One of the biggest challenges facing families of disability is the ability to find and become part of a welcoming church community. It is a topic that many organizations, such as this one, try to address and support both families and churches, to help bridge the gaps that exist. In my family’s experience, it was actually much the opposite, at least in the beginning, as our journey to becoming Christians happened to be paired with finding a house of faith for our son.
Whether it was a friend’s church we were invited to early on in our seeking phase, to the neighborhood church we eventually settled in for five years, to the megachurch that opened a satellite campus in our community for a few more years, the message was the same: “You are loved. You are wanted. We will make it work for you.” Of course, we didn’t move to several different churches over a seven year span for no reason, as in each environment eventually ran out of helpers for our son, and we were faced with finding a new church home. When we left the megachurch in the fall of 2019, I attempted to find another new church for us; however, I couldn't have expected me and my wife separating in November of 2019 and of course, the COVID pandemic in March. So when churches closed, the prospect of finding one with a special needs ministry that would be willing to take my son seemed bleak.
I was nonetheless determined to find us a new church home, as the need for both of us was now urgent. I was experiencing several personal crises in my life throughout the year. While I knew that my autistic son may not understand everything, he certainly could feel it. So I embarked on a journey that would take just over a year, and would see me revisit familiar church environments, but also reach out and ask for support in totally new places.
When my wife and I first separated, I knew I had an immediate need, so I quickly returned to the community that was our church home for almost five years. I had not spent time in that church for a couple of years, with the exception of a large food packing event at the holidays. This was a no-brainer for me, as I still knew most of the families and congregants there, including the pastors and leadership. One of my closest friends and his family still attended there as well, so once I walked through the doors again and informed people of my new situation, they immediately lifted me up and supported me in a variety of ways.
Nevertheless, I knew it was not a permanent solution, since there was no way of supporting my son there full-time. My soon to be ex-wife, although still identifying as a Christian, became very hands-off with the conversation about church support for our son. By default, the decision about where he would go to church pretty much became mine. Even in the months before COVID, I knew this would be a challenge, but also knew there had to be a place where we could both be loved and accepted. Then I realized that there might be such a place: it was somewhere I had become very acquainted with in the recent past.
Before the pandemic hit, I had been working for a local special needs non-profit organization that did classes and social outings; I had a position as a program manager. Since our offices were not big enough to host all of the programs we sponsored, we had developed a relationship with a Presbyterian church just down the street from us. The church had been in the community for almost 75 years; its building and grounds were nestled right in the middle of the downtown area. The church had graciously allowed the use of their common area in the basement, and part of my job was communicating with the staff there to handle our scheduling needs.
Since this church was also right down the street from where we lived, where my son would be staying with my ex-wife after the divorce, I thought it made sense to reach out to see if there could be some support for my son there. I emailed the facilities manager who I normally communicated with, and asked if he could connect me with the youth pastor or leader. He directed me to the associate pastor, who also worked with the high school and young adult ministries. I explained my situation and asked if he could help. He affirmed yes, and we agreed to meet at the local Starbucks, just down the street from the church and my then home.
Photo credit: Jake Hills on Unsplash.com.
We met in December 2019, a few months before the pandemic, and right in the middle of the Christmas season. I was still reeling from the recent separation from my spouse, but was trying to be hopeful, since it was still the Christmas season. I was excited about the prospect of both me and my son having a new church home. I explained the situation regarding my son’s needs, and also my separation, and that I would more than likely be the one who would be involved with my son at church, and not his mom. The pastor assured me they could make something work, but it would take time; however, he felt they had a good pool of high school and college kids that would be willing to help. In the meantime, he asked if he could do a home visit to meet my son and get to know our family a little better. The next month, he and his son came to meet Chris at home, which was a wonderful gesture on his part. They hung out in our family room and watched Chris play, as he mostly ignored them. I filled in plenty of the details on who he was, what he enjoyed about being at church, and otherwise. After the visit, it was just a matter of waiting: waiting for the pastor to follow up with volunteers, with his offer of support, and his volunteers. And then, COVID.
