Sharon McKeeman Blog » Blog

Dear Pastor,

The world is living in fear of a virus, and so under the leadership of our governor the health department of our state said that if we were to meet for fellowship we had to wear masks, sit six feet apart, cease singing… the list of his restrictions went on. 

You said that we would not do church until we could do it our way. Until it wasn’t a bummer.

So we stayed in our homes and watched worship and our pastors on a screen. 

But now the state has mandated that you close your doors again. He has said it is too dangerous to gather inside a building and project sound from our mouths which could carry germs to our neighbor.

The ruling power of this state has even forbid two or more to gather in Jesus name, or any other god’s name, within their own home.

Our government has commanded that God’s praises only be lifted up outdoors. 

You our pastor said that we should obey the government (even though God is the only power we owe obedience to.) You said the church would remain closed until the ruling authorities say it is safe to resume. You told us that halfway through the book of Acts the early church was still meeting in homes. Now that is no longer allowed in the state of California either.

So what now? Respect or compliance can be given to the government, but we do not obey them. The only power the government has is the power that we give to them because they exist to serve us. The Declaration of Independence penned by Thomas Jefferson was composed based on the philosophy of Natural Rights described by John Locke.

Locke wrote that we are all equal because we are given rights by God that can never be taken or even given away. These rights include life, liberty, and property. Locke believed the most fundamental law of human nature is the preservation of mankind which means individuals don’t just have a right but they have a DUTY to preserve their own lives.

When Locke wrote of property he was referring to more than just land or goods, he was referring to our most precious possession – ownership of one’s self. That ownership is something the government can never take away even if they punish someone to the point of death, and that ownership includes the right to personal well-being.

You have taught us that Christ is our life; in Him we live, move, and have our being. You have taught us that the church is the body of Christ, and each member is essential to the whole body. You have taught us to trust in God’s plan for our well-being over the world’s.

There is physical fear over a virus, but you know that what happens to our souls far outweighs what happens to our bodies. On top of that our county and our country is suffering amidst mental health crisis, drug addiction, broken homes and so much more that threatens our well-being. Our family has witnessed firsthand how this pandemic is heightening these risks and the tragic consequences. The church is equipped to combat these dangers in Christ’s redeeming power.

So how can we preserve our lives if we refuse to live as Christ created us to live – as his body, his church? The government that is now telling us we cannot enter a church building is the same government that was founded on the principle that our liberty is so essential that the right to it cannot even be freely given away. 

Our right to live and worship in the spirit, our right to gather with the body of Christ, cannot be nullified even if we hand it over.

This government that you tell us to obey is the same government that was founded by brave fathers who rebelled against tyranny, feared the reign of a new breed of tyrant, and established that the purpose of the government they created was to secure and protect the God-given, inalienable rights of the people.

The Constitutional Rights Foundation describes that, “For their part, the people must obey the laws of their rulers. Thus, a sort of contract exists between the rulers and the ruled. But, Locke concluded, if a government persecutes its people with “a long train of abuses” over an extended period, the people have the right to resist that government, alter or abolish it, and create a new political system.”

I understand that you want to respect our community and obey laws. The emergency order that denies us the opportunity to meet within the walls of our church is not a law, and it provides us with a way to both honor it and honor God.

The emergency order currently includes guidance that allows for religious and cultural ceremonies as long as they are held outdoors and follow social distancing guidelines. It also allows for protests under the same guidance. 

You have one of the largest outdoor campuses that I have seen in our county. It is already wired for audio as you projected the sermons throughout it on Sundays. You have a large staff that can set up chairs outdoors, and you have various events throughout the year where the church gathers outdoors on the campus and most people stand throughout the service.

The government has called us to take God’s praises outdoors.

Let’s let our worship reach to the heavens, let’s have your words of teaching ring out to San Diego county.

What man meant for evil, God will use for good. If Governor Newsom closes the church’s doors then the church will leave the building and all will be able to hear the sounds of worship and wisdom.

This movement is already happening. Sunday night 5,000 beleivers gathered on the beach, dancing, singing, praying, and shouting to the Lord. Local police were there not to disperse but to protect each citizen’s religious freedom and right to protest the gates of heaven and hell.

