Prayers for World Autism Day 2024

In recognition of World Autism Day 2024, we are pleased to offer a Short Form of our Prayer Petitions for Autism’s Belonging in the Body of Christ. The Short Form is, like the full list, free to download, print, copy and share for any use, individually or in groups, including adaptation for Prayers of the Faithful at daily or weekly Mass. Likewise, this post may also be shared freely, that people in communities far and wide may join with us in prayer!

Download Page for short form: https://autismconsecrated.com/prayers-for-autism-belonging-short-form/

Download Page for full list: https://autismconsecrated.com/autism-consecrated-prayer-intentions-any-dates-2/

The short form is as follows.

Prayers For Autism’s Belonging in the Body of Christ

Heavenly Father, we offer these prayers to You, that we may humbly recognize where we stand, and where we fall short, in supporting the autistic community. We ask You to give us the grace of healing and reconciliation where wounds and division exist.

May we:

  • Realize, and counteract, language and attitudes which stigmatize and pathologize autism
  • See autistic social, emotional, and cognitive processing as equal in dignity to neurotypical processing
  • Design our space such that autistic people are not expected to mask, suppress or replace neurodivergent traits
  • Grow in empathy toward the experiences of autistic individuals
  • Embrace a spirit of humility, repentance and curiosity as we acknowledge where we still lack understanding and comprehension of the autistic experience, including:
    • Communication (including non-spoken communication)
    • Sensory processing and overload
    • Emotional processing, alexithymia, and hyperempathy
    • Information processing and overload
    • Performance pressure, social rejection, and exclusion
    • Hidden co-occurring conditions such as dyspraxia, dysautonomia, joint hypermobility, migraine, food sensitivity
  • Appreciate the presence of autistic members of the community, realizing that it is not possible to know if someone is or is not autistic by assumption, and that autism is present in all age groups
  • Ponder how many neurodivergent people in our community cannot be present because of a lack of support, and how we can extend to them the chance to authentically belong
  • Strive to make our community accessible, welcoming, and accepting to neurodivergent people
  • See the obstacles which prevent or impede neurodivergent people from being present in our community
  • Invite neurodivergent people in our community to lead, rather than be led; teach, rather than be taught; explain things to us, rather than be told how things are
  • Promote a culture of neurodiversity
  • Look to autistic members of the community for guidance and suggestions on how to support and maintain accessibility and regular participation by neurodivergent individuals
  • Outwardly demonstrate how striving to make our community more accessible to autistic members benefits everyone

May we seek forgiveness for the times we have:

  • Perpetuated inaccurate and unhelpful stereotypes
  • Allowed fear and pride to limit our generosity, creativity, and hospitality
  • Cited scarcity of resources in upholding the status quo
  • Relied on numbers to justify or deny accommodations, rather than upholding the value of the individual
  • Made assumptions or decisions for autistic individuals without their input
  • Failed to believe an autistic person’s experience
  • Turned an autistic person away from our community for being autistic
  • Lectured an autistic person about the unsuitability or inconvenience of their needs
  • Failed to include, invite, or respond to autistic individuals in community activities
  • Passed over an autistic person for volunteer or leadership positions, for the sake of their autism
  • Cast autistic traits as character flaws
  • Allowed convenience, popular opinion, fear, or jealousy to influence how we respond to requests for accommodations and accessibility
  • Required autistic individuals to suppress, mask, or eliminate neurodivergent traits in order to participate or belong

We ask this all in Jesus’ Name: Lord, hear our prayer!

AMEN.

 

Thank you for praying with us!

Looking ahead: Easter into April

It is with deep gratitude that we acknowledge the worldwide and encouraging response to our Daily Lenten Prayer Petitions for autism’s belonging in the Body of Christ. We truly thank everyone who has joined us in prayer, and we assure you that you have been instrumental in stirring up grace and new life where it has been greatly needed.

