Link (Archive)
This important passage where Jesus confirms for John that he is the promised one is uncomfortable for some disability advocates who reject any suggestion that disability is something that should be healed. A theologian at the University of Birmingham in the UK is quoted as saying that Jesus was like “this cathartic scourge that wanders around eradicating disability from the world.” Another—less caustic but concerned with fairness—has claimed that focusing on Jesus’s healings without acknowledging the number of people he didn’t heal “will have the effect of marginalizing and stigmatizing people with disabilities who have not experienced a cure.”
But it isn’t only Jesus’s healings they see as problematic. There are also some who object to passages of Scripture that use blindness and deafness as metaphors. In commenting on St. John referencing the “blindness” of the Pharisees in chapter 9 of his Gospel, Jennifer Koosed and Darla Schumm writethat “the literary images of blindness/sight, darkness/light are not only embedded in a network of exclusionary metaphors, but they also serve to reinforce anti-Jewish (and potentially anti-Semitic and racist) attitudes.”
Disability scholarship can be acrimonious and sacrilegious, neither of which are virtues that encourage kindness and faith in a loving God who has said he is the way, the truth, and the life.
Without question, the marginalization and stigmatization of those with disabilities is a grave concern with a long and damaging history. However, those who claim that Jesus’s cures were in some way exclusionary, stigmatizing, or a “cathartic scourge” are going way too far in laying blame on Jesus rather than accepting what he taught through his healings. Those who read the Bible through a critical, political lens will see, as Rosemarie Garland-Thomson claims, “social and political consequences” in the way disability is represented. Jesus’s words and actions have been passed down in Scripture for our salvation, and his healings are undisputed. Rather than condemning the Son of God and politicizing the words of Scripture with a biased view of disability, it is far better to ask what we can learn from him about ourselves, our attitudes, and our obligations to one another.
To imply that the healings of the one who hears the cry of the poor expresses an ableist attitude is to discredit his divinity and label him a hypocrite. To object to the scriptural use of “blindness” and “deafness” as metaphors is a politicization of language that rejects well-established and harmless illustrations, and it bridles language with the constraints of an unfounded and inward focused sensitivity.
Jesus’s message to John the Baptist as told by St. Matthew is rich in its literal, allegorical, moral, and anagogical meanings. There can be no question from the biblical context that Jesus truly worked miracles of healing—not only physical healings of disabled bodies but the forgiveness of sins. Both had the added benefit of restoring persons to a place in their communities.
There is a clear eschatological significance to the examples we have of Jesus really and truly healing bodies and souls. His miracles are testimony of his power as the Son of God and give us confidence that he can also heal the spiritual impairments that keep us distant from him. As he said, “Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and walk’?” (Matt 9:5). His use of metaphor is a powerful warning against being like the Pharisees who were, in fact, “blind” to their sins and “deaf” to his teaching.
His love for the sick, blind, deaf, and lame teaches us by his example that we have a moral obligation to break down barriers between the rich and the poor, the able-bodied and the vulnerable, and welcome the marginalized into our communities—all those who are less fortunate than we. Not only should we, but we must do so if we desire heaven (Matt 25:45–46).
So, what about the sensitivities some have regarding Jesus’s healings and the opposition they have toward those who might wish for their disability to be healed today? It would be hard to argue against the fact that disability is the result of something going wrong—something Jesus was able to “fix,” something we might even now or in the future be able to cure through a medical intervention if a person were eligible and wanted to be healed.
The human genome is a wondrous thing, incredibly fine-tuned and complex. One simple error on one single gene can result in a serious complication with life-altering, life-limiting, and potentially fatal consequences. An entire extra chromosome, like trisomy 21 (Down syndrome), is a genetic mistake that diverges from the “normal” processes of cell division and conception. Are those errors a natural part of the human condition? Of course they are. They aren’t happening through human intervention; in other words, no one has manufactured them in an artificial way. Are they, then, willed by God and as such something that we should accept and not attempt to “cure”? Presuming God’s will is always unwise and presumptive. As St. Paul wrote, quoting the prophet Isaiah, “Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?” (Rom 11:34).
Is God the “cause” of physical maladies or genetic errors? Of course not. They are consequences of the fall.
Advocates rightly oppose medicalized attitudes toward disability that have led to stigmatization and the marginalization of persons whose differences have raised ignorant superstitions, suspicion of sinful lives, fear, and rejection. We don’t have to presume God’s will if we say with confidence that stigmatization and marginalization of any person is not God’s will. But the quotes in the first part of this essay make it clear that some have taken their well-intended defense of disability too far.
