A theological critique of ableism: Q&A with Timothy Goode

The author of Breaking, not Broken introduces his vision for churches that are truly accessible and how heritage is never neutral.

Hello, Timothy. Would you introduce yourself and tell us what brought you to this point in your life?

I am the Revd Canon Timothy Goode, currently Canon for Congregational Discipleship and Nurture at York Minster. I am a priest, theologian and disability justice advocate, and I have lived with permanent disability for over 30 years. My theological work is inseparable from my lived experience. Diagnosed in childhood with a rare hereditary bone condition and later left permanently disabled following a cancerous spinal tumour, I have spent much of my life navigating churches, institutions and sacred spaces, drawing attention to the reality that they were not designed with bodies like mine in mind.

What brought me to this point is a long journey of wrestling with faith, suffering, vocation and belonging. Though I love the Church deeply, I also know, painfully and personally, how often it has failed disabled people, not simply through thoughtlessness, but through theology, architecture and inherited assumptions about what a ‘proper’ Christian body looks like. My focus is on helping the Church reimagine itself theologically and practically around what I call a risen-body anthropology: a vision of humanity shaped not by ideals of perfection or self-sufficiency, but by the wounded, risen body of Christ.

Tell us about your new book, Breaking, not Broken. What inspired you to write this?

Breaking, not Broken is a theological critique of ableism in the Church and a constructive vision for how Christian theology, heritage, worship and memory might be re-formed through the lens of disability. It argues that ableism is not a marginal pastoral issue but a deep theological distortion that has shaped how the Church imagines God, holiness, leadership, healing and the human body.

I was inspired to write this book because I realized that many conversations about disability in churches stop far too early. We talk about inclusion or access, but rarely ask what kind of God our buildings, liturgies and doctrines proclaim. Over years of ministry, and particularly since becoming a Residentiary Canon at York Minster, I have seen how sacred heritage can both proclaim the gospel and quietly contradict it. This book is my attempt to draw attention to that tension, and to offer hope that the Church can be re-membered, put back together differently, more faithfully, around the wounded and risen Christ.

You write about accessibility in churches going beyond the idea of a ramp or a hearing loop. What does this mean to you, and how might your vision look different from current practice?

Ramps and hearing loops matter. They are essential, and I would never wish to minimize them. But on their own, they risk treating disabled people as a logistical problem rather than as a theological presence. Accessibility, as I understand it, is not just about entry; it is about belonging, authority, visibility and memory.

Heritage is especially important here. Churches often treat it as something neutral to be preserved, when in fact it is a theological act of remembering that shapes who is seen as holy, central or authoritative. My vision seeks answers to deeper questions: Who were our buildings designed for? Whose bodies do our liturgies assume? Whose stories are told in stone, glass and ritual, and whose are missing?

A church shaped by disability theology would not simply adapt existing structures; it would allow disabled experience to reshape its imagination from the ground up. That might mean designing worship around different rhythms of time, rethinking leadership and priesthood, or allowing vulnerability and interdependence to be visible rather than hidden. It is not about adding disabled people in; it is about allowing them to change the Church.

Your passion for disability justice really comes through. What does this book add to the field of disability theology?

Disability theology is a rich and growing field, and I stand deeply indebted to theologians such as Nancy Eiesland, John Swinton, Amos Yong. What I hope this book adds is a sustained engagement with heritage, architecture, memory and ecclesiology. I wanted to ask what happens when we take seriously the fact that theology is built into stone, space, ritual and institutional power.

This book also insists that disability theology is not a niche concern. It is a diagnostic lens that exposes distortions at the heart of Western Christianity, particularly its inheritance from Greco-Roman ideals of perfection and post-Constantinian power. By bringing disability theology into conversation with heritage studies, liturgy, sacramentality and eschatology, I hope to show that disabled bodies are not an exception to Christian theology, but one of its most faithful witnesses.

Some biblical passages about bodies and ‘perfection’ are often quoted uncritically. Do these texts need to be re-read today?

Yes, very much so. Scripture has too often been read through ableist lenses that treat disability as deficit, punishment, or something to be erased by healing. This is not because the Bible itself is irredeemably harmful, but because it has been interpreted within cultures obsessed with purity, normativity and control.

Through this book I am arguing for a more careful, theologically responsible reading of Scripture, one that attends to metaphor, context and power. It asks what happens when disabled readers read the Bible, and when the risen Christ, still bearing wounds, becomes the key to interpretation. Many passages that have been used to marginalize disabled people can be experienced and understood in a new light when read through the lens of vulnerability, dependence and God’s solidarity with fragile flesh.

Who would you most like to read the book? Did you have anyone in mind while writing it?

I wrote this book for the Church: for clergy, theologians, architects, curators of heritage and lay Christians who care about the future of faith. I especially hope it will be read by those in positions of leadership, because ableism is often most entrenched where power is least examined.

But I also wrote it with disabled readers in mind, particularly those who have felt unseen, questioned or spiritually exhausted by church life. I wanted to write something honest enough to name pain, and hopeful enough to insist that disabled lives are not a problem for theology to solve, but a gift the Church has not yet fully received.

If there is one key message you would like people to take away, what would it be?

Disabled people are not broken versions of ‘normal’ humanity. We bear the image of God fully, and the Church cannot know who it is without us. The body of Christ is not healed by erasing difference, but by honouring wounds that remain.

What comes next? What would you like to see written, or what action needs to happen?

I would love to see churches move from statements of inclusion to practices of conversion: re-examining theology, heritage, leadership and worship through the lens of disabled experience. I hope this book encourages further work on disability, race, gender, class and sexuality together, recognizing how deeply these forms of exclusion intertwine.

Timothy Goode is Canon for Congregational Discipleship and Nurture at York Minster, a national disability advocate and a leading voice on equity, diversity and inclusion in the Church.

His new book, Breaking, not Broken, with a foreword by the Archbishop of York, is available for pre-order here, with 20% off during January.