A Spirituality of Rest: What Disabled Bodies Know About Rest, by Sarah Pericich-Lopez

A Spirituality of Rest: WHAT DISABLED BODIES KNOW ABOUT REST

BY SARAH PERICICH-LOPEZ

“S

orry, I can’t make it. I am going to the gym!”

This was a lie I told every day for the entire first year of university. It was a component of the mask I put on every day to hide my chronic illness from friends and family.

I told this lie because I had internalized ableism to the point that being honest about the fact I was taking a nap seemed unfathomable. When we live in a culture of productivity that values hustling above all else, people with chronic illness, or disability, feel they must do everything to conform in order to be valued. I was ashamed of my body and told myself a heartbreaking narrative that I was undeserving of love because no one should have to spend their life with someone like me. This ableist voice inside my head motivated me to lie about my daily naps, doctors’ appointments, medications, and desire for a slow pace of life. It was this voice that perfectly adorned me with an able-bodied mask and costume each day, the voice that told me that if I wore it, then I would be enough.

When you live with chronic illness and struggle to accept your illness, you never feel enough for yourself, your family, your friends, or your community. I began to project my fears and insecurity onto God. It is dangerous to assume we know more 8

S U M M E R 2 0 2 2 • N O. 13 5

This was the last photo taken of me before being diagnosed with Lupus. For many people with autoimmune diseases it is difficult to be in direct sunlight. People in the autoimmune disease community will speak of waiting for their day in the sun. This does not always literally mean experiencing direct sunlight, but joy that comes from feeling the freedom and warmth of sunlight.

After being diagnosed it became a life pursuit of mine to dance in the sun. Photo from the Author.

about who God wants us to be than God does. Internalized ableism in the Church told me God does not want your disability, your body is deformed and disgusting, it is a mistake. It also told me if you pray for healing and show unwavering belief, then God will take this illness away from you. The broader ableism in the community pressured me to never take off the mask. There was never a point in time where I intentionally stepped before God completely naked. I was in pursuit of a specific, able-bodied, perfection in my public and private life. Ultimately, this led to my hiding and overcommitting myself to appear as someone I am not.

The hardship is that someone with chronic illness, and other forms of disability, does not have the privilege to hide or the luxury to overexert. The expectation of the broader culture to produce and brag about exhaustion puts disabled bodies in a position to not be able to properly care for ourselves. I began to learn rather quickly that either I honored the body I had by resting or I would be forced to rest.

This forced rest was not a glamorous selfcare day, but usually resulted in a hospital visit, intense medications, and lasting

consequences such as a prolonged health crisis that necessitated dropping courses or quitting jobs. Due to this forced rest, I often found myself unintentionally and horrifyingly naked before God. This nakedness felt a lot like humiliation and loss of dignity. I rejected my need for rest and would find myself at Jesus’ feet, exposed in a way that I think only people with disability fully understand. It is a pain that comes when we fail to step into our authenticity, assert boundaries, honor our needs, and deny our being created in the Imago Dei. This experience of authenticity is wrapped in a cloak of shame and is terrifying because we fear that we are so deformed and disgusting in our creatureliness that even God might reject us. Each time I found myself humbled at the feet of Jesus, I was too angry to look up and meet His gaze. Rather, I hung my head, covered it with my cloak of shame, and cried out to God in rage: “Why did you create me this way? Why can’t I just be normal like everyone else?”

Eventually, I grew tired of being exhausted and angry, but I did not know how to live differently. Once more I tried conforming to the dominant culture’s

definition of normal and found myself naked at Jesus’ feet. This time, instead of stewing in my shame, I removed the cloak and raised my gaze. To my surprise there was not a disgusted God looking back at me. Jesus lifted me to my feet and met my gaze. He whispered, “Enough, Mine, Beloved, beautiful child.” I attempted to turn and run because when the entire world tells you that you are worthless, it is difficult to accept perfect, unconditional love. I could not run though, because I was empty and exhausted. Instead, I surrendered my ideas of normal and perfection to a God who knows everything about my suffering. I took His hand and asked Him to teach me a new way of living. So, He did.