When the pandemic became full blown in the middle of March 2020, schools, retail businesses, restaurants and of course, houses of worship all shuttered their doors, although limited services or messages were still available online and eventually through streaming. But any chance or hope of Chris being involved with an in- person church community was all but dead. I did not even bother to reach back out to the pastor who visited us right away. He reached out to me later in April, and confirmed they had moved to an all-online ministry, something that just would not work for Chris. I decided to stand pat until things eventually returned to a more normal state.
By the end of spring, I had basically surrendered any hope of Chris being involved in live church anytime soon, and this proved to be true. I didn’t meet with the pastor from that church again until November. We met again for coffee, almost a year to the date from when we had our first meeting, outside in balmy fall weather on a Sunday afternoon, and caught up on the strange reality of our lives. The pastor shared their successes with using the Internet and streaming live services on their website, and how they had all new tech equipment donated by some generous members. However, the children’s and youth ministries were still not meeting live. I was still left without an in-person church home for my child. I thanked him for his time, asked him to be in touch, all the while praying for the miracle of a place opening up.
Finally, in January of this year, I received an indirect answer to my prayers. I was emailed by the local director of a national special needs ministry, who found me on the website for none other than Key Ministry. She reached out because she was researching contacts in the Chicagoland area, and my name jumped out. She sent me a hello, and asked to connect for networking and resource purposes. I responded yes, of course, and we had a zoom call soon after. We discussed our shared passion for working in special needs ministry, how we got started on our journeys, and most importantly, where we are headed.
As the conversation progressed, I was inspired to ask if she was aware of any special needs ministries at churches in my area. She related the name of an evangelical church that was about a half hour away from me, but the name resonated, since it was a church I actually used to live near years ago. But more importantly, it was also the church where the worship pastor from my former church—where we attended as a family for years—was now serving. Having a close relationship with that pastor and his family, it was a no-brainer for me to attend a church where not only would my son have a home, but where a very familiar face would greet me on stage almost every Sunday.
The woman offered to connect me with the leadership of the special needs ministry at the church. While I dialogued with them and waited for that ministry to resume meeting in-person, I began to attend the church online on my own. In March, the leaders announced they would begin meeting in-person on limited dates, and so for the first time in over 18 months, I put my son in the car, and we went off to church together.
It was surreal, to say the least, as we had experienced not just the collateral damage from the lockdowns of churches, but also the fact that we had been an intact family the last time we attended a service together. My son’s mother was now my ex-wife, and she would never be joining us. The drive itself had its own share of surprises for my son, since the church was down the street from our former home. As I turned onto the county road that led right to the entrance of our former neighborhood, I could see the look of confusion on my non-verbal son's face. I put him at ease, as I explained that we were just passing by, and that we were heading for the new church just a few minutes away.
We arrived at the new church and made our way downstairs to the small classroom environment where the group met. It was definitely a new experience for him, as it was the first true special needs room he had ever been part of at a church, and for the first time, he was the youngest member of the group. The majority of the students were high school aged and older.
I introduced him to the leaders and helpers, and we found a seat at one of the long tables with enough space for him to feel comfortable. I began to fill out his new attendee paperwork. He played on his I-pad while I filled out the papers, at one point letting him scribble on the blank side of one of the pages, so that he felt a part of it. I offered to stay that first day, so both he and the ministry volunteers felt comfortable, showing them the different ways he communicates and interacts, and also showing him the different parts of the room and the areas where he could go. Before we knew it, the hour was up and we said goodbye to all of our new friends, and also to our new church home.
I never expected the journey we would take when we left our last church: the long amount of time that would be needed to find a new church and special needs ministry; a pandemic that closed churches; a divorce that meant our family would never attend together again. But as we took those steps up the stairs and out the doors of the church that first day, I was reminded that not one of those steps on the journey was in vain, as each one was blessed and intentionally guided from above. I didn’t expect the traumas, but I also couldn’t imagine the blessings that waited for me. All I had to do was be willing to take that first, brave step.
Follow John on his website: www.johnfelageller.com