If you are concerned that things will get out of hand, that too many people will crowd onto your campus, and city officials will be concerned about the numbers or social distancing, then maybe you should file for a permit to make these church services a protest.

Our governor has stated, “Protestors you matter. God bless you. Keep doing it” and permits are being granted to protect those who gather to protest against injustice.

The church has already left the building. 

Christ’s body is singing in the streets and gathering on the beach. The faithful will not be silenced. We are worshiping and resisting. We will obey just laws, but when there is a “long train of abuses” by the public servants we elected then peaceful noncompliance is our duty. 

The good news is that not a letter of the current CA health department guidance needs to be ignored in order to use the outdoor campus and resources that God has provided to our church and placed under your leadership.

Will you make a joyful noise? Will you dance upon injustice? Will you make known the manifold wisdom of God and the mystery of the gospel?

We are commanded by God “not to give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

I have seen the small churches huddled under tents in parking lots, I have seen thousands gather in the Father’s name on the sand, just like they did in Jesus day. Will you welcome us back together as a body of believers and seekers on your church’s beautiful outdoor campus?

As you know persecution is no match for God’s power. In the face of suffering revival is happening – will you be part of it?

We don’t know the day or the hour, and I believe we were specifically born for a time such as this. Will He find us faithful? 

With love and respect in Christ,

Sharon McKeeman

#letusworship

• For those who would like to express similar sentiments to your church here is a link to an editable Word doc that you can download, edit, and send to your pastor.
• https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/yl6kkj0kuvni3k2j5nrww/Open-Letter-to-a-Closed-Church.docx?dl=0&rlkey=90lv2kxm10e2cgvw70z6ij8l3
• If you repost my letter online please do so by posting my blog or social media post. If you post your edited letter please link to me so that others can see my initial letter and download the letter template.

The first thing that happens when you are injured, fall ill, become disabled, or lose someone tragically is that you become invisible in your home or hospital bed. Invisible to the rest of society that would rather not think about the difficult realities of life.

This week marked the 30 year anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act mandating that public places must make access, independence, visibility, and equality a reality for disabled people.

I have read many posts by the disabled community expressing mixed emotions. Collectively we’re thankful for the rights protected by this act, but we have first-hand experience of how far our country still has to go in providing access and having a mindset that embraces equality.

No two people have the same experience even if they have the same diagnosis. That’s why I can only share my story and thoughts on this important anniversary.

Until recently I felt I was too newly disabled to speak up about disabled rights. I know, silly, right? I felt like any discrimination or hassles I met with should just be quietly navigated because who was I to speak up after only two years of living life between wheelchairs and leg braces?

I didn’t feel that I could name ableism when I experienced it. Instead I said to myself or others, “They mean well.”

Now it’s different. I can’t be quiet anymore.

Because after 30 years of progress I am witnessing disabled individuals’ rights increasingly being denied during this health crisis. This is what disabled rights activists fought against and why the ADA was enacted.

As a disabled woman I do not have rights because the ADA gave them to me. I have rights because I am a human, and in my belief a child of God. The ADA does not give me those rights, it just protects them.

Similarly you do not have rights because the Constitution gives them to you. You have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness because you exist. All the Constitution does is define those rights because something undefined can’t be protected. If the Constitution or the ADA had never been signed we would still be worthy.

When the pandemic began I was quiet out of respect for those suffering. I don’t love the term micro-aggression, and I figured I could just internalize my hurt when most stores had signs ordering “Stand Here” to me, a woman who cannot stand without the aid of a leg brace and crutches and who rolls as often as she “walks” with mobility aids.

But it became harder to turn the other cheek to each slap in the face when the chairs were roped off or removed in public spaces. 

It became harder to say to myself “They mean well” when entrances were rearranged due to COVID restrictions with no regard for wheelchair access. When ramps were roped off to make sure everyone “walked” through one entrance to be counted. When the pathways from disabled parking were no longer accessible due to signs, barricades, and other thoughtless rearrangement in the name of public safety.

