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I relish spending time with babies and toddlers now that my own sons have reached their teenage years. So, on Resurrection Sunday, I offered to serve in our church’s kids’ program when the call came out for extra volunteers. I spent that morning surrounded by a group of three- and four-year-olds as we played on the floor and sang worship songs.

When time for the Bible story arrived, I joined the group in a semicircle as we listened to the teacher. Most of the children sat in small plastic chairs, including a boy who I will call Gabe. Although Gabe had been born without limbs, he scooted around as quickly as other youngsters in the class.

With his lively spirit, he had told me earlier that morning of his interest in orcas. We put together a little puppet show along with some of the other children. When his friend, who I will call Eva, patted his back and declared, “I just love this baby,” Gabe exclaimed, “I’m not a baby! I’m big! Big like an orca!”

When the Bible story concluded, and the children were free to return to playtime, I watched the kids jump from their seats and run to the blocks and puzzles that had previously caught their attention. Gabe, however, took a bit more time.

From my spot on the floor, I wondered if Gabe might need help. But I hesitated to offer, realizing how independently he moved himself around. His friend Eva stayed by his side while he labored. I thought she might insist on aiding him out of his chair, given her “baby” comment from moments before. Yet she surprised me.

Eva stood by as Gabe flipped himself over and slowly began sliding, belly first, out of his seat toward the floor. Instead of attempting to lift him down, Eva spoke gentle words of encouragement. “You got it. You can do it,” she assured. “You’re almost there.”

Not once did Eva intervene to take over and do the work for Gabe. She supported his efforts and, when he successfully reached the floor, announced, “Good job!” Then they, too, returned to the puppet booth to continue the fun.

I had already been impressed by Gabe’s agility in navigating his unique situation at a young age. Now I’d also been impressed by Eva’s approach to cheering Gabe instead of taking over. Since he hadn’t requested help, she didn’t force it on him. Eva honored her friend Gabe with affirmation — not with paternalism.

That Sunday morning, I learned not only about a vibrant little boy’s ability to face his challenges. I learned about how God’s people should live alongside those with disabilities.

When I was a little girl myself, my friend “Amy” had an older sister, “Darla,” who happened to be deaf. Once Darla, proving how big she was (and maybe how small I was) wrapped her arms around me and hoisted me up. I pleaded with her to set me down. I didn’t want Darla to hurt herself. I assumed her limitation in one area — her hearing — indicated lack of strength in other areas, too. But Darla showed me I was wrong. Years later, Gabe did, too.

In the New Testament, Jesus healed many with physical hardships, including the blind, the lame, and those deaf like Darla. In Luke 8, when restoring the woman affected with ongoing bleeding, he performed a miracle (healing this woman of her condition) on the way to another miracle — that of raising a little girl back to life.

Throughout his earthly ministry, Jesus acknowledged and addressed those considered by their society to be broken or damaged. Instead of ignoring or hiding them, Jesus intentionally approached and engaged them. He also pointed out their spiritual needs as well as their physical ones — the spiritual needs we all share, regardless of the state of our bodies.

In the story involving the men who lowered their friend through a roof so he could access the presence and power of Christ, Jesus not only healed this man’s bodily infirmity, he forgave the man’s sin (Mark 2). Jesus recognized the brokenness in all of humanity, both in ones considered “well” and in those experiencing outward, more obvious difficulties.

Jesus also affirmed the imago Dei in all people, even and especially those discarded or ostracized; Christ even ignited the Pharisees’ anger by healing on the Sabbath. Our embodied Savior noticed and ministered to physical needs, while acknowledging that spiritual needs — the ones we all hold in common — remain eternally important.

How would Jesus have us welcome those with physical challenges in our own congregations? Like the faithful friends of the paralytic in Mark 2, Christ would have us remove obstacles that prevent people living with disabilities from meeting him and from fellowshipping with us. He would remind us to recognize the humanity and the image of God in each one.

Then, instead of imposing our own “helping” agenda, Christ might first have us ask those struggling, “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus posed this question to blind Bartimaeus before restoring his sight (Mark 10:51). It’s a question I may ask Gabe next time I help in the kids’ classes. Then I’ll wait for his answer before rushing in with unsolicited assistance. Knowing Gabe, though, he’ll probably remind me that he can handle it because he’s big. Big like an orca.