Why I’m Building a Progressive Christian Brand That Centers Disability

I’ve spent most of my life in churches that weren’t built for bodies like mine.

Not just the physical buildings—though the stairs and the lack of accessible seating were constant reminders that my presence was an afterthought. But the theology, the language, and the liturgy itself: none of it had space for a disabled person who asked hard questions.

“Please stand for the reading of the Word.”

Every Sunday. And every Sunday, the same choice: stand when my body couldn’t sustain it and pay for it later with pain and exhaustion, or remain seated and feel the weight of everyone’s eyes, the unspoken question hanging in the air: Why aren’t you standing?

It’s a small thing, maybe. Just a few words. But small things reveal big truths about who belongs and who doesn’t.

And when you combine inaccessible language with theology that treats disability as something to overcome, something that needs fixing, something that exists because of sin or lack of faith—well, you get a church that can say “all are welcome” while making it abundantly clear that not all bodies are.

The Deconstruction That Changed Everything

Five years ago, I started asking questions I’d been taught were dangerous.

What if hell isn’t real?
What if the Bible isn’t inerrant?
What if my disabled body isn’t broken but made exactly as God intended?

Those questions felt like falling. Like losing my faith entirely.

But I wasn’t losing my faith. I was finding it.

I was discovering progressive Christianity—a faith that made room for doubt, for LGBTQ+ people, for science and evolution, for women in leadership, and for disabled bodies celebrated rather than pitied. A faith that centered justice and inclusion rather than gatekeeping and certainty.

I found theologians who read the Bible through the lens of liberation rather than domination. Churches that removed “please stand” from their liturgy because they actually meant it when they said everyone belongs. Communities that understood accessibility isn’t charity—it’s justice.

And I thought: This is the faith I can live with. This is the Jesus I can follow.

But I also noticed something: Even in progressive Christian spaces, disability was still an afterthought. The theology was inclusive, but the websites weren’t screen-reader compatible. The livestreams had no captions. The language still used ableist metaphors—”blind to the truth,” “deaf to God’s call”—without a second thought.

Progressive Christianity had made room for so many marginalized identities. But disability? We were still working on that.

Why I’m Doing This

So I’m building something I wish had existed when I was in the middle of my deconstruction:

A space where progressive theology and disability justice aren’t separate conversations—they’re the same conversation.

A place where:

  • You can find liturgy that doesn’t exclude people
  • Disabled believers can see themselves reflected in theology, not just as recipients of ministry but as full participants
  • Church leaders can get practical tools for making worship truly accessible
  • People deconstructing their faith can find prayers they can actually pray
  • Technology is embraced as a tool for deeper spiritual connection, not a distraction from it

I’m creating liturgical resources—prayers, benedictions, and communion liturgies—that are:

  • Gender-inclusive (because God is bigger than our pronouns)
  • Disability-conscious (because ableist metaphors harm real people)
  • Theologically progressive (because justice matters more than tradition)
  • Actually accessible (screen-reader compatible, captioned, thoughtfully designed)

I’m writing about disability theology because the Church needs to hear from disabled people, not just talk about us.

I’m teaching church leaders how to make worship accessible—not as a nice-to-have, but as a theological imperative.

What Makes This Different

Here’s what makes my work unique:

I’m not just talking about inclusion—I’m living it. As a disabled person, I bring lived experience, not just theory. When I say your church’s website isn’t accessible, I know because I tried to use it with my screen reader. When I write inclusive liturgy, I’m writing the prayers I needed when traditional language stopped working.

I bridge worlds that don’t often talk to each other. Progressive theology. Disability justice. Faith and technology. These conversations usually happen in separate silos. I’m bringing them together because that’s where I live—at the intersection of ancient wisdom and modern life, embodied faith and digital tools, and deconstruction and reconstruction.

I center accessibility from the start, not as an afterthought. Every piece of content I create—every blog post, every social media graphic, every video—is designed with accessibility in mind. Alt-text isn’t optional. Captions aren’t negotiable. Inclusive language is the default. Because if I’m going to talk about building welcoming communities, I need to model what that actually looks like.

Who This Is For

This is for you if:

  • You’re deconstructing evangelical or conservative faith and feel spiritually homeless
  • You’re a pastor or worship leader trying to make your church more inclusive but don’t know where to start
  • You’re a disabled Christian tired of churches that claim “all are welcome” but have stairs and no captions
  • You’re a church staff member responsible for communications and want to learn accessibility best practices
  • You’re a parent or ally of LGBTQ+ or disabled people, searching for faith communities that will truly welcome your loved ones
  • You believe faith and technology can work together, not against each other
  • You’re hungry for liturgy that doesn’t make you cringe
  • You think questions are holy and doubt is part of faith, not the opposite of it

This is for anyone who refuses to choose between their progressive values and their spiritual hunger.

An Invitation

If you’ve read this far, I’m guessing something resonated.

Maybe you’re tired of churches that say “all are welcome” but don’t mean it.

Maybe you’re navigating deconstruction and need language for a faith that’s evolving.

Maybe you’re a church leader who genuinely wants to do better but needs practical guidance.

Maybe you’re disabled and exhausted by having to advocate for your own inclusion in spaces that claim to follow Jesus.

Wherever you are, you belong here.

This space is for questions, doubts, anger at the church’s failures, hope for what could be different, and the holy work of building something better together.

I’m creating the resources I needed. Resources that center justice, celebrate disabled bodies, embrace technology thoughtfully, and refuse to choose between intellectual honesty and spiritual depth.

Faith, upgraded. Not because the old ways were all wrong, but because we can do better. Because the gospel is bigger than our buildings, our ableist metaphors, our exclusive language, our fear of questions.

Because the table is wide enough for everyone—and it’s time our liturgy, our theology, and our practice reflected that.

Start Here

Subscribe to my email list and get my free guide: “5 Inclusive Opening Prayers for Worship”—prayers you can actually pray (or use in worship) that don’t exclude anyone.

Have questions? Resources you need? Topics you want me to explore?

Drop a comment below or send me a message. I’m building this with you, not just for you.

Let’s do this together.

Welcome to the journey. I’m so glad you’re here.