Ironically I tried to use my wheelchair less since few places were still accessible, but when using my leg brace I try to sit often to take weight off of my leg which is in continual excruciating nerve pain and because I am unstable when standing. Since chairs were removed to keep people from gathering and getting things dirty I had nowhere to be seated when in pain and unstable. Is this making reasonable accommodations for the disabled?

I didn’t say anything because I was intimidated. Who was I to ask for safe access when people were dying from a pandemic? I thought it would just be a few weeks, and then people would remember the disabled. Remember to care, remember our rights. I decided I would wait and try not to let the signs ordering me to stand and the ropes across ramps make me think I wasn’t as human as all the people walking on two feet.

But then it wasn’t a few weeks. We quickly learned that the numbers of those suffering were vast, but also that the virus was not even close to as deadly as initially feared. Still no one remembered the disabled community. Instead they pushed them farther away. 

Next the restrooms closed. We were being told to wash our hands to stop the spread, but restrooms were closed “for our health.”

Now people with spinal cord injuries that have to catheter on a specific schedule or those with neurological or other disorders that affect their bladder have an even more difficult time leaving their home because they can’t quickly go into a restroom and return to the errand or meal they were involved in. Now individuals with OCD who need to wash their hands frequently or before eating (as we all should) have to navigate how to leave their home if handwashing is not made available to them.

Schools remained closed.

Disabled students with IEP’s are being denied the in-person education and interaction that they need. Now therapy that should be done in person is in a Zoom call, and students who were making progress navigating social settings are isolated in their homes.

Then came the mask order.

I know from experience that whenever you are the only one with a medical device attached to you, everyone thinks it’s appropriate to ask questions, offer advice, and even cruelly harass. So I know that those who have had to wear masks when no one else was may have had to deal with those challenges. The cancer patient or organ transplant recipient who needed to wear a mask for a season or for their new normal, mostly likely has experienced stares or downright rude comments.

Now the tables are turned. There are many with medical conditions, mental health diagnosis, and disabilities that are not able to wear masks. They are the minority and so as often happens with humans they are facing injustice.

My friend’s daughter struggles with panic disorder. She has fought bravely to manage her illness in order to navigate public places and entering social situations, but cannot do either with a face covering without having a debilitating panic attack. Now she is subjected to verbal harassment each time she leaves her home. 

An autistic student I worked with could not tolerate anything different in his daily schedule or clothing. In order to remain calm and functional he had to follow the same routine he had for his entire life. He was not verbal and so could not understand the reason for any deviations. For him there is no such thing as a “new normal.”

Now the people with epilepsy, sensory processing disorders, severe allergies, the list goes on… are facing heightened stigma and cruel harassment if they cannot safely wear a mask.

As I have said, I am not going to share all the details about the health conditions that prevent me from wearing a mask. I shared one aspect in a previous post, but let me share another one with you. When I am not in a wheelchair I wear a full leg brace. When that catches on something as I am trying to ambulate I fall. When you see me up and out of my wheelchair what you don’t realize is how hard I am working not to fall. I fell several times due to limited field of vision from trying to wear a face covering early in the pandemic. Recently I fell hard and didn’t remember anything after. I am assuming I hit my head and lost consciousness. Thankfully I did not have a mask on that could have obstructed my breathing.

There has been a lot of talk about if people with respiratory issues should wear a mask. Why is there not more talk about people living with severe chronic pain ? One of the best ways to get through pain is breath work. Whether masks lower oxygen levels or not, deep breathing is about the act and sound of breathing, and a mask disrupts that. For those who have not lived with chronic debilitating pain, I hope you never have to learn how a flare feels or what lack of proper pain management does to you physically, mentally, and emotionally. When you find something that works – even if it’s just a fraction of pain relief – that can be lifesaving, especially when the few other options can have side effects as serious as opioid addiction.

Not all disabilities are visible, and just because a disability is seen does not mean that the general public gets to decide what that disabled person does or does not need. They certainly do not get to decide that since a person is using a visible assistive device that they know every detail of that person’s medical condition.

