Introduction

First, many thanks to Fr. Francis McAloon, SJ for planning, organizing, and supervising an SSCS-sponsored conference on the theme of spirituality and disability. Father McAloon provides the first phase of our Introduction by describing this field of study generally, and then presenting four essays that exemplify such study with particular clarity.

CHRISTIAN SPIRITUALITY AND DISABILITY

Fr. Francis McAloon, SJ

In April 2022, the Fordham University Consortium on Disability sponsored a two-day conference on the topic of Christian spirituality and disability studies. The essays in this special section were presented at the conference. While readers of Spiritus typically are well versed in the many concerns of our field of study, some may be new to the academic discipline of disability studies. In recent years, the upsurge in research and writing connecting the fields of theology and disability offers critical engagements between these two areas of study; however, less attention has been paid to the interface of Christian spirituality and disability studies. The intersectionality of the two disciplines was the focus of the conference.

For those less familiar with disability studies, let me briefly explain its four modes of interpretation: medical, pious, social, and embodied/spiritual. In the medical model, emphasis is upon the individual with disability and how medical science can cure or correct the disability. Once the possibility of any such outcome is considered unlikely, the medical model has little to offer, except to aid in stabilization.

A second mode of engaging disability is through the lens of spiritual piety, which often expresses itself through attitudes of pity and sanctity. This perspective feels pity for misfortunate people with disabilities (PWD). Often, this combines with an attitude of almost religious awe at the patience or perseverance of PWD, who are esteemed for especially sharing in the sufferings of Christ.

A third model views disability as a social construction, which eschews the medical and pious approaches, rejecting their shared singular focus upon individual healing or suffering. This social model pursues a practical, political, and activist approach to disability, rejecting society's dominant ableist ideology that renders a person with disability as "other," nonnormative, and therefore an inferior individual subject to social exclusion. An early effort to reject this ableist bias includes the political action that led to the legislative success of the American with Disabilities Act (ADA) and similar legislation in other nations (including the UK), which secure the social, political, and civil rights of PWD.

I prefer a fourth mode—what I call the embodied spirituality approach to disability studies—which is grounded in experience, informed both by Christian theology and spirituality, and seeks to integrate medical, social, and embodied engagements with disability. This mode accepts elements of the medical and social modes of interpretation, but adds to these a scriptural, religious, sociocultural, and interdisciplinary engagement with disability studies. An embodied Christian spirituality approach focuses upon the lived experience of PWD as members of welcoming faith communities, focusing not upon healing, sanctity, and exclusion, but instead upon the ongoing creation of a shared community of belonging, where a common imagination and practice of radical, prophetic, life-together recognizes and celebrates that PWD have spiritual lives, fully participate in worship and sacraments, and contribute to building the reign of God among us.

In his article, "Prophetic Belonging: Disability, Hospitality, and Being Church Together," Thomas E. Reynolds challenges faith communities intentionally to set aside social norms of ableist thinking and acting, which typically peripheralize or glorify persons with disability, and instead, to embrace and enact what he describes as prophetic forms of belonging, hospitality, and imagination. Inspired by Walter Brueggemann's The Prophetic Imagination, Reynolds proposes "a distinct kind of vulnerable human togetherness … an embodied relational spirituality," which both identifies and challenges practices that diminish church life together and "holds open possibilities for communal growth and change in life-giving and liberative ways."

Grounded in his scholarly work as both theologian and disability studies scholar, Reynolds also draws upon his personal experience "as a parent of a son diagnosed on the autism spectrum and as a person living with depression. …" As such, he draws upon his scholarly and personal experience to critique ableist attitudes of normalcy, efficiency, beauty, and the like, to propose alternate possibilities for radical inclusivity within communities. Reynolds proposes a prophetic form of belonging and hospitality that no longer treats members of the disabled community with mere tolerance or caution, but instead assumes and enacts an attitude that "inspires mutual relations of companionship and being-with, where each both receives and gives." The spirituality enacted through such practices, Reynolds argues, gives rise to an "expansive relational imagination," a way of perceiving in self and others that we are all "fragile earthen vessels," dependent upon each other for community; that is, prophetic belonging.

