Jesus’ attitude to disability

A pastor’s thoughts as a mother of autistic children

Jesus, when he walked among us, had many truly transformative and intense encounters. These stories have always touched me deeply, as I recognize the wisdom, gentleness and humility of Jesus—our God. Without a doubt, among so many encounters described in the Bible, two stories move me even more profoundly, likely because of my own journey—first professional, then personal.

One is the man with a physical disability at the Pool of Bethesda (John 5:1–15), and the other is the man with a disability who was lowered through the roof by his friends into the house where Jesus was teaching (Mark 2:1–12).

In these two encounters, Jesus shows us:

1. That a person with a disability has autonomy and will—“Do you want to get well?” (John 5:6).

2. That a person with a disability is not some angelic, sinless being, but like every human, is also in need of forgiveness—“Son, your sins are forgiven” (Mark 2:5).

Jesus gave them a voice; and I learn so much from this!

I’ve been working with people with disabilities since 1992, specializing in this area of education. In fact, even as a young child, long before I officially began working in the field I felt called to this and spent many hours being close to people with disabilities, teaching and learning from them.

Matheus and Gabriela, Dani’s children.

Throughout my life, I’ve come across people with physical or intellectual disabilities who were not given the right to their only possible autonomy: the autonomy of choice—even in matters of faith. Many didn’t even know what they believed. They just followed their parents’ path. Some attended evangelical churches as if they were invisible—never baptized, never led to a confession of faith. They were simply there.

When I became a pastor in 2010, many began to bring their spiritual questions to me and surrendered their lives to Jesus through our ministry, because they realized we were giving them a voice.

After 20 years in the field, I was drawn even deeper into this world: in 2011, my prince Matheus (Teteu) was born—he’s non-verbal and diagnosed with level 3 autism spectrum disorder. Twelve years later, my oldest daughter Gabriela (Gabby), now 24, also received a diagnosis—level 1 autism. She is a high-functioning young woman capable of living an almost “typical” life. Her “milder” traits, like in many girls, masked the diagnosis for many years. But her life has always come with challenges to be understood and respected.

Even with such glaring differences, I see similarities between the two in terms of diagnosis: hypersensitivity to sounds and crowded environments, self-regulating stereotypies, meltdowns when emotional overload is intense or when there’s a break in routine. There may be more, but the limits of my son’s communication skills prevent us from fully understanding his thoughts and feelings. My daughter even jokes with him sometimes, saying, “I understand you, baby,” as she affectionately calls him.

As a pastor and active churchgoer, I faced another challenge up close: accessibility.

We’ve made great progress in architectural accessibility—ramps, elevators, accessible bathrooms—enabling physical access to church spaces. But in my personal and professional experience, accessibility goes far beyond architectural adjustments. True accessibility means giving people “voice” and the autonomy to choose. It means helping them actually belong.

How many people with disabilities are actively involved in different church ministries? What about accessibility for people who are blind or deaf? Do churches have Bibles in braille? Is anyone trained in sign language? When it comes to intellectual disabilities, are preachers and ministry leaders adapting their messages using visual tools and simplified language that is easy to understand? And what about people with autism—where needs are both specific and highly individualized?

I’ve visited churches where my son couldn’t even enter the service due to loud volume and low lighting. That environment works for many—but not for all. Some individuals find physical touch and spontaneous social interaction—such as “greet the person beside you”—extremely challenging.

I’m not writing this article to give a list of steps or a formula, because no universal model exists. I’m also not criticizing churches that maintain liturgies designed for “typical” individuals—because I know it’s difficult to meet every need.

My invitation is this: Let’s look at our faith communities the way Jesus did—with individualized attention, seeking ways to improve fellowship and participation for all. I often say that true inclusion is rare—almost utopian. If you mix oil and water in a glass, you’ll see both substances clearly separated. They’re in the same space, but not truly integrated.

For me, true inclusion begins with equal love and mercy. No one is more or less holy because they have a disability. We must create adapted opportunities for interaction and integration.

We don’t need to “sacrifice” everyone by conforming entirely to the needs of a minority. But we can adapt things to improve participation for everyone.

For example:

Could services be held in well-lit environments with lower sound volume?

Could we offer different types of seating—sofas, armchairs, even mats—for those who struggle to sit still?

Could we allow people to communicate their needs through visible signs (if they wish), like: “I can’t shake hands,” or “I get anxious when someone talks to me without preparation”?

And, of course, educate everyone about the different types of disabilities and the respect they deserve.

I believe the church should organize events and seminars to talk about disability—giving families and people with disabilities space to speak for themselves. Offering them visibility and a voice is already a powerful step toward following Jesus’ example.

The challenge is great, I know (I have my own difficulties adapting our ConneXion services to my son who, at the moment, only accepts being in the car). But Jesus never said the journey would be easy. He promised he would walk with us and guide us every step of the way.