The Lessons You Would Rather Not Learn

(Content Warning: Sexual, physical and psychological abuse.)

For 10 years, I worked in a group home with adults with disabilities. It was a job I felt completely unprepared for. Because I was.

The job was a drastic change from all my previous employment. The organization that hired me trained me, but I would soon find that very little could prepare you for the unknown and unexpected.

The very first time I stepped into the home, I remember greeting one of the individuals. Other than his form fitting wheelchair, he didn’t have any obvious physical indications of disability. I said hello, and then stood awkwardly as the recipient of my greeting starred through me. 

The staff member beside me leaned close and whispered: “it’s okay, just stay here for a while”. I met my companions gaze. Made myself stay there, uncomfortable, and exposed. As if I was the one on display. Suddenly, a giant smile broke forth and a squeal of excitement arose from my companion. Nothing hidden, nothing held back.

That was my first lesson. And in the individual in front of me, my first teacher.

The next ten years would be full of seminars from unforeseen experiences, unlikely teachers. Some teachers in our life refine a concept or help us acquire language or imagery. Others open the door to new worlds we were previously ignorant to. This was the latter.

Working at this home was my introduction to healthcare in general and particular. But it was also my introduction to a range of lived experience I had never considered. The needs of the individuals I cared for varied greatly. Some were talkative, most were non verbal, all of them expressive communicators (if you had the eyes to see and ears to hear).  Each new sound, each unexpected head nod, shake, or dismissive arm wave, each health crisis, each howl of unexpected laughter a lesson. These were the instructors, inviting me into a wider and deeper world.

The organization I worked for had started small in the 1970s, when a collection of families chose to band together for support and resources, choosing to care for their with children with disabilities in their own homes, rather than large mental institutions. The organization grew as these large facilities began to be phased out in the 1980s and 90s amid revelations of wide scale abuse, neglect, and even forced sterilization. 

When the organization began expanding, there was a vision for a new type of home for those with disabilities. Lessons had been learned from the oppressive structures of the past. The homes would be houses, not institutions. Indiscernible as a group home from the sidewalk. Each individual would have their own room, and each room would be reflective of its resident. Walls would be painted. Pictures would be hung. 

It was all part of a bigger movement of course. As mundane as paint and pictures sound, it was a world away from green-grey hospital walls and sterile rooms. It was a movement from the institution to the home, and from anonymity to personhood. And it was occurring in across the globe. 

Of all organizations participating in this movement, none stands out for me like L’arche.

L’arche was created in 1946 when a young man of 18 was invited by his Dominican priest to visit an asylum for the mentally ill in France. Seeing the horrors of that place, and the inherent beauty and nobility of those with mental and physical challenges, the man opened the first L’arche home where adults with and without disabilities lived together. Not in shifts, not in respite care, but a full life together. The good, the bad, and the beautifully mundane. The man lived in that very cottage himself, and would count the people he lived with there as some of his closest friends. Other members became involved and new L’arche homes and communities were opened. Eventually the homes would span across countries and continents.

The man that spearheaded this organization spent the remainder of his life advocating for full acceptance and celebration of those individuals with special needs. Through L’arche communities, thousands have found acceptance, love and belonging; ‘Abled’ and ‘Disabled’ alike. This man would go on to pen best sellers based on his observations about community. He spoke at length, painting a picture with his words of a broader, inclusive, and complete humanity. 

I knew at once that he would be my teacher.

I discovered his teachings while I was still working at the group home. As much as I had learned in my years of experience, this man spoke with a tenderness and admiration for the individuals that he lived alongside that was both exciting and foreign to me. Despite being a Catholic philosopher, the man often referred to himself as a humanist first, and theologian second. The order was important. This man’s reverence for God seemed rooted in a deep and grounded love for humanity.

I was hardly the only one enamoured with this man and his work. In his lifetime he was revered as a living saint. He was the recipient of multiple prestigious awards including the Templeton Prize, the Order of Canada, and France’ Legion of Honor. Upon his passing in May of 2019, people the world over wondered aloud if he would soon be canonized as a Saint.

That man was Jean Vanier. And no one is wondering that now.

Last year the organization L’arche began receiving claims of sexual abuse against their founder. A third party was hired to investigate these claims, and in February, a report detailing their findings was released. It is as transparent as it is damning. 