Topher Endress, in his essay "Intellectual Disability and Ordination: Theologies and Practices of Injustice," focuses upon why persons with intellectual disabilities (PWID) typically are excluded from various church ministries, including ordination and leadership. Writing within a reform Christian tradition, Disciples of Christ, but acknowledging common biases among Christian denominations generally, Endress asks the question: "Is it possible that the restriction against Christians with IDD [intellectual/developmental disability] from [ordination] … spring from barriers which find no footing in the life of faith and instead stem from … functional account[s] of ordination?" While acknowledging that current requirements of theological education at the graduate level typically have served to exclude PWID from seminary admission, Endress argues that "[g]iven the increasing focus on disability as a critical hermeneutic for theological production and justice formation, such an oversight requires an intervention in the field of ordination theologies."

He examines several barriers to the ordination of PWID. Endress challenges a functional approach to ministry, where practical, cultural, and theological biases preclude intellectually disabled persons from ordination/leadership. Might such prohibitions work against the movement of the Spirit within the Christian community? Topher wonders if perhaps we live in a time in which attention to diverse intellectual abilities invites new possibilities for church leadership. He concludes his essay with the trenchant question: If God endows each person with "gifts to be shared," is it not a problem when an entire group of believers is excluded from ministry?

Approaching the topic from a Roman Catholic perspective, Anne Masters's article, "A Spirituality for Synodality: Hope for Persons with Disabilities?," argues for the necessary and full participation of PWD in the current global ecclesial process of renewing the Catholic Church through local, communal, and lay consultation initiated by Pope Francis. Synodality, as Masters defines it, constitutes a process through which the church (both as institution and as the people of God), progresses beyond itself in a dynamic and mutual unfolding of communion, participation, and mission. Drawing upon longstanding values of Catholic social teaching (for example, solidarity, subsidiarity, and the common good), Masters notes that a focus upon the marginalized within the church, including PWD, requires changes in practices, perceptions, and attitudes within the community of faith. Supporting the full participation of PWD within the faith community is "integral to the Church's purpose and mission." Masters contends that if the church is true to its often-stated focus upon human dignity in its social and moral ethics, a growing edge in its understanding must include full incorporation and participation of PWD, advancing beyond concerns for their physical care to concretely addressing emotional, social, and political aspects of what church tradition refers to as human flourishing. With reference to 1 Corinthians 12, St. Paul's articulation of full participation of all believers in the body of Christ, Masters calls upon various theologians and faithful to assert the integral, communal connectedness among members of the community of faith, including PWD. It is in and through the many differences within the community that builds up the body of Christ, providing "a countercultural conceptual structure that positively shapes responses, legislation, supports, services, and attitudes for and about individuals with disabilities."

In the fourth and final essay, "'Love on Steroids': Indelible Marks on Body, Mind, and Soul," Melody Escobar continues the emphasis upon community and belonging, this time from the insights of kenotic and Mother God theology brought into conversation with the lived experience of the mothers of children with disabilities. Grounded in her experience as "a researcher, mother, caregiver, and person in the pew," Escobar reports on her ethnographic study of fellow mothers whose children with disabilities participate in weekly equine-assisted therapy. Inspired by her observation that all these mothers exercise an unconditional love in their wise and compassionate care for their children, Escobar turns to the writings of the fourteenth-century mystic Julian of Norwich (Mother Jesus) and contemporary theologian Sally McFague to propose "an authentic Christian spirituality that necessitates a vision of justice that centers on mutual care and the flourishing of all members of the Body." As stated in her essay's title, the long-term caregiving by mothers of children with disabilities is a sort of "Love on Steroids"; that is, a love characterized by transformative and inclusive work, not only within the domestic realm, but also for wider publics, where "unjust institutions and economic systems oblige further development in Christian spirituality and practical theology." The essay concludes with an account of one of Escobar's interviewees, "Lisa," whose experience as a caregiver-mom inspires Escobar to conclude her essay with the assertion that "the caregivers' voices demand acceleration of action and reform that foster communities of care truly receptive to their needs, full belonging, and a more equitable balance of caregiving responsibility."

