The In-Between Moments Matter

I have learned that church inclusion often breaks down in the in-between moments. We can plan a great lesson. We can recruit caring volunteers. We can create a welcoming classroom, prepare engaging activities, and work hard to make sure everyone has a place. And then the activity ends. Suddenly, it is time to move. That is often where the real challenge begins.

A transition is any movement from one place, person, activity, or expectation to another. It might be moving from check-in to the classroom, from children's ministry to the main service, from worship to the sermon, or even from one volunteer to another. For many of the children, teens, and adults I serve, those moments can be some of the hardest parts of the church experience. The transition may bring anxiety, confusion, frustration, or even a behavior that seems to come "out of nowhere." But often, the behavior isn't really about the transition itself. It is about not knowing what is coming next. I have to remind myself that what feels obvious to me may not feel obvious to someone else. When I say, "Okay, we're done!" I know what I mean. But a child may immediately be wondering:

Where are we going?

Who is going with me?

What are we going to do when we get there?

How long will we be there?

When do I get to come back to this activity?

Those questions can create a tremendous amount of uncertainty. That is why I believe accessibility has to include more than making sure someone can get into the building or participate in the program. We have to make the path between the moments accessible, too.

Predictability Creates Safety

One of the most important principles I have learned in disability ministry is the power of predictability. Many people process information differently. Some rely heavily on routines. Some need additional time to process a change. Some experience sensory overload when their environment suddenly changes. And for some, an unexpected transition can feel overwhelming. Predictability helps communicate, You are safe. You are not alone. You know what is coming next. That might mean giving a five-minute warning, followed by a two-minute and one-minute warning. It might mean saying, "In five minutes, we are going to clean up and go to the sanctuary." Then, as the transition gets closer, I can ask, "What are we doing next?" That simple question does something important. It gives the person an opportunity to process the information and take ownership of what is happening. Instead of me simply moving them from one place to another, I am helping them understand the transition.

Tell Me What Happens Next

I have also learned that specific language is much more helpful than vague directions. Instead of saying, "Come on, we're going," I can say:

"We're leaving the classroom and going to the sanctuary. Sarah is walking with you. You'll sit in your usual seat."

That gives the person information.

Where are we going?

Who is coming?

What will happen when we get there?

The more clearly I communicate those things, the less someone has to figure out on their own. Sometimes words aren't enough, either. That's where visual schedules can be incredibly helpful. A visual schedule can show:

Check-in → Classroom → Worship → Snack → Pick-up

For some people, that sequence communicates much more effectively than a verbal explanation. And I've learned that the schedule doesn't always need exact times. In fact, for some individuals, specific times can create more anxiety if something doesn't happen exactly when expected. Showing the sequence can be more helpful than showing the clock.

Consistency Builds Confidence

Another thing I have discovered is that consistency matters. If we can make transitions look and feel similar from week to week, people don't have to constantly figure everything out again. Maybe the same volunteer meets the person at check-in. Maybe the same phrase is used before leaving the classroom. Maybe the same person walks with them to the sanctuary. Maybe they sit in the same general location each week. These routines may seem small to us, but they can communicate something powerful to the person we are serving:

"I know what happens here."

Consistency builds confidence. Not only for the individual, but also for their family and the volunteers serving alongside them.

Give Me a Job, Not Just a Direction

One of my favorite ways to make transitions more meaningful is to give the person a role. Instead of simply saying, "Come with me," I can say:

"Will you carry the Bible for us?"

"Can you hold the door?"

"Would you like to push the elevator button?"

"Can you help lead our group?"

Suddenly, the person isn't being moved from one place to another. They have a purpose. They are contributing. They are part of what is happening. And I think that is one of the most important distinctions in disability ministry. We aren't simply trying to manage people through a transition. We are inviting them to participate in it. That changes everything.

Inclusion Is More Than Getting Someone in the Room

Sometimes we measure inclusion by whether someone made it into the room.

Did they make it through the classroom?

Did they sit through the service?

Did they participate without a major disruption?

But I think we need to ask better questions.

Did they understand what was happening?

Did they feel safe?

Did they know what was expected?

Did they have an opportunity to participate?

Did they have a relationship with the people around them?

Did they have a purpose?

Did they have a voice?

Those questions take us beyond simply accommodating someone and toward true belonging. And this doesn't stop with children. Transitions happen throughout a person's entire life. A child transitions from children's ministry to youth ministry. A teenager transitions toward adulthood. A young adult may transition from needing significant support to developing greater independence and self-advocacy. Eventually, someone who has spent years being served may discover they have something to contribute and a place to serve others. The church needs to think about those transitions, too. Because perhaps the biggest transition isn't moving from one room to another. Perhaps the biggest transition is in how we see people.

We can move from asking:

"What can we do for them?"

to asking:

"What can they do with us?"

That is where I believe true inclusion begins.

Every person deserves more than a place in the room. They deserve to know what is happening. They deserve to feel safe. They deserve relationships. They deserve purpose. They deserve a voice. And they deserve the opportunity to serve. Because every person has a seat at the table. Sometimes, the most important part of making room isn't the table itself. It's helping someone get there.