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The Birth of Capernaum: Where 'the Least of These' Is Not Just a Spiritual Metaphor

I'm always amazed when people say they understand God more in the mountains or at the ocean. I see God in people. Now realize I'm just now sitting on a porch looking up at the Colorado Rockies surrounded by blue skies—a view most will never have the privilege of taking in. It's early morning and I'm at camp.

I've spent the last few days with teens who don't speak clearly, who sometimes drool, who will sit and sometimes refuse to move. Some of these teens have bodies that don't match the ability of their minds; others have minds that don't match the ability of their bodies. Still others have bodies and minds that simply don't operate in the same ways as the majority of their peers. I've walked beside, pushed, and, yes, even carried a few. I've spent the last few days experiencing God in slurred speech, gnarled hands, and slow walks. In fact, I've had the privilege of spending the last twenty years seeing God through and with these teenagers.

I became a Christian through Young Life at the age of 17. Within six months I told my leader I was called to be on staff. I graduated from high school and went on to volunteer…for 11 years. I did try to get on staff. In fact, I tried three times. Others apparently weren't as convinced of my calling as I was. All of my friends were being courted, and I couldn't even get an interview. The first time I tried I was simply told no. The next two times I did get an interview. After that third interview my acceptance was couched with a warning that this would be hard work with long hours–not exactly the way I thought I would be starting. I made it through two difficult years of training, but it looked like being on staff wasn't going to happen.

This became just one of the many times I've seen God work through others. My supervisor, Mary Ann, advocated for me. Let me rephrase: she fought for over an hour so that I could be given a chance. I was told by those higher up that I wasn't wanted, that they didn't believe in me. Mary Ann gave me a chance and fought with others to give me that same chance. She agreed to supervise me personally, to be my committee chair and on my leadership team, and to give 24-hour access to me for one year. Little did I know this experience would become a pattern for how I viewed others and ministry.

My Early Years

In 1980 I was told the school where I was volunteering was being closed by the district, so I was being sent to a new school. One of the other leaders took me to the new campus to meet kids. As we turned the corner of the hallway and saw 25 kids in wheelchairs going to the cafeteria, I was shocked. I had never seen that many kids in wheelchairs in one place. More curious than convicted, I followed them and tried to meet a kid. He turned in his chair and held out his gnarled hand…I drew back. I didn't know how to make my hand fit his. I couldn't understand what he was saying, so I faked it. Next, a girl dropped her pen and she drooled on my arm as I leaned to pick it up. I was grossed out, embarrassed, and just stood there looking stupid, not knowing what to do.

Over the next month, I went back three days a week. Each time I tried to go to the cafeteria I felt totally weird. I had no background with disabilities, no relative with a disability, no training—and this kind of ministry wasn't something I wanted to do. I knew I was called to meet every kid everywhere, but kids with disabilities hadn't even been on my radar. To be honest, this wasn't where I wanted to be.

Soon after this began, I was reading Luke 14:16-24, and I was captured by the discussion of the poor, the crippled, and the blind. I'd always heard that phrase spiritualized in sermons to mean those who are spiritually lame. But that day I read the passage quite literally.

Why had I not heard this in a sermon? Why had I not read it anywhere? I realized that these are real kids. God really does intend for us to minister to the poor, the crippled, and the blind. So as I prayed about this between my newfound understanding of God's intent for the "least of these," and my own lack of desire/interest/capabilities, this little phrase popped into my mind: Be comfortable with being uncomfortable.

I felt awkward and unsure of what to do or say after first meeting a group of teens in wheelchairs. This feeling didn't go away, but I did begin to see them in a new light. My ministering to them had nothing to do with how comfortable I felt. It wasn't about me.

God values all people, including people with disabilities. In fact, I've come to believe that we're all disabled in some way or another. Some people have their disabilities easily identifiable. Others of us have them hidden on the inside. Jesus sent for those who were crippled and lame to come to the banquet table. If I was to imitate Christ, I had to do the same. Not only had I never invited someone with a disability to do anything, but most often I had never even thought about them; I had never seen them. So being comfortable with being uncomfortable became my earliest guiding principle for working with disabled kids.