With the Easter season ushering in April, we have the opportunity to take these prayers a step further. If Lent showed us a way through the spiritual desert many of us experience from a lack of understanding and support for our autistic needs, then we have a ready reference in hand to offer our communities during the month dedicated in most places to autism awareness, acceptance and affirmation. As such, we have taken our Lenten prayers and written them so as to be suitable for praying any time, any day, any week, any season. As individuals, we can pray them in sequence, cycling through with renewed resolution each time we begin the set again. As parishes, we might use them specifically during April as a meaningful way to mark Autism Month in the Prayers of the Faithful. As Church, we may reflect on each petition as a way to assess how we are doing, and what we need to do, to support and champion neurodiversity in the Body of Christ. In whatever way the Spirit moves us, may we use these prayers to the glory of God.

Autism Consecrated’s Prayer Intentions are free to download, print, share and use as individuals and groups. May God bless and renew each one of us this April, and beyond!

A Lenten Daily Prayer Calendar to Realize Autism’s Belonging in the Body of Christ

Jesus, Re-member Us!

Lent necessarily evokes a certain imagery of journey: a voluntary withdrawal to a place of self-scrutiny to shed habits acquired from the world’s false theology of power, utility, and convenience, followed by a going forth with new resolve and better understanding of God’s intended Way. We often refer to this as a pilgrimage to the desert, evoking the literal path taken by Our Lord (and Israel before him) dedicated to prayer, self-emptying and preparation for the mission ahead. Desert life is likewise well-suited to pilgrimage, in that there are few places of concealment. The bright, hot sun starkly exposes who we are and what we carry with us, including aspects of ourselves and our habits which we might prefer stay hidden in our interior shadows; yet we soon realize the necessity of letting go of superfluous cargo if we are to survive the journey. Likewise, the desert’s vast stretches of isolation provide an environment free of diversions which might delay our reckoning. And then, the scarcity of resources reminds us unambiguously of our utter dependence on God, as well as the needs and interdependence of every member of the Body – both literally in our our own physiology, and figuratively in our reliance on mutual support within our communities.

For many autistic people, we are already in the desert. We are isolated, hungry, thirsty, and out of range of communication. We send signals, we explain our needs, we offer our services – but we are not seen, heard, or understood. It very much feels like involuntary exile without a clear or valid reason.

This experience is not unique to autistic people; indeed, the Church itself knows what it feels like to be excluded and isolated from secular society. In similar fashion, the Church communicates the Gospel message in many ways, yet is often not heard or understood. Nobody would argue that the Church is neither valued by contemporary society nor has much influence on public policy or cultural mores. It would be fair to say that the Church today finds itself in a very similar place as regards the secular world as autistic people. Wouldn’t it seem, then, that the experience of autistic people – who are very familiar with this sort of desert living – might be a great asset, and a source of wisdom, to the Church as a whole?

Unfortunately, autistic people are not only exiles from the cult of normalcy at large in the world. We are equally marginalized within the Church, the Body of Christ, by leaders who routinely ascribe to and apply the same standards as those held by that same secular cult of normalcy. A glance through our previous blog posts bears this out all too abundantly. To be fair, there are numerous parishes and dioceses who do take an active interest in supporting neurodivergent needs, and for these, we are truly grateful. We are not suggesting that the landscape is completely barren or bleak. We are, however, painfully aware that there are still many wounds yet to be healed, and many members of the Body who remain in exile from parishes, dioceses and communities who do not see the need to respond. It is to these communities we especially extend this invitation: Join us, this Lent, in our desert. And, to those who are already supporting neurodivergent members in the Body of Christ, as well as all our neurodivergent members far and wide: please, strengthen the Body for this journey with your prayers, too!

The following calendar serves as a map for such a journey. Each Lenten Day offers a prayer petition for pilgrims to draw ever closer to those of us who wait in hope for recognition, for reconciliation, and for our gifts and presence to be found acceptable by the rest of the Body.

On the Cross, the Good Thief – himself an exile from the community – made this prayer: “Jesus, remember me when You come into Your Kingdom.” This Lent, we ask Jesus to re-member us… to restore the exiled parts of His Body with circulation and nourishment and belonging.