It is common enough to be called a certainty that humanity’s attitudes swing like a pendulum—and it swings wide in the vicissitudes of human opinions. In the rejection of one problem, our overcorrections lead to another. Jesus calls us to live beyond models and to center ourselves in the truth of his love and concern for all persons, especially the vulnerable.
Christina Chase is a woman with a very serious life-limiting disease called spinal muscular atrophy. In her book, It’s Good to Be Here, subtitled “A Disabled Woman’s Reflections on God in the Flesh and the Sacred Wonder of Being Human,” she writes that “we are not meant to define ourselves by our limitations, but always, in wise humility and desire for truth, we are meant to acknowledge them—with love.” Christina is a woman who has already outlived the doctors’ expectations for her life and knows each day is a gift. I highly recommend her book for its wisdom, her perspective on disability, and her profound spiritual depth!
It is wrong to define anyone by their limitations, and the desire for the truth that Christina values should guide our thoughts and actions toward persons with disabilities. No, Jesus was not ableist. His first desire was always for healthy souls and often, to manifest his power, he healed infirmities as well. Did he ever think less of people because of their illness? No. Nor should we. He was our example of love and compassion—an example he told us to follow if we desire heaven.
In his Angelus address on December 14, 2025, Pope Leo reflected on this passage from Matthew 11. It was the Gospel reading of that day, the Third Sunday of Advent. He said that Jesus “defeats ideologies that make us deaf to the truth. He heals the ailments that deform the body. In this way, the Word of life redeems us from evil, which causes the heart to die.” Those are comments that may not be well received by some individuals I’ve referenced in this essay. The pope emphasized the lesson we should take from Jesus’s healings: They direct “our gaze toward those whom he loved and served.”
When we allow Jesus to direct our gaze, we encounter the evil in our own hearts that causes us to reject others. If we learn to see with the compassion of Christ, our own blindness will be healed and our love directed toward those who may need our assistance. If their desire is for healing, we will offer it in any way we can, and perhaps the greatest healing we can offer is our friendship.
Is Jesus Ableist?
The Gospel of Matthew recounts the story of John the Baptist sending his disciples—when he was sitting in prison and hearing stories of what the Messiah was doing—to ask Jesus a key question: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” To show he was the fulfillment of prophecy, Jesus responds with a quote from Isaiah 35:5–6: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Matt 11:4–5).This important passage where Jesus confirms for John that he is the promised one is uncomfortable for some disability advocates who reject any suggestion that disability is something that should be healed. A theologian at the University of Birmingham in the UK is quoted as saying that Jesus was like “this cathartic scourge that wanders around eradicating disability from the world.” Another—less caustic but concerned with fairness—has claimed that focusing on Jesus’s healings without acknowledging the number of people he didn’t heal “will have the effect of marginalizing and stigmatizing people with disabilities who have not experienced a cure.”
But it isn’t only Jesus’s healings they see as problematic. There are also some who object to passages of Scripture that use blindness and deafness as metaphors. In commenting on St. John referencing the “blindness” of the Pharisees in chapter 9 of his Gospel, Jennifer Koosed and Darla Schumm writethat “the literary images of blindness/sight, darkness/light are not only embedded in a network of exclusionary metaphors, but they also serve to reinforce anti-Jewish (and potentially anti-Semitic and racist) attitudes.”
Disability scholarship can be acrimonious and sacrilegious, neither of which are virtues that encourage kindness and faith in a loving God who has said he is the way, the truth, and the life.
Without question, the marginalization and stigmatization of those with disabilities is a grave concern with a long and damaging history. However, those who claim that Jesus’s cures were in some way exclusionary, stigmatizing, or a “cathartic scourge” are going way too far in laying blame on Jesus rather than accepting what he taught through his healings. Those who read the Bible through a critical, political lens will see, as Rosemarie Garland-Thomson claims, “social and political consequences” in the way disability is represented. Jesus’s words and actions have been passed down in Scripture for our salvation, and his healings are undisputed. Rather than condemning the Son of God and politicizing the words of Scripture with a biased view of disability, it is far better to ask what we can learn from him about ourselves, our attitudes, and our obligations to one another.
To imply that the healings of the one who hears the cry of the poor expresses an ableist attitude is to discredit his divinity and label him a hypocrite. To object to the scriptural use of “blindness” and “deafness” as metaphors is a politicization of language that rejects well-established and harmless illustrations, and it bridles language with the constraints of an unfounded and inward focused sensitivity.
