Autism Consecrated |
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Link to original post: https://deaconmarkblog.wordpress.com/2026/09/07/a-response-to-strange-vocations-a-new-and-welcomed-conversation-about-priestly-eligibility-by-mark-bradford/
I read Mark Bradford’s article, ‘Strange Vocations: A New and Welcomed Conversation About Priestly Eligibility’, with great interest. The fact that Catholic commentators are now openly discussing the possibility that autistic and other neurodivergent men might be called to ordained ministry represents real progress. For too long, disability and neurodiversity have been treated as barriers to vocation rather than as dimensions of human experience through which God may call people to serve His Church.
Yet as an autistic deacon, I found myself uncomfortable with some of the assumptions contained in the article, and the language used to describe autistic people.
The article welcomes discussion about admitting men with autism, ADHD and other conditions which the report it discusses describes as “significant formative deficits”. While the author is quoting the terminology of the report, the effect is nevertheless significant. Autism is immediately framed as a deficit, a lack, a problem requiring careful management.
Many autistic people would challenge this description. I certainly would.
Autism certainly brings challenges. I know this from lived experience. I have experienced severe anxiety, exhaustion from masking, and a lifelong sense of being somehow “wrong”. Yet autism is not simply a collection of deficits. It is a way of experiencing, processing and engaging with the world. It shapes how I encounter God, how I listen to people, and how I understand vulnerability and marginalisation. To speak of autism principally through the language of deficit risks overlooking the gifts and insights that autistic people bring to the Church.
More fundamentally, I believe the article asks the wrong question.
The central question appears to be whether autistic people can be suitable candidates for priesthood. But from an autistic perspective, the more important question may be whether seminary formation is capable of recognising and nurturing autistic vocations in the first place.
Throughout my own formation, I often feared that autism would be regarded as a deal-breaker. Every assessment felt like a test of whether I could successfully perform neurotypical expectations. I worried that difference would be mistaken for deficiency. The problem was not a lack of vocation. The problem was an environment that often assumed one particular way of communicating, learning, socialising and expressing competence.
This distinction matters.
Too often, discussions about autistic candidates focus on what autistic people might lack rather than examining the institutional structures that create barriers. The unspoken assumption is that the candidate must adapt to the formation system. Rarely do we ask whether the formation system itself requires adaptation.
If seminaries reward eye contact, social confidence, rapid verbal responses and ease in unfamiliar social situations, they may inadvertently be assessing conformity to neurotypical behaviour rather than fitness for ordained ministry. An autistic candidate may be judged as lacking “human formation” when in reality he is carrying an exhausting burden of masking and anxiety simply to appear acceptable.
Another concern is the article’s reliance on the concept of the “ideal” candidate.
The article acknowledges that considering autistic men for priesthood challenges existing assumptions about what an ideal seminarian looks like. But some autistic readers may ask why such an ideal exists at all. The Gospel consistently overturns human expectations concerning who is suitable for ministry. The Church is served not by a single personality type but by people with diverse gifts, weaknesses and experiences.
Autistic priests and deacons may bring qualities that are especially valuable in ministry: honesty, authenticity, attention to detail, deep commitment to truth, and solidarity with those who feel excluded or misunderstood. These should not be regarded as compensations for disability but as genuine pastoral gifts.
Perhaps the most significant omission in the wider conversation is the relative absence of autistic voices themselves.
We have become accustomed to experts discussing autistic people, assessing autistic people and developing policies about autistic people. What is too often missing are the voices of autistic Catholics describing their own experiences of vocation, formation and ministry. Discussions about inclusion become more authentic when those with lived experience are not merely consulted, but placed at the centre of the conversation.
The future of this discussion should therefore move beyond questions of eligibility.
The Church should certainly discern candidates carefully. Not everyone is called to ordained ministry, autistic or otherwise. But the goal cannot simply be to determine whether autistic people can fit into existing structures. The deeper challenge is whether our structures themselves reflect the Church’s belief that every person is made in the image of God.
Formation should not require autistic people to hide who they are. It should help them become more fully themselves in Christ. A truly Catholic approach to formation would recognise neurodiversity not as a problem to be overcome, but as one of the many ways in which God’s image is reflected in humanity.
The question before us is not merely whether autistic people belong in seminaries. The question is whether seminaries and formation programmes are prepared to become places where autistic people can genuinely belong, flourish and respond to the call of God without first having to disguise the people God created them to be.