We have all heard a lot recently about having a “savior mentality.” The disabled community is another minority who is on the receiving end of this “saviorism.” Faced with this, I would tell myself, “They mean well.”

But again, I can’t do that anymore.

Because when my brace broke recently and I was forced to do all my errands in my wheelchair, people were overly kind. They would approach me, entering the six foot social distancing bubble asking if I needed help, still trying to push my wheelchair for me. When I was able to return to using my brace I returned not only to pain and instability but to people shouting at me, demanding private medical information, calling me names, threatening me, and telling me not to show my face outside my home.

On the 30^th anniversary of the ADA, while I was doing an essential task I was told that I should just stay in my home. Literally.

The intent of the ADA was not just to secure access, it is to empower independence. As a disabled person I do not need an able-bodied savior. How I do things looks different, but doing those things myself is essential to my mental health, physical recovery, emotional wellbeing, and sense of worth as a human.

Ableism is pervasive and systemic, and it must be challenged daily.

Ableism lives inside my own mind when I internalize messages I have received my entire life. It comes out of other’s mouths unintentionally.

Ableism decrees what disabled people need and do not need.

Ableism denies access, harasses, and ignores.

Ableism sees the wheels, canes, and other aids more than the human being using them. 

Ableism is not comfortable with the diversity of human existence and has a long history of relegating disabled people to institutions, homes, and separate classrooms.

ULTIMATELY ABLEISM IS MOST SATISFIED WHEN THE DISABLED ARE COMPLETELY INVISIBLE.

The ADA was created to ensure ALL people are visible, included, and independent.

So I’m going to speak to every business that blocks a ramp, and to every person who doesn’t understand that independence is just as important as access.

It’s important to assert the rights protected by the ADA, but it’s also crucial not to just stop at the letter of the law. Reasonable accommodations are a good start, but what’s the saying… No one is equal until everyone is equal?

Trigger warning for assault and pregnancy or child loss: 

I knew what he could do. I had seen the gun in his hand as he threatened a man across the street before the other man jumped into a car and drove off. As he walked towards me, I had nowhere to run to. The poorly lit and isolated bus stop was my only hope. This was in the days before cell phones, and I was waiting for the bus in the dark after my evening college art class.

He told me he would put his hand over my mouth, pull me into the bushes, rape and kill me. He said his hand would cover my mouth while he held me down and no one would hear me scream for help.

If the bus showed up soon I might be saved. If it didn’t his hand would be across my mouth, no hope.

The bus arrived just in time, but this is trauma.

I am not the woman or man, boy or girl who felt the hand across their mouth while they were held down. One in six woman have felt that hand, have been held down. One in four girls, one in six boys. Many of them in the houses they are now quarantined in. By the family members who are the only ones they are currently allowed to “gather” with.

I cannot imagine being isolated at the bus stop with that man for months. I would not have survived if the bus had not shown up to offer me my only way of escape. But now the yellow school buses are all parked and children feel the hand across their mouth, and they leave the house hidden in masks. This is trauma.

. . .

My child was dying inside of me. Grown healthy a full nine months, my body opening to birth him on his due date, the doctors were telling me now that something was wrong. They said to push, push, push.

It was the night before Halloween and all the nurses were masked, costumed. A witch and Taylor Swift dug their nails into my legs as I struggled to push my stillborn baby out.

I went home the next day to more masks, more costumes. My breasts swelling and hormones surging for an infant that was not there. From then on every October I would steel myself to endure the masks and gruesome decorations. It was a yearly twilight zone I would re-enter and relive pushing death from between my legs, holding a too still child that I had loved and waited for while everyone walked around masked and costumed oblivious to my invisible pain.

. . .

I woke to  a small stream of blood; by the time I got to the hospital it was soaking my pants. I told the nurse no other birth had been like this. She said it was normal and left me sitting in a waiting room doubled in half gripping my bleeding, throbbing belly. Finally a doctor who knew my history arrived at the hospital and I was rushed to the OR, a needle stuck in my spine, body stripped and cut open. 

They saved me. 

