Thread by @ShannonDingle

Whenever I see a stately church with elevated wooden pulpits, I see a visual reminder that this church was designed to literally lift up abled people as preachers while letting physically disabled people know our place.

That place disabled people occupy in the church isn’t usually one of intentional exclusion.

It’s merely the place of not being seen, known, considered.

Or, if we are, it’s as model of ministry to us rather than ministry with or ministry by us.

I love the beauty of Duke Chapel, for example, but I avoid events there.

Having to go around back to find a ramp doesn’t feel like I’m welcome, especially when the doors often bear a sign asking for people to enter at the front because a service is in session even when it isn’t.

When I talk about the inaccessibility of church architecture, I get pushback about the history and artistry of the building, particularly for older churches.

This tells me where I fall in your estimation of importance, not only less than human but also less than stones.

As is highlighted in Dolmage’s excellent book Academic Ableism, “the curriculum embedded in any building instructs as fully and as powerfully as any course taught in it.”

Or any sermon preached in it.

Basically, I’m tired of being told that your table is for everyone when it’s surrounded by barriers making it difficult or impossible for disabled people to come.

Church, disabled people aren’t here to be your inspiration and recipients of your pity. We are people, not props or service projects.

You are missing out on God’s design for community when you restrict yours to abled people (or abled people with some disabled kids permitted).

If you lead in a church like I’m describing, what can you do?

ACKNOWLEDGE IT.

Name the inaccessibility. Confess to God the sins inherent in constructing a worship space that reinforces ability privilege. Lament.

And? Maybe choose not to use pulpits that aren’t accessible.