10/02/2026
This post is by way of a public service... if you haven't come across the page of St Faithful's, Havnot yet, you may wish to follow them. The page contains stories from a fictional church somewhere in England. It appears to be a somewhat bigger church than St Thomas', but with a fair number of quite similar characters in it... no names to be named.
DISABLED?
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Edit: The earlier edition of this post posed the question ‘Disabled? Or Differently Abled?’ in its title.
Since then, it has been made abundantly clear to us — clearly, repeatedly, and with some passion — that the second term is regarded as offensive by many (though not all) disabled people.
On the advice of St Paul (who knew a thing or two about not tripping people up), we have decided not to put a stumbling block in anyone’s way, and have therefore removed the term.
This was not done lightly or flippantly. It was done after listening, reflecting, and a small amount of sighing.
We genuinely hope this allows readers to focus on the wider discussion the post is trying to advance, rather than on one phrase that proved more distracting than helpful.
— Judith M. Crowther
Parish Administrator
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Right. Let’s have a go — gently, honestly, and with our shoes very firmly not all the same colour.
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We’ve had a few thoughtful (and fair) comments asking why disabled people haven’t yet appeared explicitly in the life of St Faithful’s. It’s a good question. And the short, awkward truth is this: they already have. They always have. We just haven’t pointed at them properly yet.
Partly that’s because even the language wobbles. Disabled. People with disabilities. Neurodivergent. Chronically ill. Sick. Housebound. Labels that help some people feel seen, and make others wince. So we tread carefully — but not so carefully that we pretend nobody’s there.
Because they are. Very much so.
Take Henry. Falklands veteran. One arm prosthetic. A deep love of hymns with actions. Henry has discovered — to his lasting delight — that during 'Our God is a great big God' it is possible, with the normal arm, to remove the prosthetic one and wave it enthusiastically aloft, at 'he's higher than a skyscraper, of course'. Children shriek. Parents panic. Those who've known him for years groan. Henry grins like a man who has waited forty years for precisely this moment. Is it irreverent? Possibly. Is it funny? Undeniably. To a certain kind of humourist. Is Henry less a member of the Body of Christ because of it? Absolutely not. If anything, he’s illustrating the point rather well.
Then there’s Rosy. Parkinson’s. Communion line. Freeze. Total standstill. An entire church full of people suspended between bread and wine. Does Rosy apologise? Does she fuss? Does she try to wave people past? She does not. She simply looks up, serene as anything, and says, “Well. We’re called to bear one another’s burdens, aren’t we?” And suddenly the whole theology of patience is being enacted, one involuntary pause at a time.
Neurodiversity, too, lives among us — sometimes quietly, sometimes in black leather shoes polished to within an inch of their lives. Mrs Rivers’ passionate insistence on absolute vestry order, and the moral necessity of BLACK shoes (no exceptions, no appeals, no trainers “that are basically black”), may or may not have a diagnostic label attached. What it certainly has is a place in our common life. The altar is served. Chaos is held at bay. God is worshipped. And we all quietly check our footwear before crossing her path.
And then there are those you don’t see — except, actually, you do. At home. On screens. In armchairs. Wrapped in blankets. Watching the livestream. Loving the church fiercely. Missing it painfully. And expressing that love in the only way available: typing. Fast. With feeling.
“For goodness sake, use the bloody microphone, Vicar!”
“We can see the top of the lectern. Is the Gospel happening somewhere else?”
“Has the sound gone or have we all died?”
"There's no PICTURE!"
"Oh sorry...found it now"
These are not complaints. They are cries of belonging.
So yes — disabled people are not an 'add-on' to the church. They are not an inclusion project we’ve forgotten to launch. They are not a box yet to be ticked. They are part of the beating, stumbling, occasionally freezing, sometimes arm-waving life of the Body itself.
If church were only for the able, the efficient, the uninterrupted and the unflustered, it would look very different. And frankly, far less like the kingdom of God.
We’re glad you’re all here. Seen and unseen. Standing, sitting, freezing, waving, typing, waiting.
And yes. We will try to remember the microphone.
Tim
Rev'd Dr Tim Keen, Vicar
"Opening doors on everyone"
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Disclaimer:
St Faithful’s is a fictional parish, imagined by a real-life parish priest. It reflects familiar church cultures, observed with affection and humour, in the belief that theology still has something to say. We aim to be a place that is kind, humble, and laughs a lot.
Images are created with the assistance of Artie Fishal, who is very intelligent.
We recommend books by Canon Tom Kennar, including his recent publication of OUR first book (called 'The Parish life') which can be purchased (by 'print-on-demand' service) at www.books.by/tom-kennar.
E-versions can be purchased from Kobo, at this link: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/the-parish-life?sId=cee9fce6-2a0c-4791-b58a-3799845edc2e&ssId=Prct6sks3YkN9W3f2iLgN&cPos=1
Or search for 'Tom Kennar' on Amazon (especially for Kindle editions) - although the kindle editions don't contain images.
Various merchandise is also available for you to wear or put in your Little John - at this link: https://stfaithfulhavnot.teemill.com/
