Healing Doesn't Have to Come: A New Perspective on the Church's Posture Toward Disability

Growing up, I often felt as though the Church viewed physical differences as problems to be solved. Even today, we hear congregational prayers about those who are ill, having medical issues, or are in the hospital, and we pray earnestly that they will be healed. Meanwhile, on average, 1 in 4 people in our congregations are living with disabilities or chronic conditions [1]. We sit through sermons about time Jesus healed people with physical disabilities, and we internalize the narrative—that somehow, there’s a ‘right way’ to exist physically. I’m not arguing that we shouldn’t pray for healing or that God doesn’t work in ways we don’t understand; what I am saying is that it seems a little silly to me that in spite of everything in this world being broken and sinful, we somehow still think that we can ‘fix’ at least a little part of it.

Tourette Syndrome is a neurodevelopmental disorder characterized by uncontrollable motor, vocal, and mental tics. Tics could be as simple as a short syllable or sound or an eye blink, or as complex as a phrase or series of actions. Tourette’s Syndrome’s cause is unknown, it’s incurable, and it is a lifelong condition. Tourette's is a dynamic disability, which means that its symptoms, limitations, and co-occurring conditions fluctuate throughout life. I have Tourette Syndrome.

Since my diagnosis of Tourette Syndrome when I was a kid, I’ve spent a lot of time figuring out how to manage my Tourette’s and everything that comes with it. Like almost anyone in the disability and chronic illness community, though, I’ve found that my symptoms are only the beginning of the problem; the primary struggles I’ve faced because of my disability have been social and relational ones. The Wheaton Center for Faith & Disability comments, “Disability is experienced both functionally, through bodies that do not work as some might expect, and socially through relationships that do not respect, support, and affirm.” Surprisingly, the church has been no exception to this norm. In fact, it even can be the most challenging space to inhabit.

Naming the Narrative

Every sermon we hear, every building we enter, and every person we meet forms our theological imaginations—our beliefs about God and the world around us. When the prevailing narrative surrounding disability is one of despair, tragedy, and imposed longing for healing, it can dramatically reduce the perceived value of the souls that inhabit these ‘less than perfect’ bodies.

That may sound striking to you, but think about it. We say that all are welcome at church, but don’t provide accessible worship spaces, or, when we do, we use it to advertise that we’re doing ‘more’, not simply meeting the basic needs of church members and guests. We claim to be bold in our love for Christ and evangelistic to all of His children, yet we feel awkward talking to someone in a wheelchair, avoid conversations with people with hearing difficulties, and stare at people with physical differences. We say that every person is made in God’s image and valuable simply because of that truth, and yet we tend to assume that for them to be close to God, they have to look or move like we do. We ask how treatment is going, if it’s curable, if they’ve tried essential oils, if they’ve prayed enough, or what they did wrong to deserve this. We say we love to worship together, but we give questioning glances when someone misses church, remains seated during singing, or sits in the “wrong place.”

This all feels harsh, right? I want to be clear that none of what I’m saying is meant to cause shame or call people out for the ways we’ve been conditioned by culture. Ultimately, we must not simply feel sorry for people living with disabilities and chronic illnesses. Quite the opposite! Rather, we must seek to better understand how, as members of the body of Christ, can better serve those around us—especially those with needs that differ from our own.

An essential element to this conversation is the way we experience miracles in the Bible; this is a key informant of the ways the church handles disability. Often, when we encounter a story of Jesus healing someone’s body, we focus on the fact that physical and spiritual healing come at the same time. This association leads to the dangerous and dehumanizing assumption that the physical state of our bodies somehow plays a role in the extent to which we experience Christ.

However, this was not the message these healings were meant to communicate. Jesus didn’t give physical healing in order to save souls, but as an example of the type of restoration that the gospel brings. Because of the way society was organized in the time of Jesus’ earthly ministry, physical healing would have changed the course of someone’s life and provided concrete, tangible evidence of the ways the lives of Christians were transformed internally. Jesus’ goal wasn’t to heal people’s physical bodies. In fact, there are many people He encountered that He didn’t heal! Zaccheus (Luke 19:1-10) was ‘a wee little man,’ (as the song goes), and Jesus established a relationship with him and his household without healing him. At Bethesda, Jesus healed just one of hundreds of people waiting at the pools to receive healing (John 5:1-15). This theme isn’t unique to the gospels. Throughout all of history, God uses people who seem ‘less capable’—Moses was “slow of speech and tongue” and presumed to have had a speech impediment (Exodus 4:5-11 NIV), and Jacob was given a permanent hip injury by God (Genesis 32:22-32). God does not see people with physical differences as any less worthy of relationship with Him or any less
capable of His service.

These negative interpretations didn’t necessarily arise of their own accord. They are informed by and supportive of broader ableist narratives that are pervasive in culture. The way we’ve been taught our whole lives is inherently limiting to a significant portion of the population. My greatest joy is not found in hope of fixing our ableist societies and practices with a snap of my fingers, but my passion is to work in small ways, with people who care—God’s people—to start to shift these narratives in small, everyday ways so that we can love each other better.

A Path Forward

So how do we move forward with a new understanding of disability and chronic illness, and how can we love our neighbors in the way Christ calls us to? First, it’s important to acknowledge, believe, and accept, that chronic and lifelong conditions are just that—chronic and lifelong. My condition—like that of so many others—is incurable. That’s okay! Just because someone has a physical difference doesn’t mean that they have lower quality of life, are living in a tragedy, desire to be ‘fixed,’ or somehow experience Christ less deeply or truly. Certainly, every disability and chronic illness comes with pain, struggles, and limits, but
these particular realities do not necessitate change as a prerequisite before experiencing Christ.

In fact, my disability has taught me more about what it means to be in relationship to Christ than almost anything else in my life has. I’ve learned how to have empathy, give people the benefit of the doubt, have patience, respect my physical limits, communicate my needs, choose supportive friendships and spaces, and so much more. What if disability and chronic illness aren’t things that need to be ‘fixed,’ just learned about? What if this unique human limit is just one more way we see the beauty of diversity in God’s creation and learn to love Him all the more? I don't pretend to know what heaven will be like, but I don’t believe that it’s built to cater to only one type of God’s beloved creatures, and I certainly know that I don’t need to ‘cure’ myself—in spirit, mind, or, body—before approaching the throne of glory. I only wish those around me saw me and my fellow members of the disability and chronic illness community the same way. If the Church is supposed to embody and work towards God’s eternal kingdom, then let’s start by loving our neighbors rather than fearing or ‘fixing’ them.

This essay was adapted from Boersma's 2026 IdeaFest presentation on disability, healing, and the Church. IdeaFest is a multidisciplinary student research event at Dordt that invites students to share academic and creative work across all disciplines, from science and engineering to theology, art, and the humanities. It encourages students to step outside their disciplinary silos and engage the broader campus community through presentations, posters, demonstrations, and performances. The event, founded by Dr. Paul Fessler in 2004, celebrates undergraduate scholarship and fosters interdisciplinary conversation about God’s good creation.