This is Part 1 of a post that will span a few weeks. It feels timely, with the start of the Iowa’s legislative session this week. How do we participate in the political process? What does that question have to do with Foolish Church? Stay tuned as we consider these questions.
Have you noticed? The people who spend the most energy getting things fixed in the world are the people who are most directly affected by what was wrong. One part of me thinks this is as it should be; those most directly affected should shape the fix. The other part thinks if we love—really love—our neighbor, shouldn’t we be in the fight with them?
My awareness of the energy it takes to get things fixed in the world began, in a way, with my friend and former parishioner (not through the prison!) Diane, who has a daughter with Down Syndrome. Through the seventeen years since I became their pastor, I have watched Madison grow from a very young girl into an adult, with countless amazing, beautiful moments interwoven with numerous surgeries, challenges, wins, and frustrations.
What I didn’t realize, when I first knew Madison, was how many times she and her family would face exasperating confrontations with school policies, IEPs, medical interventions, and more. (For you who don’t know, an IEP is an Individualized Education Program, which is established in collaboration with resource persons at the school, updated every year, and adjusted–or requiring enforcement–more frequently.) As Madison has become an adult, the troubles have shifted to the ever-shifting rules for guardianship and ongoing care.
I have watched Diane take on the seemingly endless and infuriating work of doing the best for her daughter, through all these years. Another meeting at the school. Another set of paperwork. Yet another in a long list of failed implementations of what she thought had been settled already. Of course she does what she needs to do. Of course she advocates tirelessly for Madison. (Diane would dispute the word “tirelessly.”) Of course she’s in the best position to do it. Of course; it’s her daughter!
A ton of advocacy happens, day in and day out, through people like Diane and her husband Steve, on behalf of people they love. Those with a parent or child in the hospital sleep fitfully on couches and recliners next to them out of a sense that they need to be present to advocate for that ailing patient. My friend Cindy spent a season devoting hours every week navigating the Medicare system on behalf of her aging mother.
It’s not about just advocating on behalf of a particular family member, though. The close-in experience of challenge and injustice turns people into advocates around public policy.
So, Diane and Steve get involved with organizations that fight for Down Syndrome. I’ve noticed that folks who work and volunteer with NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) have, most of them, experienced mental health challenges themselves or through a family member. My new friend Stormy is leading a fight for changes in Iowa’s life-without-parole sentencing. Guess what? She has a brother incarcerated at Rockwell City on—yep—a life sentence. Stormy has more access than he does as they fight for the possibility of parole, not just for him (!), but for the dozens of similarly situated “lifers” whose stories of idle potential and systemic injustice have inspired and disturbed her.
We can probably all think of persons who have become advocates around matters that are personal in this way. I think of my LGBTQIA+ siblings who advocate in numerous settings, including around the future of the United Methodist Church which threatens to split over questions that have centered on human sexuality. I think of persons with disabilities whose work has made our nation and workplaces so much more accessible and (on a good day) accommodating. I think of persons of color who lead the Black Lives Matter movement and many other efforts toward racial justice. I think of the survivors of rape and sexual assault who have joined the #MeToo fight against gender-based violence, and of many more.
But here’s the rub. Advocacy may begin with personal experience. But what’s personal? I may not, myself, need to navigate curbs and buildings in a wheelchair, at least not so far in my life. But if I love my neighbor, and she is dealing with that particular challenge, and bumping into obstacles that ought to be removed, doesn’t that fight become personal for me, too? Shouldn’t it?
I cringe at the end of the news report about a police shooting of a person of color, when the anchorperson says, “Authorities are expecting demonstrations tonight by the black community.” I squirm not because there will be demonstrations. I cringe at the assumption that the only people demonstrating will be black. I say that knowing that it’s a wholly justified assumption, and admitting that I have never been out on the streets in such a moment. Does this mean racial justice isn’t personal for me? Lord, have mercy; I hope not.
I devote chapter 3 of Foolish Church to the truth that our love for our neighbor ought to make us people who believe and protect one another. I say (at p. 43), “We get to trust that the church is on our side.” The chapter ends with these words:
We act on behalf of—and alongside—persons who have not always been able to speak for themselves, or whose voices have not been heard. We cooperate with God’s work in the world to eliminate injustice and to create a more supportive community. We persist in that work long after the particular person whose needs inspired our energy has moved beyond our reach. (Foolish Church, p. 47)
We do this–when we’re at our best as The Church–because we love as Jesus calls us, and that makes one another’s troubles personal. Like the apostle Paul says in 1 Corinthians, we become one body. “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.” (1 Cor 12.26)
I’m not sure we’ve fully lived this out. To be more precise: I’m sure, actually, that we haven’t. I could have done so much more—and led our church so much better—to support Diane and her advocacy for Madison when I was their pastor. It may be true that we will never think we’ve done enough. We’re probably right; we probably haven’t.
But let’s not get paralyzed by our failings. Let’s instead notice what has happened in us, as advocates–or people who might consider speaking up for others. What has become personal for you, either because you were thrown into it, or because of people you found yourself loving? Personal, to the point that you stood up for that person or on that issue? Are there things where that hasn’t happened, but it would if you were foolish enough to let it?
We begin by noticing. And caring. That’s a huge and necessary start.
Yes, as Christian we are called to be advocates for the least lo these.
I’ve known the Diane and her family for as long as my daughter Jessica came into there lives! She too needed Diane’s support she was diagnosed with a learning disability while in nursing school! Jessica became Madisons caregiver and formed a stong bond and respect for their family! Thank God she was her advocate to guide her to the nursing career she has! We all need to support Steve, Diane and Madison with the challenges head because you never know when its your turn to jump in!! Keep pushing on!! look at all the challenges you have faced!😊
Thanks, Christa. This is another aspect of advocacy; we end up forming community with one another. Thanks for sharing your experience and your care for Diane, Steve, and Madison!