Within each of the above essays, readers will note aspects of the four modes of engaging with disability summarized in my introduction. While each of the four perspectives offers distinct, sometimes conflicting viewpoints, one may note common themes. While the medical model narrowly concentrates on healing individual PWD and when that isn't possible, focuses upon ongoing care, few if any would dismiss the medical treatment of PWD. While the piety model causes consternation by its negative spiritualization and sanctification of disability, it minimally recognizes PWD as human and spiritual members of the body of Christ. Although the social constructionist model tends to avoid spiritual and religious discourse, its core value of the fundamental civil rights and social participation of PWD within society bespeaks the common values of belonging and community that appear in the other modes.

From my perspective, the embodied spirituality mode borrows the best from the other three models—-(1) acknowledging the value of medical science; (2) accepting the spiritual dimensions of all human life; and (3) advocating for the social, political, and ecclesial rights of PWD to full and equal participation (belonging) in community. Admitting that no one interpretive mode suffices as a complete, universal category of understanding, my hope is that this special section of Spiritus will encourage Christian spirituality colleagues to consider adding disability studies as one more tool in their interdisciplinary scholarship toolbox.

PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS AND OTHER ESSAYS

Steven Chase

As with every former president of the Society for the Study of Christian Spirituality, Dr. Douglas Hardy ended his term as president by giving the SSCS Presidential Address during the annual meeting of the American Academy of Religion held this year in Denver, Colorado. Hardy's address, in a slightly revised form from its presentation in Denver, is entitled "Toward a Christian Spirituality of Anger."

Why does Hardy write about anger? In part, he writes about anger for personal reasons. After a significant season of discernment about this address and his final decision to focus on the topic, Hardy recounts that he was "both surprised and delighted to discover that when I mentioned this topic to others, without exception there was immediate interest and affirmation. What is it about anger that would elicit such a widespread and consistent response? Perhaps it is because we seem to live in, to borrow the words of author Pankaj Mishra, an 'age of anger.'" Simply put, "there is lots of anger out there and around us."

After exploring our current overload of social and cultural anger, Hardy turns to an honest, even courageous and humbling description of his own personal journey with anger. In doing so he lands on a self-implicating contemplative methodology as a road from chaos to illumination. In moving from the chaos of anger into an illumination of compassion, he uses the real-life metaphor of mirror and lens. The lenses as he defines them include anger as problem, anger as potential, and anger as practiced.

After a discussion of sin, grace and a plethora of spiritual practices, Hardy ends his intriguing conversation with implications of anger in the context of Christian spirituality.

In 2022, the SSCS's Founders' Circle Prize given to emerging scholars was awarded to Trevor Williams for his essay, "Ignis Fatuus or Illumination." In this fine essay, Williams focuses on what he calls "practical atheism" as a detriment to Christian liturgy. Gathering for worship is integral to Christian life and, in the Catholic Church, constitutes its source and summit. Yet, attendance among the laity is astonishingly low. It is unlikely that there is a single explanation for this phenomenon, but one of the most common papal responses is to lament widespread "practical atheism" or religious indifference. Williams writes that "practical atheism, in my view, leads people to perceive the liturgy as an ignis fatuus ('fool's light'), the legendary glow that entices and misleads pilgrims off the road to God." To reshape misinformed attitude and beliefs about the liturgy, Williams turns to Albert Camus's Le mythe de Sisyphe and its reinterpretation of the ancient Greek myth to think through what makes a "fool's light" of the liturgy. The most basic characteristic of such a "fool's light" is that it constitutes a dying light, leading the human person to an extrinsic conception of transcendence and a sterile view of immanence.

Williams writes that "engaging Camus in this way can help Christian spirituality develop a counterblow to Christian formation as it is currently experienced in the liturgy." Williams's essay ends with an account of the necessity of beauty and repetition within the role of the liturgy as a path of illumination that can traverse the temptations of practical atheism.

