Are We Missing the Bigger Issue?
A Christian Perspective on Disability and the Fall
I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard these phrases. Sometimes spoken with deep conviction, sometimes in passing.
“Disability is a result of the Fall.” “It’s not what God intended.” “One day, in heaven, you’ll be healed.”
An autistic friend recently told me she’s even heard from many individuals saying autism is actually demonic possession.
These beliefs have been ingrained in much of Christian culture, shaping how we talk about disability, how we build our churches, how we treat those who don’t fit a certain mold. I grew up Hindu, and heard echoes of this sentiment when I was growing up, too—that illness, disability, even just falling on hard times are a consequence of our actions in a past life. Karma.
But I think we’re missing the point.
I posted about this earlier this year on Instagram, and I wanted to share some thoughts here, too.
What Does It Mean for the World to Be Broken?
We can hold a view that the world is broken, that sin has distorted creation, introducing suffering, oppression, and injustice. But do we have to hold the view that every human difference—every variation in neurology, ability, or development—is part of that brokenness?
Or is the real evidence of the Fall in how we treat those who are different?
When Jesus encountered the man born blind in John 9, His disciples immediately assumed his disability was the result of sin. But Jesus didn’t affirm their assumption. Instead, He reframed the question altogether: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him” (John 9:3).
What if we have been asking the wrong questions about disability? What if, instead of asking why someone was born different, we started noticing that they are created in God’s image? What if we started asking how God’s glory is already being revealed in them?
The Problem with Eradication Thinking
I recently came across a conversation where someone expressed hope that one day, conditions like Down syndrome and autism could be “cured.” Their intention wasn’t malicious—they genuinely believed that healing meant erasing disability.
But I couldn’t help but ask: What does that mean for people like me? For my children? For my friends whose very existence is intertwined with their disability?
Because you can’t “cure” or “eradicate” certain genetic differences, neurotypes, or ways of experiencing the world without removing those individuals from the map. Let me say that more explicitly: You can’t eliminate autism without eliminating autistic people. You can’t separate a person from the way their brain and body were created to function.
And yet, we don’t apply this thinking to every genetic difference. Would we say the same about someone with freckles? With red hair? With dimples? These traits, too, are part of how a person was formed.
If we believe God knits us together with intentionality (Psalm 139:13), why do we assume my disability is an accident He overlooked?
What If the Real Brokenness Is How We Treat People?
Maybe the real problem isn’t that people are born different. Maybe the real problem is that we don’t value them as we should.
Maybe brokenness looks like a world where disabled people have to fight for basic accessibility.
Maybe it looks like churches that ask neurodivergent kids to leave because they don’t sit still.
Maybe it looks like a culture that equates worth with productivity and value with ability.
And you’re not alone if you find yourself pausing here. You’re not alone if you find yourself wondering that if Jesus was concerned about restoring what was truly broken, then why do we see Him prioritizing the inclusion of those who society had cast aside?
Jesus Didn’t Erase People—He Elevated Them
If anyone had the right to define what healing should look like, it was Jesus. And yet, His approach to disability and difference was radically different from what many assume.
He didn’t just tolerate people who were disabled, sick, or marginalized—He centered them.
He touched the leper when others recoiled. (Matthew 8:3)
He defended the blind man when others assumed he was cursed. (John 9:1-3)
He honored the poor and invited them to the feast. (Luke 14:13-14)
Jesus wasn’t in the business of making people fit societal expectations. He was in the business of revealing their belovedness.
So why does it feel like many of us still believe inclusion is optional?
The Dangerous Roots of Eugenics Thinking
When we start categorizing certain kinds of people as “less than” or envisioning a future without them, we enter dangerous territory.
Because this isn’t just an abstract theological debate. Throughout history, this kind of thinking has led to eugenics—the belief (and practical application of that belief) that certain lives are more worthy than others.
The world has seen where this ideology leads. And it is not the way of Christ.
If the gospel tells us that all are made in the image of God, that all belong in the body of Christ, then we cannot claim to follow Jesus while advocating for the erasure of those He loves.
