I caught a portion of an NPR interview with Adam Johnson, the author of The Orphan Master's Son, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for fiction. As part of his research for the book, he was able to "finagle" a visit to North Korea, the setting for his novel. Restrictions were placed on what he could see, as his government minders controlled his itinerary. His comments were intriguing. Johnson said, "perhaps one of the more surreal things I've ever seen is seeing thousands of women wear the exact same shade of lipstick," and he noted that the men all had the same haircut. Odd, perhaps, but not earth-shaking, yet his questions were troubling to the North Koreans, especially when he asked, "where are all the handicapped people?"

Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times had the same reaction when visiting North Korea years ago. Told that handicapped people voluntarily moved from Pyongyang to other areas of the country, Kristof suggested that "the darker explanation is that North Korea systematically exiles mentally retarded and disabled people from the capital, so as not to mar its beauty."

How a country, culture and community regards those whose bodies or minds are fragile speaks volumes about that group's values and respect for life. That attitude shows clearly in our use of words. Sixty years ago, when my husband's teen-aged brother was living with muscular dystrophy, the family commonly used the word "crippled" to describe Jerome's physical condition. But over the years, "handicapped" became the more accepted term, now replaced by words such as "person with a physical or mobility disability."  

Sixty years ago, it was not uncommon for a child born with serious physical or mental limitations to be placed in an institution to be cared for by strangers for the rest of his/her life. That, too, has changed, as many long-term institutions have closed and families are provided the needed support to keep their children at home.

That's been my friend B.J. Brown's experience. Now in his thirties, he's grown up in the family home, sharing in the give-and-take of domestic life on a daily basis. He has cerebral palsy, and depends upon his mother and sister to dress him, feed him, and navigate his wheelchair through the world around him. While he has difficulty speaking, he's clear about one thing - he is a diehard Cleveland sports fan, and was thrilled when the Browns forced eight turnovers in their win against the arch-rival Steelers on November 25, 2012.

B.J. is a member of our Salvation Army congregation in Ashland, in his front row seat every Sunday, rain or shine, because family and friends make the effort to transport him to church. The Salvation Army congregation is sponsoring a Pep Rally Benefit for the Browns on Saturday, June 22 at the Kroc Center Spraypark from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m., complete with stadium food, a silent auction, and lots of family fun. Since his father's death three years ago, his mother Carolyn has depended on others to lift BJ in and out of vehicles, but now she's purchased a van for the family, and is determined to "beg, borrow or steal" enough funds to complete the wheelchair accessibility conversion. Since we don't want anyone to go to jail for theft, we're planning this fund-raiser in support of van conversion to allow Caroline to transport B.J. on her own.

Margaret Meade reminds us: "If we are to achieve a richer culture, rich in contrasting values, we must recognize the whole gamut of human potentialities, and so weave a less arbitrary social fabric, one in which each diverse gift will find a fitting place." As our congregation and our community embraces the Brown family in the Pep Rally Benefit, we model a way of living the North Korean leadership has rejected - we want to live in a community where there is a 'fitting place' for everyone - the seeing and the not-seeing, the mobile and the not-so-mobile, and even a smattering of Steelers fans. Be warned, however: no gold and black at the Pep Rally Benefit - orange and brown are the colors for the day - let's go Browns!