The best way to introduce the essay, "It's More Complicated than We Know," by Dr. Lisa Hess and Rabbi Brad Hirschfield, is to quote their introductions here and to urge you to finish by reading the rest of the essay on your own. Rabbi Hirschfield begins by writing:

Little seems as urgent today as redressing the overwhelming polarizations in our world, toward both equal dignity and lived integrity, regardless of tradition (or none). For us—a Modern Orthodox rabbi and a Protestant practical theology professor/clergywoman—this has meant innovating within our traditions for a renewing formation of religious leaders, given our oft-central role in polarizing us into factions of belief, practice, politics. Pilgrimage as metaphor and "container" for deeply traditional, principally pluralistic formation suggests a means to erode polarizations, cultivate intellectual humility, and mobilize the force of faith without fanaticism.

Dr. Hess adds, "We co-led physical (and then virtual) pilgrimages to Israel/Palestinian Territories, which led to co-emergent envisioning and implementations within ecclesial and higher education settings." This paper offers a methodological formulation of this co-emergent approach supported by statistical evaluation of the journey toward such a claim. We invite you to read this essay in full: you will not be disappointed.

Chad Thralls, in his Perspectives essay, gives his own delightful piece of writing, especially for anyone who lives in a large city and more especially for someone living in or commuting to New York City. The essay focuses on inner space, outer space, and the connections between them. It also invites the reader to engage memory as well as specific kinds of spaces in a way that shapes the essay into an inner city of remembrances. There is something about such space that triggers the memory. My own "spatial memory" corresponds in part to Thralls's own memory of New York City's Penn Station. Apparently, both of us made many trips from New Jersey to Penn Station, only to find ourselves in an unbelievably crowded, poorly lit, nearly impossible to navigate, sometimes frightening, low-ceilinged construction of grayish concrete, unpleasantly aromatic maze-like space.

And yet, I did once find within Penn Station down a long, dark, and narrow corridor, a small, dark, and narrow bookstore. The longer one stays in Penn, the more one would sweat. I was sweating and I smelled. I believe, remembering now, that I smelled rather like Penn Station itself. Anyway, the New York Times looked interesting, so I climbed inside the store. The store had a couple—well, literally it had two—book racks made of slim, bent wire that turned in awkward circles around its central pole, squeaking and resisting the more with each turn. I just had to see what books the tiny store carried. To make a short story even shorter, I found there a copy of The Cloud of Unknowing. Oh, it smelled so in that store, at least I can say of the store that it wasn't filled with a mass of strangers. The store was too small for any mass. The Cloud-Author at least was quiet as I noticed beer and wine in the store as well as "books." The Cloud-Author warned not to try his/her practices without prior formation preparing one for the emptiness of the contemplative experience. Perhaps the store owner convinced him/herself that on any given day wine or beer or stale chocolate bars might be good substitutes for spiritual formation and so could become worthy of the book. Or perhaps not. At any rate, I purchased the book as a memory piece and I still own it, The Cloud of Unknowing published by Penguin Classics. I had time to catch my subway line to the Bronx (time and space are linked in Penn Station, hard at times to separate the two) and I was ever-so-thirsty so I also purchased a bottle of beer, Something Lite. The beer of course was warm.

Our final essay, also in the Perspectives section, is "Christ's Descent into Hell, Hadewijch, and the Fierceness of Love" by Belden Lane. All of Belden's books are wonderfully observant, attentive, and woven; he is a writer that draws readers in like the aroma of a flower—honeysuckle, gardenia, jasmine, magnolia, freesia. But "Christ's Descent" may be the best piece of a similar length, or even simply the best piece Belden Lane has written. Holy Saturday has always been my favorite Triduum day: darkness, grief and loss and emptiness, chaos and so removed from any promised illumination yet to come, yet the path to such illumination. Holy Saturday year after year after year, never ending. And Belden touches this; he touches that place where "being seen by Christ's Love is more excruciating than hell itself."

My last words? Read this piece by Belden.