"Poor Sister Jones": Approaching Physical Disability within the LDS Culture

I was talking with my very good friend the other day about the mysteries of the kingdom...and more particularly, the mysteries of the genders (the grand irony: I can make more reasonable sense out of the meaning of the word, Kolob, than this intricate web of complexities called, "gender relations"). My friend thinks on her feet and has a strong wit about her. Yet when it comes to dating and marriage, she faces one stumbling-block: she is in a wheelchair.

Does the image of the glowing newly-weds standing in front of the temple so captivate us that we simply have a difficult time imagining the bridge/groom sitting instead?

To be sure, there are many filters that we use in choosing a spouse, most of them fairly irrational. Height, weight, hair color...none of these have anything to do with the eternal merits of a spouse. Yet it is quite common for at least men (and more than a few women, I know) to declare that certain characteristics are just a complete "turn off." More than a few girls can't be taller than their boyfriends, many guys can't stand too much of a waistline. The merit of this approach (which I fear is one of the inescapable bonds of a mortal existence) is another topic for a different. But I will say this: we don't often hear the overweight or the acne-filled faces approached at Church with "comforting words" about their lack of marriage potential in this life...my friend does...and far too often.

How do we treat the disabled within our faith? I must admit...I am hardly one to preach, but I can certainly ask a few piercing questions of myself (in hopes that you all might profit thereby). We speak of the disabled in glowing terms (and deservedly so). They face such trials "that the glory of God might be shown within them." They are on the fast-track to the celestial kingdom. They will receive blessings untold for staying true in the midst of such difficulties, we say. I know how this phenomenon is...much of my childhood was beset by numerous medical trips (I was even the poster child for the March of Dimes!). Folks constantly pestered me about my health, asked me how it was, if I had been feeling better. They would offer effortless words of rather cheap consolation about how sports weren't really that big of a deal (and if you had stellar musical talent, let's face it...they were...unless, of course, you were willing to sell your social soul for a mess of pottage to that roaming band of Star Trek worshippers...yes, you know precisely whom I'm speaking about).

Yet Chesterton spoke poignantly when he noted: "If disease is beautiful, it is generally some one else's disease. A blind man may be picturesque; but it requires two eyes to see the picture." These same individuals whom we call "blessed," we also tend to "otherize," placing them in their own special category that plays by its own rules. You might object, suggesting that those with mental disabilities really do have special needs that do not fit with accepted societal norms. Tis true indeed...yet I speak not of these but of the fully cognizant disabled...those with wit, verve, physical beauty, indeed, even brilliance. Some might even be able to drive a car (they have wonderful hand controlled cars these days). Their mode of transportation is simply a set of wheels rather than a pair of legs.

Yet these same disabled hear from their fellow Saints comments about how there will be some great guy/girl waiting for them in the afterlife (Translation: "So you're saying that not only do I get have a sucky situation on earth, but that I also get to have it alone?? Thanks for pointing that out.") These are well-meaning comments intended to comfort, but they assume that our fellow Saint both needs and wants to hear such unoriginal news, as though they are supposed to just melt with joy because Brother X told them that they were essentially unmarry-able in this life.

These situations lead me to think that we tend to not treat the disabled as fellow Saints but as venues to perform our imagined roles as "comforters," as a proverbial workout gym to release that extra "comforting energy." When the love workout is over, one walks home feeling himself to have been so charitable to that poor girl/boy in the wheelchair. When the play is over, the actor/actress smile confidently to themselves at their ability to "mourn with those that mourn," never minding that the audience hears about the play constantly from the performers in his/her own head or that they don't exactly appreciate sitting being acted upon in this very important matter of eternity by those who fancy themselves to be amateur therapists. Eternal marriage equals a fulness of joy/blessings, men are that they might have joy...can we see this might not exactly strike the sister as comforting?

I do not entirely blame those who say these things, esp. when they really do try to help. I believe the Spirit really does come into play here, even if it means helping to insulate the hearer from my stupid remarks. As Elder Neal A. Maxwell wrote: "To those of you who so suffer and who, nevertheless, so endure and so testify by the eloquence of your examples, we salute you in Christ! Please forgive those of us who clumsily try to comfort you. We know from whence your true comfort comes."