by Debra Trevino
(Reprinted from “Let's Go Loafin': A Story of Family, Friends, Faith and Fulfillment,” copyright 2024 by Debra Trevino.)
When I entered seminary, I knew I would experience growth in all areas of my life. However, I was surprised how soon that began to happen.
The first required course was “Transforming Seminary Education,” which took place over two weeks during August. The two professors worked to dislodge our “imbedded” theology, that which we held without examining its origin or implications. This is composed of what we are taught about God and the church and our place in it as children. It includes the subtle messages we internalize from the people around us.
We learned to focus on the “other,” which includes the poor and those struggling with racism, feminism, womanism or sexual orientation. We spoke of liberation theology and how those from impoverished nations who have been “marginalized” have found the way to speak out and advocate for themselves.
I began to apply this new teaching as I spoke up for myself as a woman who is totally blind. The more I attempted to draw similarities and include the disabled in the accepted marginalized groups, the more I came against a stone wall.
Each day started with a devotion prepared by three to five students. The final morning, we were instructed to pair up and sing to one another. I stood there not knowing what to do. As my anxiety increased, the group began to sing.
“I need you, you need me, we need each other to survive.
I won’t harm you with words from my mouth. I need you.
We need each other to survive.”
I was shocked in the face of the blatant hypocrisy and incongruity of these lyrics as I stood alone. The professors had been unable or unwilling to understand my advocacy efforts for people with disabilities. I left the room in tears.
I sat on a sofa in the hallway examining my feelings of hurt, anger, rejection, and complete exclusion from my classmates. After all, I had been speaking of the need for a place at the margin for the disabled as so many others had been welcomed to the table.
A young African-American woman came out of the classroom. “What’s wrong, Deb?” she asked. “What happened in there?”
“This proves what I have been saying for two weeks,” I began through my tears. “There has been an elephant in the room that no one sees. When the entire class paired up and I was left standing alone, the professors didn’t even investigate.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said with obvious concern and sympathy in her voice. “It’s okay,” came my immediate and lifelong response. My way of trying to gain inclusion was an attempt to put others at ease by accepting their discomfort as a matter of course.
She was silent for a moment. Then, with a firm voice, she said, “No, it’s not okay.”
My life was changed in an instant.
I write this story with tears in my eyes because of the beautiful gift of solidarity this young woman gave me.
I was finally able to proclaim, “Damn it, it’s not okay to treat me like I’m not here. You can’t exclude me just because you don’t know what it’s like to be blind. If you took the time to know me, you would understand that we are more alike than different. Teaching inclusivity while being exclusive is downright hypocritical. I refuse to sit in my little corner and be silent anymore.”
I am not required to put others at ease; they must own their emotions and reactions. To be more exact, I must be comfortable in my own skin. Though blindness is an inescapable part of my life, it does not define me as a person.
Throughout seminary, I continued to raise awareness. To become inclusive of the disabled, we need more than the wheelchair ramps and electronic door buttons installed while I was on campus.
Sometimes simple things are needed. A document in accessible format so a person who is blind could become familiar with the chapel service. For those taking classes, accessibility and inclusion could mean the use of a microphone so that all can hear the professor.
If you are interested in being part of true inclusion of the disabled, just introduce yourself and allow a conversation to begin. You could ask the simple question, “Would you like some assistance?” Your offer will either be accepted gratefully or politely turned down.
Transforming Seminary Education transformed my life. Everyone should seek to be changed as we work to include the whole of humanity’s gifts in the rich fabric of God’s tapestry.