No worries there; I was really uncomfortable. So I decided to go back and find the hardest kid to try to understand. I said hello; he responded, but his garbled speech made it impossible for me to understand him. I asked 5 or 6 times what he was saying. His friend finally said he was just trying to say that he was glad I was there. This is when I learned a second guiding thought: These are kids with disabilities—not disabilities who happen to be kids.

He was just trying to say hello, that he was glad to see me. What I saw first in him was his disability; what he saw first in me was a friend. I had to learn to see the person and personality instead of the wheelchair, the Down's syndrome, or the cerebral palsy. These teens have special needs, physically and emotionally, but they aren't made of glass. They need more than to be protected and kept hidden away where it's safe. They get frustrated in school; they both love and fight with their parents; they have crushes and dreams for the future. Their disabilities are a part of everyday life, but just a part—the disability isn't what defines who they are.

More Than I Bargained for...

So I started taking one young man with a walker to our Young Life club meeting. He could get in my car and be transported just like any other teenager. What we hadn't counted on was what would happen next. Out group had about 60 teens with no disabilities; they were what we call typical teenagers. He met and made a huge impact on these 60 typical teens in our group. Back at school he sat with the other teens with disabilities.

This young man, however, began a bridging process we'd missed. He would sit in the middle of the campus talking with typical kids and introduce his friends with disabilities. He even began telling his friends that they were going to have club. I was thinking, Shut up…don't tell them that.

I didn't know anything about disabilities and had no idea how we would transport all of these kids around—let alone what we would do with them once we got them. We couldn't shoot hoops or have a race. Getting them to sing when some could barely speak seemed impossible. Just saying hello to them on campus was already more than I bargained for, so I was freaked out.

Entering Their World

We did keep working on relationships, but the idea of doing an actual group that was accessible for these teens was still not on the radar. It took nearly three years, and one day I finally heard what they were saying. I would go for my weekly visits to the school and we would talk about the weekend. I would tell them what I'd done over the weekend and ask them what they had done. I would talk about a BBQ with friends, then a hike, an afternoon movie, a day at church ending with a pool party. They would say nothing, nothing, nothing, TV, and nothing.

I asked, What do you mean nothing? What do you do? Hang out? Go to the football game? A dance? I turned to a couple who'd been dating for two years and I asked what they do for dates. Their answer was nothing. Again, I was shocked. They literally did nothing, zero. Their time at school was even worse. Other kids threw food at them. Taunting and teasing were regular experiences. It wasn't unusual to see someone sticking a foot out to trip someone. They were either overlooked and ignored or were treated as the taunted lepers on campus. Three words seemed to sum up for me what I was learning of their world: isolation, loneliness, and boredom.

Isolation

Imagine being alone in your home for hours at a time—day after day after day. I know this sounds like a dream for some of us overworked, exhausted youth workers; but it's not to a kid. Even if their mobility isn't the issue, many of these teens spend an inordinate amount of time by themselves. Their families, with the best of intentions, want to keep them safe, which often means keeping them at home. They aren't a part of after school sports or most after school programs where friends are made. Many are still in special classes pulled away from their peers, or they're in the mainstream classroom and ignored. Whether physically or functionally, these teens are often isolated.

Loneliness

Loneliness is real for any teenager; they can be surrounded by people, but still feel totally alone. Thought process and/or speech can make communicating a thought a long procedure in the best of circumstances. Many adults don't have the time or patience to really listen to typical teenagers. Add in the additional time it takes to try to understand more difficult communication, and you can imagine how rare an experience it is simply to be listened to. Having meaningful connections with others is a need just like with any other teenager. They want to share their deepest thoughts and secrets with someone; but for kids with disabilities, finding that someone is difficult, if not impossible. Disabled teenagers are too often treated like small children or cute anomalies. They're teenagers with all of the hopes and dreams adolescence brings.

