I became a Christian not quite a year after my diagnosis. I started attending a church after I was well enough from a brutal flare that nearly killed me. I was met with weirdness in this particular house of worship. This is coming from me, the girl who never wanted a wedding until I learned I can get married at a particular favorite cemetery.
I don't know what the first sign was that the church was kooky. Probably when the pastor seemed to insinuate over and over again that if you were sick with any kind of illness, it was because you weren't right with God. I just ignored it, because I was making friends and they had good music. Gotta keep your priorities straight, right?
Anyway, time went on. I went out with people my own age to events outside of church. I had a lot of fun. I was happy. Still really sick, but so happy to just be enjoying the little pleasure of having people outside of work to talk to. My illness had taken a toll on my social life, and this was the first time in ages I was able to be with people my own age and just have a good time.
I learned that someone else in our young adult group also had an autoimmune disease- lupus, and was dying slowly. When he learned that I was also really sick (though not at the dying stage anymore), he sat me down. He told me that he was not sick, because sickness comes from the devil, and to acknowledge that sickness is to let the devil reside in your heart. I felt so bad for him. Sure, in heaven, we won't be sick anymore. Our bodies will be dead. But the fact that I have a chronic illness has nothing to do with my faith. I remember looking at him, taking in his gaunt face, thinned hair (he was only in his early twenties), anemic pallor, and the beads of sweat dripping down his face from his fever, and just wanting him to acknowledge that he wasn't taking care of the body God gave him. I care about this person, and here he was refusing to take care of himself because that would mean acknowledging that the devil was in his heart, when really, life isn't kind. Sometimes we are dealt cards that aren't fair and the only thing we can do is play our best hand. But ignoring your bad cards does not make the problem go away.
A few weeks later, another person in our group started talking to me about my chronic illness and my faith. This particular person had no chronic illness. She told me she knew exactly how I feel because her boss has ulcerative colitis. She repeated what the lupus guy told me- that acknowledging my illness was basically letting the devil in my heart because God never gives his children sicknesses. She continued to repeat this every time our friend circle went out and she was there.
The final straw left me storming out of church. The same girl who claimed to know how IBD feels without actually having it, sat next to me and noticed I was I rubbing at my shoulders, which always hurt from arthritis. She then grabbed my shoulder, hurting me more than I was already, and proceeded to pray over me without my permission. I was livid, and tried to pull away without causing a scene. She only gripped my aching shoulder harder. I was trembling with rage and pain, but the service had begun and I did not want to cause a ruckus. I was in so much pain I was on the verge of wailing. Finally, she stopped. I decided not to let her interfere with my time with God, and just sat quietly, trying to focus. I was sitting, as I always do, with my arms around my stomach for protection and comfort. She started whispering in my ear. I'm hard of hearing, and my hearing aids only pick up whatever is loudest and nearest. Her whisper over the electric guitar was completely silent to me, so I had her write me a note in my prayer journal. She told me that since I was in too much pain to focus on God, I had to leave the service.
I get angry again just thinking about this. If you've ever read your Bible, disease runs rampant. Throughout the New Testament, Paul mentions his health is not spectacular, and he wrote huge chunks of the same material the people at this church were throwing around. The people at this church were telling me that because I had a disease that I have no control over, it showed that I was not close to God. After all, why would God allow one of His own children to live with a disease like mine? If I had been a little quicker with my tongue, I would have retorted that apparently Lucifer was allowing Paul, a man filled with sickness and therefore the devil, to write huge portions of the New Testament.
So, more or less to spite this young woman, I stay seated until the last song played. I stormed out, ignored her as I went, and never went back.
There are two types of people: the people who make others feel bad about life circumstances because they can't understand why bad things happen, and the people who are empathetic and simply care for each other. In May, a dear friend of mine was involved in a terrible accident that broke almost every bone from the waist up on one side of her body. Her lungs collapsed, she had several major surgeries, and was hooked on so many machines to keep her alive I couldn't count them all when I visited her. She nearly died at the scene of the accident and was in the hospital for weeks, before spending time in a rehabilitation center for brain and physical injuries. It amazes me how many people blame her for her accident, telling her that she needs to just accept Jesus and eevrything is her life will suddenly be hunky-dory. They don't know a thing about her, and they are so willing to attack her because it's easier than keeping thier noses to their own bussiness, or just being supportive. My friend has to deal with things out of her control, and whether she is a Christian or not, she will always have a past. She will always have a prosthetic elbow and metal plates in her bones. She will have to deal and cope with her body image, as the accident left her abdomen and limbs scarred. She will have to be careful with her injuries, especially her head. No one cares that she is having a hard time just dealing with everything that has happened to her. Even people who don't have a religion sometimes tell people with chronic illness or chronic pain to just have a better attitude. To wish it away. That they aren't trying XYZ hard enough, or that they somehow brought this on themselves.
That's not okay. I don't care what you believe or don't believe. As a human being, you have a responsibility to treat other human beings with respect and empathy. You have a responsibility to love others, take care of one another and be kind. Telling disabled, sick, hurting people that you know how they are feeling or just need to try harder is cruel. If we could, we would. By telling us to ignore the pain, that it can't be that bad, that you know exactly how it feels, etc, you are reminding us that we will never be as blissfully ignorant nor healthy as you while demeaning and belittling us and our experiences.
My diseased insides will never go away. The nightmares and panic attacks from my hospitalizations will probably always stay with me. My scars from years of self-injury will always be on my body. I will always have a painful past, and I will always carry secrets. I will always worry about if I'm going to pass my diseases on to my children, if my marriage will fail because of my health problems, when I'll loose control of my bowels in public for the umpteenth time and if I will ever live to see a cure.
If kills me that I have to endure such ignorant, hurtful comments from people. It hurts when I feel ashamed to go to worship in what should be a safe place, and instead I'm told I'm a sinful person who doesn't love God, because of a disease I have absolutely no control over. I'm a Christian who is afraid to go to church and tell other Christians I am sick, because I worry I will be the outcast sinner.
I know that the church I went to was probably (hopefully!) a minority, even though it was a HUGE church. As a relatively new Christian who only turned my life over last June, I really hope the new church I am going to now will be a safe place to worship, where people know about my illness and love me and don't judge me for a wacko immune system that I can't control.
And to those "Christians" who told me I didn't love God because I am sick: my man is an atheist and treated me better than you ever did, because he actually has a good head on his shoulders, recognizes that my disease is not my fault, and loves me through all the dates I spend in the ladies room. As much as you don't like him for his differing views, you should really take some notes from him in how to act like the loving person Jesus wanted you to be.
