do we repair the damage done and begin to reconcile those who find themselves on the outside of the parish looking in?”—elicited no real response. Of course, it is unlikely that a sufficient answer could ever be arrived at through mere words. Nevertheless, the question of reconciliation must be continuously asked by us all, even if it happens to unsettle the comfortable status quo.
Causing this kind of “good trouble,” as His Eminence Archbishop Elpidophoros labeled it in the sermon he delivered during the Divine Liturgy on May 2nd, seemed to be an unspoken objective of “Gathered as One Body.” The Orthodox Church may be hierarchical, but it cannot stand to be authoritarian. Although we often fail to live up to the high-minded principles of synodality as a Church, historical experience shows that our clergy need the support of the laity just as much as the laity needs the leadership of the clergy. “Gathered as One Body” was an opportunity to bring together these essential halves of the true whole, and to foreground especially the participation of voices that are often drowned out in the broader conversation of the Church. As HEI Executive Director Rev. Dr. John Chryssavgis noted in an interview before the conference, “It became very obvious from the outset that we should not organize a conference addressed to individuals with disabilities, but rather a more inclusive event organized by and for people dealing with disabilities in their lives and parishes.” He took this insight even further in his opening remarks delivered on May 1st, asking the conference to collectively direct its attention to addressing the pivotal question: “What might the disabled themselves have to teach us?”
Having had numerous opportunities to hear from and personally meet with disabled individuals, caretakers of disabled individuals, and disability advocates from across the country, a preliminary answer to this question has come to mind. It seems we need to get over our present fixation with meeting “bare minimum” metrics of accessibility and inclusion, as if the question facing us as a Church is how best to fulfill a moral duty as people of goodwill. From this vantage point, promoting greater parish accessibility appears to us as an opportunity to provide charity to the less fortunate, to make accommodations that have no real impact on our experience of the Church. We need to realize instead that the true purpose, the telos, of improving parish accessibility is the meaningfulparticipation of everyone in the whole life of the Church, not simply for “their” sakes but for our common sake as the Body of Christ. Presvytera Melanie DiStefano, Resource Developer at the GOA Center for Family Care, encouraged us in her presentation on May 2nd to embrace disabled individuals in our parishes with an unconditional love that renders their crosses ours to bear, and raises up their lives in thanksgiving as ours to rejoice over. That is the very essence of our liturgy as the Orthodox Church. That is the common work of the people who make up the Body of Christ, which may be outwardly weak and broken but is never divided so long as it persists in a shared Spirit of thanksgiving.
There is a particular line from St. Paul, so memorably vivid and characteristic of his impassioned persona, that has been ringing in my ears since the conference’s opening night. “You would have plucked out your own eyes and given them to me,” he wrote to the newly minted Christians in Galatia, who had already begun to stray from his earlier instruction. Utilizing typical Pauline hyperbole, he commends them for the exceedingly generous hospitality he was shown during his previous missionary efforts in Asia Minor. His fond memory of their selfless concern is what makes the Galatians’ current apostasy so unbearably heartbreaking to St. Paul. Yet something intriguing about the nature of St. Paul’s prior encounter with the Galatians is disclosed in the preceding lines:
“You know that because of physical infirmity I preached the gospel to you at the first. And my trial which was in my flesh you did not despise or reject, but you received me as an angel of God, even as Christ Jesus.” (Gal 4:13-15)
The precise nature of St. Paul’s “physical infirmity” has been the source of seemingly endless speculation. Was he blind or otherwise visually impaired? Perhaps he suffered chronically after the “scales” fell from his eyes following the encounter with Christ on the road to Damascus? Perhaps an eye ailment was the “thorn in the flesh” he alludes to in his second letter to the Corinthians? Frankly, it is not for us to know. What we can glean, however, from St. Paul’s letter to the Galatians is a crucial lesson concerning the Church as a communion of mutual healing. The indomitable Apostle, laid low by some sort of affliction, was received with open arms by the community in Galatia as if he were “an angel of God” or even Christ Himself. The Galatians would have sacrificed their bodies to make him whole again. In this propitious convergence, the spark of the Holy Spirit was kindled in their hearts, gathered as one body around the weakened St. Paul, and a true communion of healing was established. The Gospel was both proclaimed and put into practice. The Body of Christ came to life in Galatia.
What St. Paul teaches us about the Church as the Body of Christ appears to be inextricably connected to his own experience of bodily disability and the loving support he received from a community that welcomed him in a time of weakness. As Orthodox Christians, we worship a God who became weak for us. Our God, as Rev. Dr. John Chryssavgis observed, has taken on various sensory impairments and physical limitations for the sake of our salvation. Our God reassured His most fervent Apostle, facing a tortuous condition of bodily suffering, not to bemoan his plight: “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9). Our willingness as Orthodox Christians to embrace weakness and seek after the likeness of Christ crucified cuts against the grain of the world. But that is precisely why the Church exists: to offer a communion of healing and reconciliation to all who call on the name of the Lord and knock on the door of His Kingdom. Being “Gathered as One Body,” we realize that for some of us, our call may have to come from the voice of another, our knock from someone else’s hand. Not only is this permissible, but it is expected—even preordained. Issues of accessibility and inclusion in the Church pertain directly to how we are composed individually as members of the Body of Christ, collectively striving towards salvation in His common likeness. That is why as Orthodox Christians, we must always remember, to quote again from His Eminence Metropolitan Nathanael, “The way we treat the most vulnerable is the way we treat God.”
Author: Benjamin Malian, First Year Master of Theological Studies (MTS), Hellenic College Holy Cross School of Theology