Boredom

All of us can remember times when we were bored. Teenagers claim even more of those moments. But few can claim being bored day after week after month. For teenagers with special needs, the confinements of life cut them out of many, if not most, activities. Don't get me wrong; there are many wonderful programs and special events. But these aren't enough. If ever there were a group of teenagers looking for something to do, looking for a place to be who they are, this is it!

All teenagers want to be included and find things they love to do. They love spending time with friends. Even when doing absolutely nothing, they like being together. In this sense, teens with disabilities are no different. What is different is that don't have the same opportunities to live out what most of us consider typical teenage activities. Indeed they have a great number of needs, but this doesn't mean they're pathetic, self-pitying adolescents. They're often isolated, lonely, and bored, but this isn't the sum total of who they are. We needn't minister to and with them because we feel sorry for them; Jesus has called us to go into the world, and teenagers with disabilities are a part of this world.

Starting Up

I went to my supervisor to ask about starting a club for teens with disabilities. I was told I had to call every church in Santa Clara County (there were more than a million people in the county at that time) to ask if they had a ministry for these teens. I had the same conversation over six months. Do you have a disabled ministry? No. Do you have any short or long term plans? No.

Twenty years later, to my knowledge, the same situation exists.

I was given permission by my supervisor, and I'm thankful I didn't know what was ahead. I met with special education teachers and principals and was told they wanted nothing to do with us because religious groups had come before trying to heal or they would bail on commitments. But we simply offered a weekly meeting with no cost involved, and we would provide transportation— a radical proposal for this setting. In God's design, there was one teacher who'd been a part of Young Life as a teenager. She became our advocate.

It took 18 months before it really got going. Typically we would meet in someone's home in the evening, sing a few songs, play a few games, and close with a talk where we looked at who Jesus is and what that means in our lives. We knew we couldn't mainstream 25 kids in wheelchairs into a home, so we decided to try reverse mainstream. What this meant for us was to have the club meeting in the afternoon and invite mature Christian teens to come along. We built the program around special needs and brought able-bodied kids in.

What we didn't expect were the issues that eating a donut from a string while lying on the floor might bring or the complications raised by trying to play musical chairs or elbow tag. We spent hours deciding on the best program and creating talks that would be appropriate. We were prepared, anxious, and excited to make this work. It failed three weeks in a row.

The Journey

The first week I learned we needed release forms. Oops. The second and third weeks we had two teens, with no able-bodied helpers. By week 4, we sat around totally depressed. We discussed the option of continuing to love these teens when we saw them on campus but to return the club meeting itself to a traditional model.

Having nothing else to do that week, we decided to give our failed experiment a name. We read Mark 2:1-12. Everything in that story is what we were trying to do with kids. It has been amazing over the years to see how it has been lived out in real, full ways. The last line of the story is that "they were all amazed." As Capernaum was birthed, we indeed were amazed. The next week, it was magic!

We had five leaders, seven teens with disabilities, and 10 able-bodied teens. The disabled teens had never been to a Young Life club and had no idea what they were going to. I've never been to a youth group that was more responsive nor more awkward. In my able-bodied mindset, what I thought was a flop was what they loved.

It took nearly three years, but we did end up creating a club that was accessible to any teen with special needs. We talked about God, school, dating, and the future. What I came to learn is that many of them also underwent heartaches most of us never realize. As with all teens, family situations can be very difficult. In addition, by the age of 20 many already had 10-15 friends who had died. I found out hospital stays and visits were regular parts of life. Many were at a place most adults don't reach until their 60s, with friends dying and communities of support shrinking or constantly shifting. This transcended those with physical and cognitive disabilities, because of the socialization brought by schools and their peers.

Every week, the club was profound. Laced with silly games and much laughter were deep questions of life and death, of heaven and hell, of the will of God. We didn't have to warm teens up or carefully approach spiritual issues; these were at the forefront of thought and conversation from the beginning.

The Answer is Still No?