Jesus’s message to John the Baptist as told by St. Matthew is rich in its literal, allegorical, moral, and anagogical meanings. There can be no question from the biblical context that Jesus truly worked miracles of healing—not only physical healings of disabled bodies but the forgiveness of sins. Both had the added benefit of restoring persons to a place in their communities.
There is a clear eschatological significance to the examples we have of Jesus really and truly healing bodies and souls. His miracles are testimony of his power as the Son of God and give us confidence that he can also heal the spiritual impairments that keep us distant from him. As he said, “Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and walk’?” (Matt 9:5). His use of metaphor is a powerful warning against being like the Pharisees who were, in fact, “blind” to their sins and “deaf” to his teaching.
His love for the sick, blind, deaf, and lame teaches us by his example that we have a moral obligation to break down barriers between the rich and the poor, the able-bodied and the vulnerable, and welcome the marginalized into our communities—all those who are less fortunate than we. Not only should we, but we must do so if we desire heaven (Matt 25:45–46).
So, what about the sensitivities some have regarding Jesus’s healings and the opposition they have toward those who might wish for their disability to be healed today? It would be hard to argue against the fact that disability is the result of something going wrong—something Jesus was able to “fix,” something we might even now or in the future be able to cure through a medical intervention if a person were eligible and wanted to be healed.
The human genome is a wondrous thing, incredibly fine-tuned and complex. One simple error on one single gene can result in a serious complication with life-altering, life-limiting, and potentially fatal consequences. An entire extra chromosome, like trisomy 21 (Down syndrome), is a genetic mistake that diverges from the “normal” processes of cell division and conception. Are those errors a natural part of the human condition? Of course they are. They aren’t happening through human intervention; in other words, no one has manufactured them in an artificial way. Are they, then, willed by God and as such something that we should accept and not attempt to “cure”? Presuming God’s will is always unwise and presumptive. As St. Paul wrote, quoting the prophet Isaiah, “Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?” (Rom 11:34).
Is God the “cause” of physical maladies or genetic errors? Of course not. They are consequences of the fall.
Advocates rightly oppose medicalized attitudes toward disability that have led to stigmatization and the marginalization of persons whose differences have raised ignorant superstitions, suspicion of sinful lives, fear, and rejection. We don’t have to presume God’s will if we say with confidence that stigmatization and marginalization of any person is not God’s will. But the quotes in the first part of this essay make it clear that some have taken their well-intended defense of disability too far.
It is common enough to be called a certainty that humanity’s attitudes swing like a pendulum—and it swings wide in the vicissitudes of human opinions. In the rejection of one problem, our overcorrections lead to another. Jesus calls us to live beyond models and to center ourselves in the truth of his love and concern for all persons, especially the vulnerable.
Christina Chase is a woman with a very serious life-limiting disease called spinal muscular atrophy. In her book, It’s Good to Be Here, subtitled “A Disabled Woman’s Reflections on God in the Flesh and the Sacred Wonder of Being Human,” she writes that “we are not meant to define ourselves by our limitations, but always, in wise humility and desire for truth, we are meant to acknowledge them—with love.” Christina is a woman who has already outlived the doctors’ expectations for her life and knows each day is a gift. I highly recommend her book for its wisdom, her perspective on disability, and her profound spiritual depth!
It is wrong to define anyone by their limitations, and the desire for the truth that Christina values should guide our thoughts and actions toward persons with disabilities. No, Jesus was not ableist. His first desire was always for healthy souls and often, to manifest his power, he healed infirmities as well. Did he ever think less of people because of their illness? No. Nor should we. He was our example of love and compassion—an example he told us to follow if we desire heaven.
In his Angelus address on December 14, 2025, Pope Leo reflected on this passage from Matthew 11. It was the Gospel reading of that day, the Third Sunday of Advent. He said that Jesus “defeats ideologies that make us deaf to the truth. He heals the ailments that deform the body. In this way, the Word of life redeems us from evil, which causes the heart to die.” Those are comments that may not be well received by some individuals I’ve referenced in this essay. The pope emphasized the lesson we should take from Jesus’s healings: They direct “our gaze toward those whom he loved and served.”
When we allow Jesus to direct our gaze, we encounter the evil in our own hearts that causes us to reject others. If we learn to see with the compassion of Christ, our own blindness will be healed and our love directed toward those who may need our assistance. If their desire is for healing, we will offer it in any way we can, and perhaps the greatest healing we can offer is our friendship.
What in the fuck is this logic?
