narrative sermon on the hemorrhaging woman (Mark 5:22-34)

Last June, I attended a preaching workshop and heard a sample of narrative preaching by Dr. Jeff Frymire. I was fascinated and wondered whether I might be successful in using this form. My previous sermons had been received reasonably well; but I still hoped to find a more effective way to communicate creatively and connect well with people.

I recently preached my first narrative sermon at Bremen Church of God in Indiana. It was an enjoyable experience for me, and I received encouraging feedback afterward from both the pastor and the congregation. I did not know anyone there other than the pastor and the visiting worship leader; and I consider this a very positive experience. As usual, I have some room to improve. However, I will try this again with more confidence. I will post reflections separately about the experience of preaching this particular text.

The sermon is posted on YouTube in two parts.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Going to a conference...

In a few hours I will take the train from Santa Cruz, CA, where I have been visiting friends, to San Francisco, where I will attend the annual conferences of the Society of Biblical Literature and the American Academy of Religion. I am excited about the upcoming weekend and look forward to attending several seminars about teaching biblical languages, disability and theology, and other topics of interest to me. In fact, I also look forward to joining the ranks of those who will be presenting at some of these seminars.

I am also a bit nervous about how my conference experience will turn out. When I first registered, I was pleased to see wording to the effect of, "We offer accommodations for people with disabilities such as sign language interpreters..." Other types of accommodations were also mentioned. I didn't suppose it could be very hard to assist if I asked for some creative solutions regarding some blindness-related dilemmas. I didn't expect a program in braille--there would be hundreds of sessions, and such an undertaking would be quite unreasonable. The program would be available online anyway, and I would be able to use that version. What I would need most was some assistance with navigating between the six hotels and convention center since I would be traveling alone. Surely there must be a creative solution. After all, they could come up with interpreters...

It couldn't be done. In the end, I negotiated a free registration for an assistant, and the person donated his time and funded his own trip to assist me. It should not have been necessary to arrange this--it was a significant cost to the person, and I am in the early stages of ministry and not set up to receive such a thing as the gift of service that it is. The reality that this situation exposes is that accomplishing the tasks of ministry or professional work with a disability often involves great cost financially and otherwise which only those closest to a person are willing to bear. The result is that the person who desires to live in service to God struggles to shake off a sense of deep shame associated with an unavoidable need for assistance. I go through numerous self-talk exercises as I prepare for this conference weekend. As I do these exercises, I also find it important to be honest about the emotions I experience. Perhaps in doing so, I will be able to lay them aside.

My family member has become very adept at disappearing into the background while I socialize; but socializing is also difficult for me to begin in the first place because I cannot navigate a mmassive hotel complex without assistance, and the fact that I am engaged in conversation and am being directed from here to there can at times create the illusion that I am in need of a caretaker. It is a difficult balancing act to maintain, especially when it is important for people to understand that lack of ability to navigate in the conference environment does not equal lack of professional ability or lack of ability to master navigation of a campus environment, where I have time to become accustomed to traveling.

I also take to the conference with me a beautiful dog: a half Labrador/half golden retriever. She has amazed me this week as we have trekked around Santa Cruz. She is a good memorizer; but I never realized how thorough her recall was for entire routes. It only took her one trip out to remember the way from an eating establishment to my friend's home. The last time we were here was four years ago. But Loretta is not really amazing... If one stops to think, a dog who runs out the front door will also find its way home when it has stopped having fun. It is we humans who underestimate the intelligence of the animals we love so much. And I am not prepared to have angelic qualities lavished on my dog when I go to a conference seeking professional networking opportunities. Still, I must steel myself for the possibility that this will happen, and happen rather often. In an environment where 10,000 people gather, I would be sticking my head in the sand if I thought otherwise--and the truth is that I stick my head in the sand rather often.

If the above seems excessively melancholy, perhaps it is. I must admit that I am afraid. I am afraid of continuing to play the role of child, because that is the role that people with disabilities often play. And I am afraid of breaking out of that role, in case I do not know how to fill the new role that I am suddenly thrust into. Mostly, I am afraid of not knowing what is before me and afraid of being whiplashed back and forth between one role and the other.

And there you have the honest musings of a conference-going biblical studies scholar who is blind. I may regret posting such things in my blog someday. For now, I must simply be honest and allow it to be what it is.

Well, that was fun!

I logged in this morning to post on one of my blogs and found...

The navbar in Hebrew!

I haven't even had coffee yet! Gee, at this rate I might as well start dreaming in Hebrew!

I got it changed back to English, but what a fun adventure!

"You don't let it limit you"

"She hasn't let blindness limit her." This statement was recently written about me in an article that appeared in the local newspaper. A few days later, someone spoke the same words to me while discussing a potential speaking engagement: "You haven't let blindness limit you." I have been mulling over the statement since then, trying to understand why it bothers me. Some of my friends and colleagues who have disabilities would not be so bothered by the words. In fact, they would agree wholeheartedly that the statement portrays a chosen approach toward life with disability: facing it head on instead of letting it determine the course of one's life.

My experience of disability does not generally revolve around these choices. There are frustrations associated with disability and the barriers it erects in my life; but to say that I don't let it limit me implies that I might entertain such an option. Generally this kind of statement has more to do with the speaker's thoughts about himself than it does about whatever expectations he has of me; but the implication that is not stated is that I am, to his surprise, better because I have not done what he would expect himself to do. The remaining assumption is that I always did it with a positive attitude.

When I was attending training with my third dog guide, a decision had been made that students getting successor dogs would not have to walk through a particular route. I was very happy because the route had a steep hill and at this point in my life I had begun to suffer the effects of arthritis in my left ankle. Unfortunately, I was paired with a new student; and my instructor decided that I should walk the route with her. I protested; but he asked me to do it once and said that he was sure I could take it.

Walking down the long blocks, the other student dropped behind and needed help with her dog. The trainer dropped back to work with her, and I continued ahead. I trudged up the hill, my ankle throbbing mercilessly. If I had been anywhere else, I would have turned and gone home. But it would have been as far to go back as it was to finish the route. I wished I could just sit down and cry. Of course, I couldn't. I needed to complete the route with the other student. So I walked--and cried.

Life with disability is not always upbeat and inspirational. When I get up in the morning, I have a big to-do list of things that need my attention that day. When I applied to seminary, I didn't think, "I won't let blindness (or migraines or anything else) limit me in doing this. I thought, "I am called to do this. I must commit myself to the task and see it through." And I walked ... and sometimes cried--not only because of blindness but because of many other life circumstances as well. Sometimes I knew much better how to live with blindness than I knew how to live with other things that were raising barriers in my life.

disability, ministry, and theology

I have had opportunity recently to review my ministry activities for several reasons. I needed to provide a summary for my ordination committee; and I needed to provide some biographical information for some workshops I recently led. In doing this review, I realized that my activities have focused heavily on disability-related issues and very little on other issues. This is something that I would like to see change in the future; but I think that it will have to come in time. The more I so activities in the realm of disability-related ministry, the more I become a respected leader in this area. This creates a dilemma of sorts for me. It is a good thing, on one hand; and I must be willing to do what God gives me the skill and opportunity to do. On the other hand, good disability ministry models real integration and reconciliation. If I do not have balance between a ministry in which I preach reconciliation and other ministries in my life, I give lip service to my own message.

A few tidbits to ponder... My thoughts often scatter in numerous directions as I attempt to sit down and write meaningfully about disability and theology. Perhaps in time I will find a way to give them better form. Oh yeah... That isn't my job at all.., is it. My job is only to give the voice, and to listen for the form that God gives.