On Anne Lamott & Not Needing to Be Healed

[Image Description: Cover of Anne Lamott’s book “Dusk Night Dawn”. Background is an ombré pattern of pink, purple and orange]

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I’ve been reading Dusk Night Dawn by Anne Lamott. I had heard of her and enjoyed a few of her quotes (“Everything will work again if you unplug it…including you”). I had no idea a) that she identified as a Christian, and b) was sober though until I started reading this book.

Because of a), Lamott talks a lot about teaching the Sunday school class at her church. About halfway through the book, in the section entitled “Repentance” she shares a story about talking to her class about John 5 in the Bible. In this passage, Jesus heals a paralytic man who has been “ailing” for 38 years at the pool of Bethesda. The man is able to walk away from the pool, but he promptly goes and tells the authorities Jesus is breaking the law by working on a Sabbath.

I actually remembered this story from my days at Christian school. I’m quite sure, at the time, I had the reaction Lamott and most people have: what an asshole for turning on Jesus like that after he healed him? He’s supposed to be so grateful that he was healed. Here’s a thought though, maybe the guy didn’t actually want to be healed. He was sitting by the pool, but did he ever actually ask to be healed? Or did Jesus just assume he must have wanted to be healed because he was paralyzed? Maybe that’s why he told on Jesus. Maybe the paralyzed man was angry because this random dude just took it upon himself to decide what he needed and wanted instead of actually asking him.

Lamott goes on to say “The Bethesda man’s disability had embittered him, and he wanted to be healed on his own terms only—by being lowered into the water.” This is so often the narrative around disability. We’re “embittered” when we ask for the same rights and accessibility that non-disabled people have. After all the struggle and ableism we have to endure, we’re not allowed to be even remotely angry about it either. Then, when we want to be able to do something on our own terms or like everyone else can, we’re entitled or ungrateful. Say he did want to be healed…maybe the paralyzed man just wanted to be able to get in the water like everyone else. Jesus or the townspeople should have built him a ramp or a chairlift instead.

Lamott further descends into her ableist interpretation of this passage:

If you are blind or have leprosy or can’t walk, one would think you don’t need a cardboard sign to spell out the problem and your desired solution, i.e. to walk.

Actually Anne, that’s not the desired solution for everyone and as a non-disabled person, you have zero right to make that assumption for us. Leprosy is one thing, but if you spoke to most people living with disabilities they would tell you they wouldn’t change their disability, and they don’t want to be non-disabled. What they would want, however, is for things to be accessible and for people to not have such a narrow-minded view of disability that you automatically assume we want to be healed and be like everyone else. Does our disability suck sometimes when it causes pain or other challenges? Of course. But outside of that, the problem isn’t our disability, it’s the lack of accessibility and the way the world sees us that’s the problem—which includes the ignoramus idea that we need to be healed.

My frustration here doesn’t stem from Christianity or even the Bible itself. It’s from Lamott’s attitude and assumptions about that passage as it pertains to disabled people. Lamott’s book isn’t old either. It was published in 2021. Maybe there’s some other meaning in the John 5 passage that I’m missing, I don’t know. That being said, I also can’t help but wonder how much spending my formative years being exposed to Biblical passages like this one informed my viewpoint of myself. Passages that exemplify the narrative that there’s something wrong with me because I’m disabled. That I need to be healed and should want to be healed. Which, in fairness, was also exemplified in school, on TV, in movies, music, etc.

Now, in adulthood, I’m constantly being exposed to the same narrow-minded viewpoints in the books I read. I’m not sure I’ve picked up a book in the last few years that didn’t have some kind of ableist language or ideas in it (shout out to Gabrielle Zevin who listened and responded very thoughtfully when I messaged her about something that bothered me in Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow). I love books so much, but it’s incredibly disheartening when you can’t find yourself in a book and even worse, when a book is telling you there’s something wrong with you (especially something that’s supposed to help guide you like a religious text). It’s extra disheartening when it comes from books written by people who proclaim to be open-minded and advocates of equality rights. Guess that applies to everyone except us. You get tired of always feeling like you’re supposed to look past these moments and keep reading, because if you don’t, then you’re being too sensitive or taking it too personally.

I very rarely opt to not finish a book, but I definitely put Dusk Night Dawn down and took it promptly back to the library. I don’t need anyone else telling me how I’m supposed to feel about myself and my disability, and the paralyzed man in John 5 probably didn’t either.