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The neighborhood church is the hope of the world. Have you heard that before? It’s something we say at Epiphany often and for good reason. While I have always believed this to be the case, I believe it more fervently now than ever.
Earlier this summer, Doyt talked about coming to church as humans leaving the world of technology, smartphones, and artificial intelligence behind. Instead, he challenged us to think about this place, the neighborhood church, as a reprieve from all of that. In this space, we are human beings with a soul that is eternal. And in this space, we relate to one another and to God, soul to soul, person to person. This is why I believe the neighborhood church is the hope of the world.
I want to tell you a story about the church I served in Connecticut. St. John’s, Essex always reminded me fondly of Epiphany. The people, the community, the spirit of the place is very similar. St. John’s is nestled in a small New England town, along the Connecticut River, right in the middle of Main Street across from the town green. Each Sunday before worship, I would stand on Main Street greeting people as they arrived and saying hello to the tourists and locals walking by. Nearly every Sunday, an older man (let’s call him “Ed”) walked by in well-worn work clothes, saying a quick “hello” and rushing off down the street. Over time, I got to know him a little, at least his name, and would greet him with a warm smile and an invitation to join us for church.
Well, one Sunday, I walked into the church and there was Ed, sitting in the back pew right by the door, ready to run. Over time, I got to know him and learned pieces of his story. He had not had an easy life. He struggled to read and had no idea what was happening in the liturgy. He had lived in the same house nearby his entire life and had actually never traveled further than his old pickup truck could take him in an afternoon. He had worked all sorts of physically demanding jobs and was settling into retirement.
While I was thrilled he was there, I would be lying if I didn’t say I was a little nervous too. I worried about how people would receive him. I worried about how he would experience the typical affluent, well-educated, Episcopal congregation. There were bumps along the way as he was incorporated into the life of the congregation. The parishioners were well intentioned, but clumsy in their efforts to welcome and include him. But, somehow, with the grace of God, it worked!
But the biggest transformation I saw was this. When Ed started coming to church, it was towards the end of the pandemic. He had been extremely isolated during that time, but really he was isolated even before that. He was nervous and jumpy around people and had never attended church in his life before this. One day, as we were talking, I asked him why. “Why are you coming to church? Why now?” He calmly replied, “It was time. I was tired of being lonely.” After 68 years of not being part of a church community or really any community at all, God invited him into St. John’s and he came. Within the church, this man was restored to community and to wholeness and the church was better off because of his presence.
This is why I believe the neighborhood church is the hope of the world.
In today’s gospel reading, Jesus empowers a woman who has been suffering for many years, to be restored to community in similar ways. In the story, Jesus is doing what I’m doing right now. He is teaching in one of the synagogues on the Sabbath when a woman appears, right there in the midst of the community.
As the passage says, she had “a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years.” This unnamed woman’s experience is one we can try and imagine. She was suffering physically in her body and had likely been marginalized in her community because of it. Her suffering is not just because of her disability, but also because she had been ostracized from community. I find it fascinating that she seeks healing here, in the midst of the worshipping community.
If the neighborhood church is the hope of the world, what does it mean for the church to be a place of freedom and belonging, especially for those living with visible or invisible disabilities?
I want to spend a few moments focusing on the difference between “healing” and “curing.” I think we sometimes get hung up on whether or not God “cures” people from their ailments when we discuss the healing stories in the gospels. When Jesus heals people, it is about wholeness, dignity, and restoring people to relationships with God, self, and community.
Former ways of interpreting these healing stories are now seen as unhelpful and even harmful to those living with disabilities today. Our understanding of disabilities has changed dramatically since biblical times. Whereas disability was once viewed as something needing to be “fixed,” our society now strives for full inclusion, respect, and agency for those living with disability.
According to CDC data from 2022, over 61 million U.S. adults, meaning 1 in 4, or approximately 25%, report having a disability. And if we look at the rates of disability over a lifetime, the numbers increase dramatically with most of us projected to experience some kind of disability in our later years.
Our baptismal covenant calls us to “respect the dignity of every human being” and that includes affirming the gifts and leadership of people with disabilities. What Jesus’ healing does for this woman in today’s text is to free her from the isolation and stigma she has endured. What barriers—physical, attitudinal, or liturgical—might prevent people with disabilities from full participation in our church? How can we become a community that unbinds, includes, and celebrates all people?
Now, it is tempting to pat ourselves on the back here in progressive Seattle. We do work hard at full inclusion. Ostracizing people for an apparent physical disability seems like something that doesn’t happen anymore. That behavior is not socially acceptable. But I would encourage us to dig a little deeper. What are the differences among people that do cause us to exclude or put up barriers? It might be someone’s level of education or the way they smell or the ways in which they choose to inhabit their bodies that differ from our own values. What is truly fascinating about today’s gospel passage isn’t the woman’s ailment, it’s that she was rejected in the first place. How might we be rejecting people in our own day and time?
Jesus heals this unnamed woman in public, within the gathered faith community. What Jesus is doing here is not just physical change. When Jesus laid his hands on this woman, it was as much about restoring her to full participation in the life of the community as it was about physical healing. Jesus’ actions taught the community that they are to be a place where people of all abilities are welcomed, valued, and included.
We can draw corollaries to our own day. Imagine someone who is marginalized, stigmatized, or outcast by the dominant society. Imagine that person coming into the midst of our worship space and being healed. I actually think that does happen here. A newcomer was sharing with me just this past week about the warm welcome she has received at Epiphany. This was someone who has a lot of history with church communities and she said, “The remarkable thing isn’t the staff or clergy greeting people, that should be a given. The remarkable thing is the way in which this congregation warmly welcomes those who are new.”
The church is called to be a place where all are free to bring their whole selves, where accommodations are not made out of obligation, but as a matter of justice and love.
Theologian and disability advocate John Swinton writes: “To be included is not simply to be present, but to be with, to belong, to be missed when you are not there.” What Swinton is calling our attention to in this quote is the meaning of true healing. True healing might not include physical healing or a cure, but it is certainly about restoring people to community. It is more than inclusion too. It is about belonging, belonging to a community where one is valued and respected.
God’s love is the source of our freedom. God’s love sets us free to see one another as God sees us; beloved, whole, and necessary to the Body of Christ. If we truly believe that, then we ought to be working to dismantle barriers. We must practice Jesus’ way of healing love, not just for some, but for all.
The woman in our gospel story is healed through her restoration to community. At St. John’s, Essex, Ed was healed through his restoration to community. When someone is healed in this way, they are healed in dignity and belonging too. How can we continue to grow as a place of radical welcome, where everyone can belong and praise God together?
The neighborhood church is the hope of the world.
As we leave today, let us carry with us the vision of the neighborhood church as a space of true healing and belonging. Let us see the person who arrives timid, marginalized, or different, not as a challenge to our routines, but as a gift to our community.
May this church, Epiphany Parish, continue to be a place where barriers are unbound, voices are heard, and all of God’s children can be together in joy, freedom, and belonging.
Swinton, John. From Inclusion to Belonging: A Practical Theology of Community, Disability and Humanness. (2012)