For some of you who have been Facebook friends with me for a while, this is mostly going to be a repeat. Sorry. I am lazy like that. For those that are just getting to know me, grab a cup of coffee and dig in...
As you may know from my last post, we have been church shopping for nearly two years. After being a part of a failed church plant followed by relocating from the midwest to the suburbs of Seattle, we have found a common thread of exclusionary behavior in a place where everyone should feel safe to be themselves. Before you think I am picking on a specific part of the country or any particular church, let me assure you that this is not a post written about only the coffee-loving, thick-rimmed glasses wearing, Prius drivers. This story is as much metaphor as it is literal. It is one small symptom of a greater illness running rampant through the hearts of many Christians, of which I am one. An illness I plan on exploring further in this series while tackling the definition of what it means for me to be a Christian.
Our daughter loves to play with her siblings, is the first to say she is sorry when she makes a mistake, and likes to surprise us with snacks she has made when she knows we are having a bad day. She also has a very rare type of hearing impairment. She can not hear lower frequencies (like a car coming towards her) but she can hear beyond a zero decibel in the higher frequencies. This makes life very interesting for her and those around her. Essentially, she can hear a whisper from across the room better than she can someone standing next to her-especially if that someone has a deeper voice.
We have tried many things to remedy the situation. While hearing aids help increase the volume of speech, they also increase the sound of all the higher frequencies and background noises making them not annoying but physically painful to wear. We have tried an FM system, but she can't stand the way it feels in her ear. Surgery would likely do more harm then good. At this point she relies on a combination of speech (lip) reading, a little ASL, and her charm to navigate the muddy waters of communication skills. Despite her struggles, we continue to find the humor in all things (like the looks we get when we insist she has a hearing impairment while she is wearing ear plugs).
So that brings us back to our Sunday mornings. Getting six people ready for church can be taxing for any parent. When you add the fact that over half of our house also has ADHD, there are days when all I can do is repeat Phillipians 4:13 over the sounds of lost shoes, wrinkled clothes, meltdowns (some of which are even the kid's), and breakfast that refuses to make itself. All this while convincing our daughter to be brave. Trust that maybe this church will be different. That her needs will be met and that her environment will be safe. That it is ok to ask for help...or your mom.
Which is why we do our research. We listen to podcasts. We read reviews. We visit the church at least once if not twice ahead of time without our kids, especially following our experience on Christmas Day. We talk to the head of the children's ministry and those that will be her teachers. We make arrangements, plan, teach, describe, explain all before our daughter even sets foot in the building. We try to do as much as we can in order to set everyone, not just our daughter, up for success from the beginning.
And here is what w e have found over and over again: LOUD church. I mean really loud. Loud music, loud mic, loud mini-movies that are supposed to grab our attention. We have been to two churches in the past month with dB readings close to 90 (yes, there is an app for that). Sustained dB of 90 can cause hearing loss. And for those with sensitive hearing, it can be physically painful. For our daughter, the most brave thing she does all week is try church.
Like any decent parent we have tried making arrangements for her. Repeatedly, we are met with one solution. The solution of all solutions. The one that makes me grit my teeth and pray the Adderall works lest I not be a lady in church. The solution: We would gladly ALLOW her to leave. To come to this room or that. To call you to come get her when the music is on or it gets too loud. Because somewhere in the minds of those in charge, running rampant in many churches, is the notion that in order to build the kingdom you must do so loudly. Preferably with a bouncy house.
So that brings me to the theology of loud. Why? Why must any child be subjected to LOUD beyond reason. Why must my daughter be excluded from a place she loves, one that took us weeks to convince her to try. One where SHE needs to be brave and accept the fact that she is the one with the problem. When there is a solution that seems so simple it is almost laughable.
Please...turn.it.down.
We realize that not every church is going to be able to meet everyone's needs nor are we asking that they make drastic changes to their programs. We get it. But it isn't just our daughter. With the rising epidemic of autism, sensory processing disorders, and other diagnosis, we know better than to think we are an isolated case. Beyond that, kids who are neuro-typical with no hearing issues...Yeah, they think it is too loud too. We know, because we've asked. And because they are humans. With ears.
Turn it down. It's simple. Turning it down does not devalue your program. It does not make you any less hip or relevant. It makes you welcoming and approachable for the kids left in the other room. The ones that so badly want to participate but can't because of the noise. The ones that desperately need to hear that Jesus loves them too. That they are a valued part of the church community.
Her older sister, at the age of nine, spoke with wisdom beyond her years today. She sums up what I am trying to convey better than I might have. Why would they ask her to go to a room by herself while at the same service they talked to us about how everyone has the same worth in God's eyes and everyone deserves to be treated with respect?
So what kind of Christian am I? As I said previously, sometimes it is easier to define things by giving examples of what it is not. I am not an exclusionary Christian.
Reading that makes me grit my teeth as I picture your daughter being ushered to a back room. Wow. I know volume can get out of control sometimes but it can be monitored if people care enough.
ReplyDeleteSo sorry you've had to walk this road. Thanks for being an example of what it looks like to both reach out and to feel the pain of being excluded.