By: James Millikan, nSJ
And his disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him” (John 9:2-3).
How is it that the works of God are displayed in the lives of people with intellectual disabilities?
Contemporary society certainly does not act as though disabilities are privileged displays of the works of God. Examples abound of the conflation of difference with deficiency in our common usage of language. The word “poor” is used not only to describe a person of limited means, but connotes unsatisfactory and undesirable quality. The word “lame” is used to describe events or people who are judged unworthy of attention or consideration by the “in” crowd. Our culture of ableism looks down upon vulnerability and meekness, and instead genuflects to the gods of influence and power.
Jesus offers a different assessment: disabilities are no curse or misfortune, but instead are a sign of a special nearness of God’s love and grace. Jesus’ choice of company shows us that God’s light is refracted through the prism of disabilities in an especially brilliant way. And when we, like Jesus, draw near to the differently-abled, we too see their radiant brilliance which illuminates our life and dispels our darkness.
My time with L’Arche has been a steady stream of encounters with this luminous mystery of God’s special presence among the lowly.
When a middle-aged resident laughs and sings at the dinner table, we are reminded of the contagious power of holy joy when it is unencumbered with intellectual defenses. When a core member shares her nervousness at the unpredictability of the upcoming day, we are reminded that anticipation is a universal and natural experience and is an invitation to grow in courage. When a young man with Down syndrome squeezes close his eyes in intense prayer at church, we are reminded that God, when viewed with childlike innocence, is a limitless source of awe and wonder. When a book read aloud causes a smile to spread across the lips of a woman who has been suffering for months with an infection, we are reminded that consoling the disconsolate is a sacred work.
Jesus is right; the works of God are on proud display in the lives of people with intellectual disabilities. And by sharing life in communities that embrace this reality, we are given a privileged insight into the core of the Gospel: God is praised, reverenced, and served when we give our whole selves in the simple and humble acts of living, sharing, and celebrating together with spacious and undefended hearts.
That, in the end, is what L’Arche has taught me: We are called to respond in generosity to those who we encounter; their lives are invitations to growth. When I become unhelpfully preoccupied with my own vain concerns, the people of L’Arche—like the bells of a monastery summoning the monk away from inward ruminations and into communal prayer—call me respond generously in love and affection to God’s beloved children.
I am deeply grateful for my months at L’Arche Tahoma Hope. This community has helped me to develop my capacity to communicate God’s love clearly and directly, and it has enabled me to see that walking with people in joy and compassion is the heart of ministry. May God continue to bless L’Arche Tahoma Hope in its holy work of sharing life together.