The report details a history of repeated sexual abuse of six non-disabled women by Vanier. Despite not knowing each other, each account is disturbingly similar. The victims looked to Vanier for spiritual direction and formation, and instead received sexual, physical and emotional abuse steeped in spiritual language and imagery, and absolute secrecy. It also outlines a long history of sexual abuse by Vanier’s mentor, Father Thomas Phillipe. Multiple accounts, and Vanier’s correspondence with Phillipe, indicate that both men considered the sexual abuse to be a form of spiritual awakening, a mystical experience with the Divine. 

This was, of course, not the victim’s experience. 

These women were told that the most ugly and horrific acts were in fact beautiful, meaningful, and spiritual. It took many of them years to begin the process the abuse they had been subject to, and years more before they could speak of it. The first reported case of abuse occurred in 1970, the last in 2005. All of the women abused would have watched as the world celebrated this man. As governments and those in prominent positions admired his gentle qualities and wise words, and mourned him as a modern saint. And they knew the truth. That the man who spent his life advocating for the inherent dignity of each human being didn’t really believe it. Not all the way. At least not for them. 

The victims who were assaulted by Vanier are worth remembering, worth focusing our attention on, because so many people have felt violated by these revelations. And many of us have a dog in this fight. Many of us had already categorized Vanier as a Saint or hero. I certainly had. That re-categorization as abuser and predator takes some time. Much ink has been spilled writing about people reckoning with the disillusionment of who Vanier really was. Friends who knew him appeared dazed, as though struck. People who revered him and followed his work appear lost and bewildered. And the organization that he founded grapples with the fact that his teachings and vision are woven throughout their DNA. 

L’arche is, of course, not Jean Vanier. To their immense credit, L’arche has repeatedly and publicly declared their support for the women abused, and roundly condemned the actions of their founder. They have created booklets with pictures outlining the abuse so that members who cannot read can understand the offenses. Throughout their website, links to past essays and teachings by Vanier redirect back to the findings of this inquiry. 

Everything, all that this man has accomplished and said, is now seen in the light of the darkness of these offenses. 

When I began to write this post, I wondered if this was fair. Vanier’s ideas and vision have been an inspiration to so many, including myself. And the fruits of his labour and vision have sprawled across the globe, bringing love and community to so many. To this day, he remains one of the finest writers and communicators on the human condition I have ever come across. 

What can we do with so beautiful, and so vile? Can we separate the two?

This is a familiar question.

Can we watch a Woody Allen film, and enjoy his talent for intricate dialogue and clever framing, knowing that he slept with and married his adopted daughter?

Can we still enjoy Kevin Spacey’s bone chilling depiction of Frank Underwood, or Kayser Soze (sorry, 24 year old spoiler warning…), or American Beauty’s Lester Burnham, knowing that he has been accused of decades of inappropriate sexual advances towards his coworkers, including minors?

What do I do with my Ryan Adams’ t-shirt, or the collection of albums that I own of his in light of the series of allegations levied against him?

The list of these questions and examples is long, and it grows longer daily. How do we separate the art from the artist? How do we separate the instruction from the teacher? Can we even do such a thing?

In the case of Vanier, I cannot. As much as his words have meant to me. As much as I appreciate all the great and important work that he has played a role in. I am grateful for the lessons he has taught me. But that well is poisoned, and I will not drink from it again.

One of the first lessons that those with disabilities taught me was integration. When an individual was bored they blew raspberries or yelled out loudly. When they were amused, their body would shake with laughter. When that first resident looked through me all those years ago, and then erupted in joy, I knew that there was nothing hidden.

There is no lesson more important for the spiritual teacher than that of integration. Without it, nothing else matters. If a man or woman deems to teach others how to live, we have to trust that they have done the work themselves. That they can practice what they preach. That they have integrity, that they are integrated.

All of Vanier’s teachings spoke to the belief that there is no difference in value between him and the person in front of him. What he did repeatedly, consciously, and secretly to those vulnerable women was a betrayal to them, and to himself as well. Jean Vanier was dis-integrated. There existed at least two, drastically different Jeans. The one who lived and spoke humbly and with reverence towards his housemates with disabilities, and the one who repeatedly and systematically preyed upon vulnerable women that looked up to him. Whether Jean was a good man who commited great evil, an evil man who somehow accomplished good, or a complex man capable of both blessings and curses, it hardly matters. Jean never attained the integration on display by so many around him. He failed to learn the central lesson he taught. 

Jean Vanier may no longer be my teacher, but his revelation has been.

Because we are all students, and everything can be your teacher.

Especially the lessons you would rather not learn.