Posted in Living Peacefully, The Autism Gospel

Healed on the Sabbath

10 Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. 11 And there was a woman who had had a spirit of infirmity for eighteen years; she was bent over and could not fully straighten herself. 12 And when Jesus saw her, he called her and said to her, “Woman, you are freed from your infirmity.” 13 And he laid his hands upon her, and immediately she was made straight, and she praised God. 14 But the ruler of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had healed on the sabbath, said to the people, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be healed, and not on the sabbath day.” 15 Then the Lord answered him, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his ass from the manger, and lead it away to water it?16 And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen years, be loosed from this bond on the sabbath day?”17 As he said this, all his adversaries were put to shame; and all the people rejoiced at all the glorious things that were done by him. [1]


Part of my son’s diagnostic story is that I was once told he would never read, write, or speak. When I report this at IEP meetings, educators often have one of two reactions. Often they smirk and comment on the fallacy of shortsighted clinicians who shut doors too quickly. Others smile sympathetically in realization of just how much work it must have taken to get where we are today.

Today he reads. He writes. He speaks.

For as long as we have been doing it now, it still never gets old to hear him read aloud, or better still to hear him read something that he himself has written. I think this is a small gift I receive for all the tough nights along the way. But nothing – absolutely nothing – thrills my soul like hearing him read God’s Word during our Sunday worship services.

Printing his scripture out in a dyslexic friendly font makes him feel more comfortable.

Our church customarily invites Noah to be a part of our worship in this way. This week his text seemed particularly poignant. Luke records an encounter on the Sabbath Day between Jesus and a woman with a long-term illness. While the thrust of the passage is Jesus’ defense of healing this woman on the Sabbath, it was other wording in this passage that caught my ear when read in my son’s voice.

“Woman, you are freed from your infirmity.”

Other interpretations of the Greek ἀπολέλυσαι (apolelysai) read “removed,” instead of healed or freed. In the place of infirmity of illness, a near definition of ἀσθενείας (astheneias) is “weakness” or “limitation.” This could easily read “you are removed from your limitation.”

You are removed from your limitation. And in that there is healing.

Noah starts his Sundays with a walk around the farm where he greets the animals – especially Smudge the Pig.

I feel that we are removed from our limitations each time our church seeks to include Noah in leading our service. Because the truth of it is, his reading isn’t polished at all. His fluency is so choppy that you can’t really follow along. His speech impediment makes understanding him difficult as well. Our limitations – disability, illness, weakness – are still present. But for just a little while, he is removed from them.

And we are healed on the Sabbath.


[1] The Revised Standard Version (Oak Harbor, WA: Logos Research Systems, Inc., 1971), Lk 13:10–17.

Mother Teresa once said, “Our vocation is to belong to Jesus so completely that nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. What you and I must do is nothing less than putting our love for Christ into practice. The important thing is not how much we accomplish, but how much love we put into our deeds every day. That is the measure of our love for God.”

Practicing Love

Ammon Hennacy, a Catholic Worker, said, “Love without courage and wisdom is sentimentality, as with the ordinary church member. Courage without love and wisdom is foolhardiness, as with the ordinary soldier. Wisdom without love and courage is cowardice, as with the ordinary intellectual.”

Love, Courage & Wisdom

French sociologist Jacques Ellul wrote, “One thing, however, is sure: unless Christians fulfill their prophetic role, unless they become the advocates and defenders of the truly poor, witness to their misery, then, infallibly, violence will suddenly break out. In one way or other ‘their blood cries to heaven,’ and violence will seem the only way out. It will be too late to try to calm them and create harmony.”

Prophetic Witness

Posted in Living Peacefully, The Autism Gospel

Beautiful, Peaceful Feet

I knew that it was likely to happen one day, but Noah had never mentioned it. Naively, I assumed that maybe he just stayed under the radar of kids who would bully him. I was wrong. Yesterday in the car I was lamenting how I saw a student make fun of another student today. Noah, in a very matter-of-fact way, replied, “Yeah, kids make fun of my shoes.” I felt like someone punched me in the gut.

I wanted to ask a million questions at once…Who is this punk and where does he live? Did you tell a teacher? Did he do anything else to you? Did you feel physically threatened? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have bought you new shoes! Great shoes! Awesome shoes! Way better shoes than he has…[continue Psycho-Mom rant here]

I managed to swallow back all of my fear and anger and ask instead, “What did you do?” Noah calmly replied, “Oh, nothing. This stuff just happens.” I asked if he would like new shoes. Looking out the window as we pulled into our neighborhood, Noah replied, “No, I’ll get new shoes when I outgrow my old ones. We don’t buy new shoes because of that.”

Henri Nouwen , in Adam, tells the story of Adam Arnett, his “friend, teacher and my guide”[1] at L’Arche Daybreak community in Toronto. Nouwen served as Adam’s caregiver and, after Adam’s death, felt compelled to write how “Like that of the first Adam, our Adam represents every human person and thus more easily raises the question: ‘Who is your Adam who speaks to you about God.’”[2]


I suppose Noah, in all of his autistic mystery, has spoken to me about God more than anyone I have ever known. His calm response was more than just an indicator that he doesn’t feel social pressures due to his challenges. Something in the tone of his reply let me know that he had just completely seen through an uncomfortable encounter with humanity. While it took me a few moments to grasp a Christ-like response, his insight was immediate. Nouwen wrote about the aptitude people with disabilities show in displaying better responses to the world and it’s pressures.

He was a person, who by his very life announced the marvelous mystery of our God: I am precious, beloved, whole and born of God. Adam bore silent witness to his mystery, which has nothing to do with whether or not he could speak, walk, or express himself, whether or not he made money, had a job, was fashionable, famous, married or single. It had to do with his being. He was and is a beloved child of God. It is the same news that Jesus came to announce, and it is the news that all those who are poor keep proclaiming in and through their very weakness.

Unfortunately, there is a very loud, consistent, and powerful message coming to us from our world that leads us to believe that we must prove our belovedness by how we look, by what we have, and by what we can accomplish…We need to hear the message announced and see the message embodied, over and over again. Only then do we find the courage to claim it and to live from it.[3]

Noah reminds me there is a better way to live and respond to the world, a Third Way. Often times, for his brain, this different way is his default and I am left wondering which of us is really “disabled.”

How beautiful upon the mountains

are the feet of him who brings good tidings,

who publishes peace,

who brings good tidings of good,

who publishes salvation,

who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.”

(Isaiah 52:7)

[1] Henri J.M. Nouwen, Adam, God’s Beloved (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1997), 15.

[2] Ibid. 17.

[3] Ibid. 36-37.