With themes of faith and forgiveness, justice and healing, and a unique sensitivity to language, Jim Manley’s hymns grow out of his own journey.

One good thing about sharing writing in public is our potential growth from criticism. The New Century Hymnal editorial committee wanted to include “Spirit of Gentleness” but requested alternate wording to “And when they were blinded with their idols and lies.”

I took their point about avoiding pejorative references to disabilities. A visiting family,
fidgeting during my sermon on blind Bartimaeus, introduced me to their daughter who was blind. I had not perceived the story from a sightless person’s perspective or thought how hearing it might feel. They graciously accepted apologies.

Sometimes people note the word change, saying they prefer the original hymn. Here’s the
new line: “When they were confounded with their idols and lies.”

Just as native folk protest the Atlanta Braves’ tomahawk chop, so we can be more care-full about our language about disabilities. Words indicate a certain point of view.

Starting to label someone’s comment as a lame excuse, I bit my tongue. The one to whom I spoke sat in a wheelchair. We are challenged to refrain from referring in negative ways to what we once called “handicaps.” Look at the deeper issue, the attitude that underlies words or jokes made at another’s expense.

We have a beloved family member with mild retardation. My wife bridles when her students call each other “retarded,” but not only fifth graders use such thoughtless language. Last summer as we carried musical instruments across the road to an educational center, an old friend driving in from Calgary called, “What are you doing in the middle of the roadway?” I shot back, “I guess we’re just a little soft in the head.”

Immediately I wanted to retract my words. Beside him was his adult son with Down
syndrome. I later tried to make an amends. “No offense taken by either of us. We are all a little soft in the head most of the time,” the father said, a generous, learned response.

We can become too cautious about saying anything and end up being patronizing. However, changing a hymn line and watching my tongue are small prices to pay.

On the other hand, a strong clarifying word enhances life. I was trying to help a woman using a wheelchair move through a double set of doors into a hotel lobby. The first set banged against the chair, jolting us.

I apologized for being so inept. She said, “Perhaps we could form a new partnership. You
attend to the doors and I’ll attend to the chair.”

With her few words, she solved the problem and educated me. Sometimes now I remember that folk with special needs choose to be as independent as possible while appreciating necessary help. Most of the time I ask if assistance is wanted, letting them indicate what and how much.

A church newcomer, deaf from a childhood illness, indicated a living room chair where the light was good and she could read my lips. She added that my moustache concealed my upper lip, making her task more challenging.

I asked if that were a problem when I preach. Smiling, she said, “Yes, but I imagine
others have even more of a problem than I.”

When asked what that would be, she said, “Your liberal politics.” We both laughed. We
agreed that I would furnish her with a sermon draft. I said that I did not always stick to it, and she answered, “Of course, leave room for the Holy Spirit.”

Sometimes there are surprises. An elderly gentleman arrived each Sunday leaning on two
canes with which he propped and propelled himself up the aisle toward a front pew. After
positioning himself, he flopped back onto the cushion. Where an asterisk indicated, “Those who are able may stand,” he remained seated.

One Sunday we sang “Spirit.” Toward the end, he nodded and grinned up at me as I
strummed my guitar. During the coffee hour, I asked, “What were you telling me in there?” He recited the last stanza:

You call from tomorrow,
you break ancient schemes,
from the bondage of sorrow
The captives dream dreams;
Our women see visions,
Our men clear their eyes.
With bold new decisions
your people arise.

“Believe me,” he said, “every time I arise it takes a bold new decision!” I can never sing that last line without thinking of my friend brandishing his two canes and meeting the world with vigor and humor. May I learn to do the same.

From UCC DM Newsletter Archive