A Call to Love, Not Eradicate
Jesus didn’t call us to fix people. He called us to love them (see John 13:34).
Love doesn’t mean wishing someone were different. Love means embracing them as they are, in the fullness of how God made them.
Paul puts it this way in 1 Corinthians 12: “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you!’ And the head cannot say to the feet, ‘I don’t need you!’” (v. 21).
The body of Christ isn’t whole when we push certain people out. We don’t get to decide who is valuable and who isn’t.
So What Do We Do?
Instead of trying to “fix” differences, we can:
Advocate for inclusion in our churches and communities.
Many churches unintentionally create barriers for disabled individuals—whether through inaccessible spaces, sensory-overwhelming services, or rigid expectations of participation. We can start by asking, Who is missing? and then work toward making services, small groups, and activities accessible. This might mean offering sensory-friendly worship services, providing ASL interpreters, or ensuring that church events take place in wheelchair-accessible spaces.Listen to and learn from disabled and neurodivergent voices.
Rather than assuming what people need, we should prioritize learning directly from those with lived experience. This could mean following disabled theologians, reading books by neurodivergent Christians, or inviting disabled individuals to speak at church events. When someone shares their struggles—whether it’s with ableist attitudes or a lack of accommodations—our job is not to defend the status quo, but to listen, learn, and take action.Challenge harmful narratives that equate worth with ability.
Many church cultures subtly (or not so subtly) prioritize productivity, leadership, and self-sufficiency, making those who struggle with certain tasks feel less valuable. We can challenge this by intentionally recognizing the contributions of disabled and neurodivergent people—not just when they “overcome” obstacles, but simply for who they are. This might mean celebrating different kinds of gifts, like deep empathy, unique problem-solving skills, or the ability to see the world in a different way.Recognize that every person reflects the image of God.
Instead of seeing disability as something to be pitied or erased, we should recognize the divine image in every person. This can be as simple as changing the language we use—avoiding phrases like “suffering from autism” and instead affirming autistic and disabled identities. It also means actively including disabled individuals in church life, not as charity cases but as fellow image-bearers who have just as much to offer the body of Christ as anyone else.
If the church truly believes this, then our job isn’t to erase people. Our job is to love them well.
Personal Updates, Articles, & Other News
I haven’t posted in weeks, literally. Hey friends. We’ve finished the school year, mostly. One of our programs goes year-round, so we’ll be doing a modified but more chill than our usual chill schedule this summer. We’re playing and reading and watching lots of shows.
I’ve mentioned a few times recently that I’ve been having lots of mystery health issues. We suspect some sort of dysautonomia, and I’ve finally found some fantastic providers and things feel like they are moving forward. Longer update to come on this, but I’m just grateful for any clarity.
I’ve been escaping into Percy Jackson books lately - I have no idea how I entirely missed these, but man, what a relief it’s been when the world feels like too much. If anyone has other recommendations for middle grades books featuring neurodivergent kids and folklore/mythology, I’m all in. I forgot what a big special interest that was for me in my adolescence, but this has been delightful.
Recently, I was on Carolyn Kiel’s Beyond 6 Seconds podcast, talking about autism inclusion in the church. Check it out here.
In June, I’m offering a 90-minute generative writing workshop called, A Story Only You Can Tell: A Writing Gathering for Parents of Neurodivergent Kids. I offered a similar session in April, and it was such a healing, transformational gathering of parents. I shared a few testimonials here. If you’d like to join us, I’m offering 25% off for my susbstack pals, just use code SUB25 to get your discount.
In April, I published a couple of pieces for Business Insider. Check them out here.
Also in April, I got to speak at Key Ministry’s Disability and the Church conference. It was so much fun to meet folks I’ve only connected with and followed online.
Finally, I was accepted to speak at at the 2025 Mental Health and Motherhood Virtual Summit organized by
! Save this link. Tickets go on sale soon.
Ok. That’s it. Until next time, friends. 👋
Percy Jackson was always a family favorite!
Sunita, there’s so much here to chew on and sit with. This speaks to me on so many levels. Family. Work. Church. Perspectives. Actions. So much more. Thank you penning these words.