Pressing Buttons
A story for Disability Sunday
It’s disability Sunday on the 17th Sept.
It’s been missing for a few years, or under the radar of most churches, but I’m glad to see various people putting things together for the day - ‘Through the Roof’ and ‘You Belong’ have produced some great stuff. Go have a look!
As I’ve been thinking about what to write, one story has kept bugging me.
It’s not one I tell often. It’s also from a little while back, so you won’t be able to guess who, what or where.
It’s going to take a while to tell, so grab a drink and get comfortable.
It’s funny in parts - you are allowed to laugh!
I was asked to speak at a Christian gathering in London about how we should welcome disabled people into the church.
The hosts were great in making sure they found an accessible venue, which isn’t easy in London. The premises belonged to a Christian organisation and they assured the hosts that the building could accommodate a wheelchair user. They even asked for the measurements of my chair to be absolutely sure I could get into the lift, because the meeting was to be in the basement.
It all sounded really positive.
But there’s accessible, and there’s actually accessible and they both co-exist. ‘Actually accessible’ is a building that is independently accessible without needing help. ‘Just’ accessible doesn’t let you have that independence.
When I arrived at the building I asked where the lift was.
The receptionist told me to wait for my ‘escort’ to the meeting room.
My escort was a middle aged man in overalls who led me to a tiny wooden lift as old as the ancient building.
I must admit, I was worried as to whether it would take my weight! When these types of lift say they can take a wheelchair, they mean a manual one, not a much heavier power wheelchair. But a manual chair user would have grazed their knuckles getting in - at least I had the joystick driver.
My escort proceeded to get in with me - even though there wasn’t enough room and he had to squeeze in, far too close for my comfort or decency. But, I wasn’t to be trusted to push the button and go down to the basement by myself.
Ah….the basement….
The lift didn’t go all the way to the basement.
I got out and saw a platform stairlift down to the basement level.
Brilliant! I reached out to press the button that would slowly lower the platform I needed to get on…..and I was stopped. No, only my ‘escort’ was allowed to press the buttons. He lowered the platform, I got on, went to press the ‘press and hold’ button to go down and was told off again. My escort went down the stairs and used the buttons down there to lower me, painfully slowly, down to the basement meeting room.
It was made very clear I was not allowed to push any buttons!
I asked where the toilet was and was told the accessible one was by the reception, two floors up at street level .
I was expected to ask someone to go up to reception, tell them I wanted to wee wee, and then wait for the escort to come and get me, and them have him wait outside the loo whilst I did what I wanted to do, and then he would escort me back down.
How embarrassing! I was angry about that, but managed a semblance of grace.
It didn’t end there though….
When I went up to speak, it was hard to get through with a wheelchair so I had to walk, and when I got there, it was a tall platform with no steps.
So I’m there to talk about 'disability and the church', and I can’t access the platform.
I spoke in front of the platform, and the hosts were mortified about me needing to do that. The owners of the building had assumed I was a delegate, not a speaker.
There is an upside to this though; the hosts and delegates were wonderful - no one attending the conference questioned the fact that I was one of the speakers and no one spoke to me in that childlike sing song voice. I often do get questioned about being the speaker….because I’m disabled and people assume I can’t possibly be a speaker. People often use that sing song voice too; once, at a different conference, someone used that voice to say how nice I looked and asked if I’d chosen my own clothes that day……I kid you not.
I laugh about all this now - but it’s not a rare occurrence for anyone who is disabled. The disability and the story may be different, but it sends the same messages and reveals the same assumptions:
Disabled people are not supposed to be independent.
Disabled people always need a carer or chaperone (I’m often asked where mine is!)
We are supposed to be the ones who take, we don’t give.
We are adult sized infants.
And, we certainly don’t minister to others.
On Disability Sunday - and other Sundays, I want to see disable people speaking/teaching/preaching, I want disabled children and young people to have disabled role models that show they too can serve, lead worship, even preach if they have that gifting and the character to go with it. I want to see disabled people of all ages mentored and not missed out because of their disability or additional need.
I don’t want disabled people to be seen as healing projects, to be seen as a tragedy or someone to pity.
We are your brothers and sisters. Just think of us like that and treat us the same as any other brother or sister in Christ.