My placenta was in shreds, hemorrhaging. If I would have sat in that waiting room much longer it would have been the last place I saw. But my child was not breathing. I lay there cut right in half, arms spread and strapped to a cross. Masked faces floating all around me. I could hear them talking about what bad shape I was in. I couldn’t hear a baby’s cry. “Another one lost, I can’t survive this” I thought. Then a cry pierced the air. My torn placenta, all the bleeding, the waiting for help had put my baby on the edge of life and death. They laid him in my arms but it would be months before I healed. 

It would be months of rushing to the ER in the middle of the night bleeding. It would be months of needles, medicine, and hospitals before I could hold my baby and say that we were safe. Months of masked faces, and blood.

. . .

I lost two more children. One early and one mid-term miscarriage. I went into a comfortable office to a smiling doctor’s face eager to see my little one floating on an ultrasound screen.

There was nothing, no heartbeat. “Another one lost, how will I survive this?” I thought.

When they take your miscarried baby from your body, there are blood tests, surgery prep, then walking down a long hall holding your own IV. I climbed onto a table, shaped like a cross, a hole below my hips. I laid my arms out, no need to hold me down for what would be taken from me. 

The last thing I saw while my children were still in my body were masked faces. The last thing I saw was the mask coming down onto my face. The mask that would put me to sleep while death was removed from me, an unseen funeral. A mask enveloping, blotting everything out.

. . .

This is trauma. There are many types.

These are my stories, there are many like them with their own nuances, their unique pain.

I have medical conditions, a disability, and a mental health diagnosis that prevent me from wearing a mask. I am not ashamed of these, but no one has the right to my private information. 

My story is mine to share or keep within my own heart. 

My story is much more than I could possibly type out in a blog post. These are snapshots, memories that I offer to you in the name of  those who are unable to share. In the name of someone who needs your understanding. In the name of those who without empathy may not be able to survive this season.

Please be kind. 

There are trauma survivors everywhere, and they do not need to show papers or wear a sign. They are the teenage girl walking past you on the street, the mother in line at the grocery store, the young boy you glimpse from a car window, the man at the desk six feet away from you at work. 

This is the era of #metoo and still survivors suffer unknown. Still survivors are shamed daily.

There is more than we can know riding on our acceptance, inclusion, and kindness.

Relational and educational struggles at the beginning of this school year initiated a struggle with mental health, substance abuse, and addiction for our oldest son. He is a brilliant and charming kid, but was unwilling to participate in counseling, or any other treatment.

In February an encounter with law enforcement resulted in him having to comply with much needed treatment.

That is his story, not mine to go into… but trust me there are lots of details. Tears, paperwork, visits, prayers, driving and more driving, juggling the other kids, friends stepping in to help, navigating marriage and grief, making difficult decisions, teams of people who care for our son, sleep deprivation, uncertainty, hard meetings, tears, paperwork, tears, paperwork. Prayers.

Was my son healed in almost two months of in-patient and out-patient treatment?

No.

But progress was being made. He was clean – communicative. His eyes were brighter. There were hugs, counseling sessions, smiles, local shopping trips, meetings with school counselors, difficult conversations that we got through.

There was a plan for re-entry. He had made the transition from full-time patient to an outpatient program, and he was to rejoin the structure and rhythm of his charter school class days. The teachers and administration were SO PROUD of him for working on his mental health and there was a plan in place to help him have a successful transition.

The KEY TO ALL OF IT was his time in class, with adults other than parents or healthcare professionals who he was ready to get back to working on his future with. The KEY TO ALL OF IT was seeing his friends each day in a structured setting where they were celebrating that rehab had made a positive difference in his life.

The week he was supposed to return to class, schools closed.

As we scrambled to come up with a new plan with his counselors; the out patient program he was in started restricting access to essential mental healthcare. Only emergency services (inpatient) which he had done well enough to be discharged from were fully functional.

In an effort to be SAFE what do you think the first thing out-patient cut was?

They cancelled the family sessions. The patients could still come to the program, but no family members were allowed on campus. Our son was in crisis and they severed his most crucial connection.

As he watched his school closed, restrictions mount, adults give contradictory commands, and chaos build… Our son’s focus and health began to decline again.

