Picture this: You go to a new church for the first time. Maybe you are a believer;
maybe you are not. Either way, the place feels unfamiliar. Where's the bathroom...the
nursery...the free coffee? Once you get past the greeters at the front door and
find your way into the sanctuary, the problem of where to sit presents itself.
You cast your eyes up and down the aisles until you find an empty spot not too close
to the front. You maneuver your way through people and claim your seat. Your eyes
rove the crowd. A sea of faces—strangers, all of them—smiling and chatting and
laughing, sharing the week's ups and downs. Shaking hands. Hugging. Sharing lives.
But you are not a part of it: you blend into the sea, a solitary swimmer. Maybe
one or two people smile at you briefly, but that's it.
The music starts. But you don't know when you're supposed to sit or stand. The routine
is entirely unfamiliar. The music and liturgy are different—perhaps even startling—to
you. You keep your eyes on everyone around you, following what they do, making sure
you're not out of place. The sermon is good—uplifting and educational—so you decide
to come back next week.
Week by week passes. Soon, a person notices and greets you. Then you're introduced
to someone else. All of a sudden, you have new friends. You belong.
Gradually, you meet more people, learn names, become rooted. The sea of faces slowly
transforms into a mosaic of warm and familiar people. You belong. You're firmly
rooted in a community of believers. You laugh together, cry together, pray together,
rejoice together. You belong.
If you're a Christian of any kind, you've most likely experienced the anxiety of
starting a new church, making new friends, and getting involved with the church.
Some of you have probably gone through the process multiple times.
Now, suppose...just suppose that nobody ever greeted you. Suppose that nobody ever
noticed you and asked, "Hey, are you new? What's your name?" Suppose that you faithfully
attended that church week in and week out, and
nobody ever spoke to you.
Now, suppose...just suppose that everyone around you was speaking a foreign language.
You understand absolutely nothing of what's going on around you. Someone translates
the sermons for you, but you understand nothing else. Everyone else is laughing
and chatting, but you are utterly left out because you understand nothing.
You never meet anyone. You never become rooted in the community. Nobody notices
your loneliness, nor do they make any attempt to include you. You're just there—co-existing
but detached...not belonging.
If nobody ever spoke to you in church or made any attempt to talk with you, how
long would you keep attending that church?
I'm wagering that you'll only last a few weeks. Maybe a few months, tops, if you
are an especially optimistic person. But at some point in the near future, I guarantee
that you will be looking for a different church...or even worse, you will stop going
to church altogether.
"Oh, that doesn't happen in my church," you're probably thinking. "We're all warm,
welcoming Christians..."
Oh, I know you are—no doubt about it.
But I speak from long experience, and I am telling you now: this, this scene is
exactly what happens nearly every time a deaf person walks through the doors of
a church.
Any church. It happens in Baptist churches, Lutheran churches, Catholic
churches, Reformed churches, non-denominational churches—regardless of church type,
denomination, or religion. Deaf people are largely invisible, unseen, and ignored.
Churches have always been—and continue to be—one of the loneliest places for Deaf
attendees.
I am Deaf—I have been so for nearly my whole life. And I am a Christian—I have
been so for nearly my whole life. In that space of time, I've attended my fair share
of churches. Now, I will be brutally honest with you.
In several churches I attended, I often felt a sense of un-belonging and detachedness
from everyone else because ordinary people like you rarely acknowledged my presence.
Hardly anyone would talk to me or even acknowledge my presence. I was in a crowd
of many Christians—my brothers and sisters in Christ—but more often than not,
I would feel alone and, well, lost. In some situations, it was the sheer force of
my faith and my commitment to Christ that kept me going to church every Sunday.
Then why didn't I simply switch churches?
Because it is the same in nearly all churches:
Hearing people like you—wonderful, loving Christians—unintentionally fail to reach
out and make deaf people feel like they belong to the congregation.
I am not blaming you. I am simply being painfully honest. The fact is that: even
if a church has a deaf ministry, even if a church has sign language interpreters
provided—even so, deaf people are often overlooked, ignored, or simply forgotten
in churches. Yes, you notice the people signing. Yes, you notice the interpreters.
Yes, you enjoy seeing the songs being signed. But the actual deaf persons, the reason
for the signing...well, they are usually left to their own. Hardly anyone makes
the effort to talk directly with them. Except the interpreters.
Why?
It's hard to communicate. It's, quite frankly, a challenge. They speak a different
language, and they cannot hear yours. So they are left alone. Most hearing people
do not talk with them or interact with them. They co-exist with you in your church,
but are not rooted in your community.
This is a huge reason why only about 2% of the 28 million deaf people in America
are Christians. Out of 28 million deaf people, only about 500,000 attend church—any
church at all.
Only 500,000! That is an heartbreakingly low number!
Sadly, the numbers worldwide are even lower.
Deaf people are among the most under-reached
populations for Christ in the world.
Even worse is the fact that it does not have to be this way. If congregations filled
with people like you and me simply take a moment—really, it only takes a moment—to
be aware of a few very small things, then Christian churches can truly become God's
kingdom on earth: places where all people are accepted and firmly rooted in Christ
and in one another.