He showed me all the ways in which my creatureliness reflected God’s image.

Most importantly, He reminded me that my need for rest is one of the holiest things about me. Genesis reveals a God who rested after creating the universe and all its creatures. Jesus walked with me and shared His stories of retreating from crowds and friends to be still prior to acting. He walked me all the way to my bed, tucked me in as my own parents had done many times in childhood, and told me to rest.

The first time I honored my body’s need for rest, I had the most healing dream. I envisioned myself as a restless, weary, and broken child. I was wandering until I came across two large wounded hands. They were clasped but as I walked up to them, they opened like a clam shell. I stepped into them and laid down. The hands enveloped me and through the cracks, I saw myself resting and at peace. Upon waking from this dream, I was struck by two thoughts.

The first being that the risen Christ, the One who is hope and calls us to authenticity, is a wounded, disabled God. Second, there is value in a spirituality of rest. Disabled bodies can teach all bodies a great deal about the spirituality of rest and its benefits.

Rest is the space and time in which I most encounter the Divine. Saint Ignatius encourages rest in the form of sleeping and affirms it as the place where deep

Double Burden Rest is a privilege. There is a “double burden” for individuals who are both disabled and members of a minoritized racial or ethnic group. Double burden is the notion that there are compounded challenges and experiences of oppression for individuals whose identities intersect disability and race. Those who are privileged by being able bodied, white, or both able bodied and white, can more easily afford and practice a spirituality of rest than their BIPOC counterparts.

A 22.2%

E 27.8%

A B C D E

African Americans Hispanics/Latinx Whites Asian Americans Prefer Not to Answer 1

B 17.8%

D 14.5% C 17.6% 1 2

As demonstrated in the graph , disability constitutes the largest underserved group in America (1 in 5 individuals) and intersects with all historically disadvantaged and underrepresented racial and 2 ethnic groups.

According to the 2010 census.

Blick R.N., Franklin M.D., Ellsworth D.W., Havercamp S.M., Kornblau B.L. (2015). The Double Burden: Health Disparities Among People of Color Living with Disabilities. Ohio Disability and Health Program.

prayer takes place in our dreams. I find truth in this as most of my discernment and healing from internalized ableism happens in my dreams. When I rest, I begin to knit back together the interconnectedness of my mind, body, and spirit, which our patriarchal and capitalist society has worked tirelessly to separate. In this time, I grow in love with my disabled body. I nestle into all the corners of her that I tried to abandon and denigrate and realize that amidst my efforts she continues to serve me. She is my home. By resting, I foster a relationship of mutuality that honors her just as she honors me through her resilient pursuit of life each day. Rest helps me to be less critical of her. Rest allows me the time to sit in awe of all creation. It is the time when I am able to be still and observe. I see the interconnectedness of all creation and am overwhelmed by our dependency on one another and our radical dependency on God. I get to bear witness to all of our brokenness, triumphs, and joys.

In recent years, I have learned that we do not have to rest alone. When I first began my spirituality of rest, I always

rested alone in dark rooms. I have come to realize that just like any spiritual practice, it can have a communal component. My practice of rest as of late has included my friends and family. I delight in participating in rest that renews our spirits, like the times when we find space to delight in one another on a walk or over a cup of tea. It is in these moments of communal rest, where we slow down together, that we realize our hopes and desires. It leaves room for encounter and makes us better able to move gracefully throughout the world.

My deepest prayer for each of us is that we may embody a spirituality of rest, especially when being constantly confronted by a world that feels unsafe and demands too much of us. May our rest be healing and help us to joyfully embrace authenticity in all its forms.

Sarah Pericich-Lopez is currently pursuing a Master of Divinity at Loyola Chicago University and is a graduate school intern at IPJC, managing social media accounts and co-facilitating the Youth Action Team Internship.

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