At the end of training I attempted to go on staff with typical Young Life again, but I was refused. They did, however, offer for me to take on this new adventure of club for teens with disabilities. I declined. I was told I couldn't say no and must take two weeks to consider the offer. Moses continued to come to mind as he gave every excuse for why he couldn't do what God asked. I had a lot of excuses. I would be so out of my element, I couldn't fake it. I'd have to depend on God. On August 1, 1986, I became the director of Young Life's first ministry for teens with disabilities. That fall, 23 of 25 teens in wheelchairs at this school came to the club, and that's the regular response.

There've been countless profound moments over the years. Two come to mind. During one of our first camps we met a group of gang teens from Phoenix. They hated camp and wanted to go home. Their comments included not fitting in and not belonging. "We don't fit. We don't belong." Ironically enough, they said the kids in wheelchairs were the only kids who didn't look at them weird. Our two "misfit" groups bonded. The Phoenix kids offered to beat anyone up who gave our kids a hard time– not quite the godly approach we were going for, but amazing in its own way.

A second and all-too-common sentiment came from the mother of one of our girls. Her story reflects what I hear all the time: the family never walked away from God, but they had walked away from church. Serita's mother said, "I gave up. We'd been to church all our lives and were told there was no place for us. It was then that I knew there was a God because there was a place for Serita and her friends." Godly parents have their hearts break when told over and over again by churches and youth pastors that there simply is no place for their children. When a church doesn't have or make a place for a teen with special needs, there's no place for that family.

Expanding the Dream

Years have passed and the vision God placed on my life has grown. I've shifted from a solely local focus to desiring a change throughout Young Life and even the greater Christian community. This was helped along five years ago by a letter from an able bodied teen who volunteered to help with Capernaum. This girl wrote a two-page college entrance paper talking about her experience as a 16- year-old helper. At first she was grossed out, overwhelmed, and angry. Then she had a conversation with a young disabled girl who said, "Because everyone hates me I cut myself." The young woman wrote about befriending her peer, praying with her, and walking with her as she became a Christian. She moved from being repulsed by drool and people who violated her personal space to having her heart changed so that she saw the kids at camp in a completely new way. That letter concluded with her desire to go into occupational therapy.

My dream has expanded. What if we combined Christian, able-bodied teens with teens with disabilities? As teenagers' lives are changed, I'd love to see some become physical therapists, others special education teachers. Even better, they'll see a person with a disability in a brand new way. My vision is to see those in high school grow into their 20s and 30s and look around and wonder why there aren't more people with disabilities in their churches. Why aren't there more people in their everyday lives with disabilities?

God has nuanced and grown Capernaum. What hasn't changed is that these teens are still so very hidden. I've learned that God is already with them. Sometimes it is my role to point this out to them. Other times they are so profoundly enveloping, it's much more about God saying to me, "You need to find these teens; you need what they have."

I was used to being active, but all of the things I held as my gifts were meaningless. No title, sports ability, or being an eloquent or funny speaker was valued. The guiding principle comes as we seek to imitate Christ. In John 15:15, Jesus is quoted as saying, "I have called you friends, for all things that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you." It's partly about finding these teens, but as much or more about what they have to give—purity, innocence, simplicity, no ego, pure, simple love for Jesus and others. Friendship goes both ways. I'm convinced that the first will be last and the last will be first. I'm convinced that the truly disabled are those of us who've never dreamed that we are.

God sent me to a group of teens no one believed in. I've worked with staff others didn't believe in. I experienced not being believed in so I could go to a group of teens and be an advocate. My hope, is that others will get comfortable with being uncomfortable—that others will open their eyes to a group of teens too often hidden away and considered not worth befriending. My hope is that you'll believe that God longs to amaze us beyond what we've dreamed.

Nick Pallermo has been on staff with Young Life for 21 years in San Jose,Calif. He earned a B.A. in sociology from SJSU and a Masters in Theology from Fuller. He's the national director of Capernaum Ministries, Young Life's outreach to kids with special needs; and he still volunteers at localYoung Life club, as well.