Karl grew up in a church with a vibrant youth ministry, which he was very happy to be part of. He had a small circle of three close friends who were always there for him—attending services together, praying together, going for meals together. But when their group “graduated” from youth and transitioned into the young adults (YA) ministry, everything suddenly changed. His friends were placed in different YA groups, and the main service felt so different from the youth service. He often drifted in and out without saying hi to anyone.

Why the difference?

Karl has autism and some mental health challenges. The youth ministry team had intentionally created a support system so that he could be an active part of the community. They gathered a circle of peers who knew him and were committed to journeying with him. But in the YA ministry, there was no such structure. The supports that once enabled Karl collapsed entirely. There was no handover, no transition plan, nothing to help him anticipate the change. And slowly, Karl began to spiral. His mental health deteriorated; he felt increasingly abandoned, unloved, and forgotten. Efforts to engage in discussion about how Karl could be better supported were met by a painfully honest response: “We don’t have the skills to support him. We’re not ready for him. There’s just no room right now for new changes, or for the kind of support he needs.”

I was reminded of Karl’s story when I picked up The Case for Christ again. Lee Strobel had asked theologian D. A. Carson why Jesus did not confront the injustice of slavery directly. Strobel’s question was aimed specifically at slavery, but the cry behind it echoes through the experience of Karl and of many persons with disabilities: Why didn’t Jesus challenge an unjust system directly?

It is so easy to identify the system as the culprit, to name its failures, to feel justified in frustration and disappointment, and to conclude that the only solution is to tear it all down and start again. But Carson’s response invited me to imagine a different way: “You have to keep your eye on Jesus’ mission. Essentially, he did not come to overturn the Roman system, which included slavery. He came to free men and women from their sins. And here’s my point: what his message does is transform people so they begin to love God with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love their neighbour as themselves. Naturally, that has an impact on the idea of slavery.”

It would be another 18 centuries before slavery was abolished. Until then, injustice persisted. Oppression continued. People still suffered and died under slavery. And when abolitionism finally gained momentum, it did not come through brute force or political revolution but through Christian men and women whose hearts had been awakened by the gospel. The evangelical revival in England stirred a conscience that could no longer tolerate the subjugation of human beings. Transformed hearts created the conditions for real change.

How do we know this? We see the beginnings of this shift in Scripture itself. In Paul’s letter to Philemon, where he writes about a slave, Onesimus, Paul demonstrates a countercultural relationship and perspective uncommon for that time. Assuming the likely scenario that Onesimus was a runaway slave, Paul appeals to Philemon to receive him not as property but as kin. He calls Onesimus “my very heart” (v. 12) and “a beloved brother” (v. 16). Transformed by the gospel, Paul saw Onesimus apart from his societal value or lack thereof as a slave, and instead through his God-given identity as a fellow brother in the faith and equal in the eyes of God.

Is this not reminiscent of what Philippians 2 says of our Lord, “who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men” (vv. 6–7 ESV)? Paul was simply doing what Jesus did: looking beyond status and seeing dignity.

Real change, then, begins when we see one another differently—not through the lens of usefulness or burden, status or ability, but through the eyes of Christ, who gives each person infinite worth.

My ministry of enabling churches, through KIN, to become communities that welcome and disciple people of all abilities, required this timely reminder and perspective to journey faithfully with them. When churches are eager to include, the first instinct often is to request templates, toolkits, or the “right” ministry structure. It may be a Singaporean thing to look for quick and tidy solutions, levers to pull so that change will come smoothly and predictably. Yet what I have seen again and again is that inclusion is never merely the result of technical improvements, but the fruit of a community that sees the imago Dei in every person.

Ultimately, inclusion is not a checklist. It is a culture. And cultures do not change through policies or programmes alone, but through relationships, and the recognition that every person is a gift entrusted to us by God.

When that vision begins to take root, we pursue inclusion not because it is what we should do. Instead, it becomes the natural expression of the love we ourselves have received through Jesus. It becomes what we gladly do because our hearts have been changed.

And so, as we mark the International Day of Persons with Disabilities on 3^rd December, let us resist the urge to rush into checking boxes or creating new programmes for inclusion’s sake. Instead, real change must start from within. To love not just in theory, but in presence and action. To listen longer, in different ways. To notice those who are missed. To believe, with conviction, that the body is not whole unless every member is honoured.

When the church lives this way, culture shifts, and room is made for more to enter and encounter the glory of God.

Ms Jesselyn Ng is the Executive Director of Koinonia Inclusion Network, a disability mission organisation that enables the Church to welcome and disciple people of all abilities. Before stepping into this role, she spent over a decade as a psychologist, working closely with families and adults with intellectual disabilities. A founding member of KIN, she served as Vice-President from its inception in 2019 and has since been deeply committed to its mission of equipping churches for disability ministry and mission.

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