Dreaming of Heaven

Simpsons Heaven

Check out this article that appears on the website of America magazine. It’s lengthy and theological, but the author, Candida Moss, makes an excellent point. She talks about how disability is viewed in the Bible, and how a misunderstanding of the Christian tradition, by overemphasizing God’s healing power, can unwittingly place people with disability on the margins.

According to Moss, many of the healing stories in the Bible can be used to “reinforce the understanding that disability is a deviation from the way God intends us to live.” In other words, disability automatically equals defect. In some cases, it also means sin—or even demonic possession. So a person with a disability is in need of a cure, someone who needs to be made different than who he or she is before gaining entry into heaven.

As a counterbalance to this interpretation, Moss asks, “Can we find ourselves as ourselves in heaven? Can the view that God loves the disabled as they are be biblically sustained?” For answers, she turns to the story of the Doubting Thomas. After the resurrection, Jesus appeared to Thomas not as a completely restored person, but as one still bearing the marks of his crucifixion: “Jesus’ wounds are an integral part of his identity. It is by his wounds that he is recognized.” So “If God incarnate is known by his glorified impairments, why would we not hope for the same?”

No Cure Needed.

As I’ve written before, I have long had a strong gut reaction against the thought that you can pray the autism away. Autism is woven so finely into my kids’ identities that to take it away would be to unravel an essential part of who they are. I find it hard to believe that, in order to be made worthy of heaven, they would have to be unmade as autistic individuals. I find it hard to believe that all the things they have learned and become precisely because of their autism has little significance or value.

My kids have spent their entire lives as autistic individuals. To a large degree, autism has made them who they are. Their “otherness” has dramatically shaped the way they live, love, and function in the world. What’s more, they have taught numerous people (most especially Katie and me) valuable lessons about what it means to be human, to love, and to be loved. I would hate to think all of that has to be left behind once they enter heaven’s gates. Who would they even be then?

What Do I Want?

So what would it mean for my kids to find themselves as themselves in heaven? Here are a few things I would want to see.

  • I want them to be able to appreciate the world for the beautiful work of creation that it is. I want them to enjoy the sights and sounds and smells, the tastes and textures, of everything around them. And that means I want them to feel free to flap their hands, jump up and down, or react however they want to the beauty that will surround them.
  • I want them to be able to enjoy a quiet walk in the woods and not get scared by the rustlings of a busy forest. I want them to revel in the feel of sand between their toes and delight in the sound of the crashing waves—not run in terror of them.
  • I want them to feel free to share their unique, quirky insights without being mocked or marginalized. Heck, I want them to be free to share, period, and not be so anxious about communication that they can’t put a complete sentence together.
  • I want them to no longer feel the need to lash out or clam up or hurt themselves when they get overwhelmed. Or better yet, I want them not to ever have to feel overwhelmed again.
  • I want them to enjoy a world that accepts and treasures them for who they are. A world that doesn’t judge or sideline them because they are different. I want them to be in an environment where they don’t have to feel constrained or threatened by unnecessary expectations. A world where they can lose their anxiety over fitting in.

I’d Change the World for You.

Now, you’ll notice that some of these bullet points focus on my kids’ own healing and others focus on the world around them. And that is as it should be. For many of the challenges that my kids face come not from themselves or their unique neurologies. They come from a world tainted by sin and in need of renewal. They come because of the “structures of sin” that promote intolerance, ignorance, prejudice, and small-mindedness.

There’s a popular meme in the autistic community that says “I would not change you for the world, but I would change the world for you.” As a parent with two eyes, I know there are things in my kids that need to change—just as there are in me. But I also know that the world they are living in can be cold, cruel, and inhospitable to people who are different. And that’s the biggest change I’m anticipating.

So yes, I want to see my kids healed, and I believe they will be—of the selfishness and fear and pride that infects all of God’s people. But I don’t want them healed of their autism. I want them to remain the same loveable, quirky, autistic people that they are right now.

After all, that’s how God made them.

One thought on “Dreaming of Heaven

  1. Pingback: Stubborn Faith in a Heavenly Vision | autismblues

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