He was discharged from the outpatient program for shooting a spit wad out of a straw.

In the time of COVID this release of bodily fluids was documented as assault. So he was denied healthcare services and sent home without the structure of school… and he found much more than spit wads to occupy his time.

Before you think we are bad parents, CA makes it very difficult (that’s an understatement) to obtain treatment for a minor who is not compliant. Thus all the tears, paperwork, prayers. We had finally gotten him where he needed to be, and then COVID abruptly ripped that all away from him.

His counselors said they could send him to an out of state residential facility which was still open since it is of course essential. However COVID restrictions would not allow them to transport him. What use is healthcare if you can’t access it?

Mental health and addiction crisis do not take a holiday because there is a pandemic on. And they do not discriminate. The color of my son’s skin has not protected him.

I was quiet as my family suffered through this and fought desperately for our son’s continuity of care as COVID restrictions escalated. I was quiet even when the guidelines were illogical, harmful, and contradicted themself.

I was quiet out of respect for all those fighting the virus and the families and friends of those who lost their lives to COVID.

However no one is being quiet anymore.

This is a pivotal moment for the black community.

But that is not the only thing happening. If my son weren’t struggling NOW I would wait until later to speak up. If he didn’t need the structure and support of school NOW then I would only amplify black voices of protest against injustice.

After his encounter with law enforcement and the ensuing treatment he received, one of the biggest safeguards to his behavior was knowing that there are police officers who care and are ALWAYS watching.

Now he is seeing their authority being challenged and literally burned to the ground.

YES I know my son’s encounter could have gone differently if he were black instead of white. But there were black kids at the same facility as my son with very similar stories to his. Law enforcement stepping in brought hope for these kids. Mental health treatment was just as necessary during COVID as before. Schools offered structure and a path forward.

I kept quiet while my son was left to struggle on his own. I was quiet as I saw him regress and all the progress he had made be undone. I was quiet knowing this injustice was too big for me to fight, knowing this time of quarantine and it’s collateral damage will affect the rest of his life.

But now… Now when he leaves the house I don’t just have to worry about him encountering a few negative influences. I know full well that anywhere he goes he can find gatherings of hundreds or thousands who are masked, and many are bent on mayhem. When he leaves this house he won’t be going to school or counseling. He may end up in the middle of a protest turned sideways by incognito militia. He may witness the law enforcement that had held him accountable to correct citizenship being mocked, threatened, burnt to the ground.

There are many voices calling for the necessary check on abuse of power They are calling for long overdue justice.

But I know that if my son is going through this there are others… So I will be THIS voice.

There are “cops” that have abused their power and it has been harmful and deadly. However the black and white men that knocked on my door with our son in the back of their car late one night in February – they are my heroes. They got my son the care he needed, that he wouldn’t accept any other way. And now their hardwork is being undone.

There are ways to lose someone to COVID-19 that have nothing to do with being infected.

I just pray we regain some sense, and our government officials stop denying us the right to public education, healthcare, support services, worship, community, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness before it’s too late for my son.

Hundreds of thousands are gathering to protest – as they should. But my son is still being denied access to a classroom with a few students and one teacher.

There are ways to lose someone to COVID-19 that have nothing to do with being infected.

. . .

What can you do to help my son and other kids like him?

Write, call, petition our state and federal elected representatives and demand that the services that we pay for and that our children need and have a right to are restored.

Congress

Senate

State Governor

Peaceful protests are a VITAL part of this nation. Looting and violence is never a justifiable means to an end, and bottom line…

CLASSROOMS ARE NOT MORE CROWDED OR DANGEROUS THAN THESE PROTESTS.

Our children are safer in school than on the streets and whoever thinks a teenager can be put on quarantine house arrest for several months does not have a teenager, has forgotten their own teen years, and is not aware of the right’s that a minor possesses. Securing our children’s right to education this fall STARTS NOW.

And trust me, online is NOT the same as in-person. As a decade long homeschool veteran I will be sharing more about that in another post…

Thank you friends, for listening, caring, praying, and speaking up.