Today
is my sister’s birthday. She was born 59 years ago. She died 20 years ago. I
have missed her.
As I
reflect on her life and contemporary discussions about disabilities, so many
questions come to my mind. You see, she was blind – not from birth, but from
about age seven on. She had a brain abscess that nearly killed her and
ultimately took most of her sight from her. She was completely blind in her
right eye and had less than 10% of normal vision in her left eye.
Today
even the word “disability” has come under scrutiny. Some of this is for good
reason. Often those who are disabled have been sidelined by society for any
number of reasons. Society (including the church) has, in fact, made judgments
about what disabled people can or cannot do. The same was true for my sister.
She
earned her bachelor’s degree and then went on to the University of Michigan and
earned her M.S.W. But when she would apply for jobs, she often was passed over
because “you really can’t do this work with your handicap.” In other words, she
wasn’t even given a chance. That really ticked her off.
Nonetheless,
she would never have suggested that her blindness was not a handicap of sorts,
any more than my chronic asthma is not a disability of sorts; only that it
should not be the first or only thing she should be judged by. In her day, she
fought for equal access for those with disabilities, be that access to “talking
books,” or ramps and elevators for buildings, or whatever. She wanted disabled
people like herself to have as many opportunities as were possible to live into
their vocation as independently possible.
The
language has changed. Today, a word like handicap or disability must be used
with caution. In sociological and theological circles there are those who
suggest that they will have their disability in the new heavens and earth. This
is puzzling to me and I think it would be puzzling to my sister.
Not
only does this sort of thinking raise serious questions about the healing
miracles of Jesus, it also raises questions about texts like Is. 35:5-6, “Then
will the eyes of the blind be opened.” We read this text at Judy’s funeral
because we knew that she longed to see. Especially color. She could see deep
blue a little. And she loved that color. I expect that she would have found
little comfort knowing that someday, in the new heavens and earth, she would
still not be able to see things like birds, colors, and mountains, but that the
societal barriers to being blind would no longer be in place, one of the more
prevalent arguments for continued disability that affirms a healing of sorts. I
think she thought that there was more to ultimate healing than that, given the
way she talked about it.
And I
think she was right.
