Seeing things differently

I have just been out for lunch with friends from Australia. The husband is a wheelchair user. Not that it stops him - he works for the Australian Government which involves travelling all over the country and, indeed, the world. His stories of individual's and institutions' abilities to think through what it might mean to respond to the needs of someone with mobility issues raised in me all sorts of reactions; how do I think about what we know call "inclusion"? I sort of am aware of the broader issues - mobility, hearing, sight, mental health and learning difficulties. I could probably mouth the right "PC" words and argue for access for all... I could be, at that level, up to speed.

But being up to speed on the surface and for those concerns to penetrate the heart and convert the soul - well, that's different. The usual response of politicians and others, when pressed, is to say something like "one of my friends is..." which always comes across as shallow and unworthy. The fact is that we select our friends from a pool of people like us and, unless we are put in a place where we have really to engage in inclusion to the point where we cease to be conscious of difference, we always have to work hard to embrace diversity.

Meeting up with Martin again makes me want to explore questions about what is "normal", what is the measure I secretly and subconsciously use when I encounter other people? As a Christian, the yard stick we use, or should do, is Jesus and the gospels have stories which precisely point to the way in which Jesus failed to see the boundaries that culture and habit erect to allow us to treat people differently. The bar is set high. It requires both seeing and not seeing the difference; seeing, as in noting the whole person, and responding to him/her in that wholeness and not seeing, not labelling, not imagining all people of one disability are thereby the same.

Our Church school has a delightful pupil who has Downs. The response of the school is beautiful. The children and staff all learn BSL (British Sign Language) so that this pupil is included in conversation and learning. Watching the assembled ranks both sing and sign the songs in assembly is lovely. Because I don't sign, I end up feeling excluded, which itself is no bad lesson. It appears that each of us is dis-abled.