Jesus promises “where two or more gather in My Name, I am there among them.” Be assured that this prayer calendar is being prayed by us here at Autism Consecrated. Whoever joins us in our prayer is united with us in Christ, and becomes a vital part of naming – and healing – the unfortunate effects of indifference, misunderstanding and outdated approaches to neurodiversity.  May we pray together: JESUS, RE-MEMBER US!

– Aimée O’Connell, T.O.Carm., and Rev. Mark P. Nolette

Further reading

Waldock, K.E. and Sango, P.N. (2023): Autism, faith and churches: The research landscape and where we go next. Autism and Faith, Vol. 20, No. 1. Retrieved on 2/2/24 from https://ojs.st-andrews.ac.uk/index.php/TIS/article/view/2578/1982.

Autism Consecrated grants full permission to print, share, save, forward, and distribute this calendar among individuals, groups and parishes.

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Autism Consecrated grants full permission to print, share, save, forward, and distribute images of this calendar among individuals, groups and parishes.

2024 Lenten Prayers to Realize Autism’s Belonging in the Body of Christ 

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2024 Lenten Prayers to Realize Autism’s Belonging in the Body of Christ 

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Praying for vocations?

It’s a safe guess that everyone reading this post will have seen, in one form or another, requests to pray for an increase in vocations to the priesthood, diaconate, religious and consecrated life. Rare is the Diocese with an abundance of priests, or the monastery overflowing with novices, anywhere in the world.

How is it, then, that a decent number of neurodivergent people feeling called to vocations are being turned away?  Worse still, how is it that many of these individuals are being welcomed and encouraged right up until the very moment they drop the “a” word (i.e., “autistic”), and then are stonewalled by a change of tone? Suddenly, the interest drops, the cordiality evaporates, and a businesslike manner takes hold: “We’re sorry, but after further consideration, we don’t think you will be a good fit.”

Excuse me?

If we can set aside the intense pain of such rejection without warning, what is it, objectively speaking, which makes an autistic person unfit for priesthood, diaconate, or religious life?

It’s an important question, considering that this is what we are hearing, again and again, especially from religious orders: autistic people need not apply.

In the absence of any obvious impediments, this rationale is tantamount to selective abortion. The same gravely flawed formula which pushes parents to end the lives of unborn children for the sake of avoiding anticipated hardships due to disability is being applied on a regular basis toward autistic people in the Church who feel genuinely called to religious life, and who respond with sincere intention.

Pray for vocations… but, only from among the fittest?

With apologies to Matthew 25, Our Lord is answering the prayer for vocations in great abundance, but He is being rejected by the very people sounding the call. He arrives in unmasked truth: vulnerable, humble, and open-handed. Rather than embracing Him at the door, we are yielding to the warnings of fearmongering experts, willingly allowing specters of pathology to eclipse the answered prayer before us. Calculating the risks, we turn Him away.

Aborting vocations. One after another.

How much longer, O Lord? How many autistic vocations are snuffed out by directors who refuse to trust that God knows what He is about when He chooses the people He chooses to work in His vineyard?

Pray for vocations? Not until we first pray for vocations directors, and for all the vocations obstructed by those who are threatened by vulnerability.

 

 

Domestic Prayer Missionaries of Saint Thorlak

Tomorrow (14 December) begins the Novena in Honor of Saint Thorlák, prayed during the nine days leading up to his feast day of 23 December.

This year, we would like to suggest praying this novena as a spiritual bouquet to the clergy serving in the Diocese of Reykjavik: offering our prayers for the intentions and wellbeing of its sixteen priests, one deacon and one seminarian.

This bouquet reflects the prayer on a regular basis throughout the year by the Domestic Prayer Missionaries of Saint Thorlák, a volunteer corps of missionaries-in-place whose work is to pray from where we are, in our current circumstances, in our present states of body and mind.  We are “domestic,” meaning, staying in place; we pray from wherever we are able to be, transforming “everywhere” into one, common household, one family of God: “Domestic” Missionaries of St. Thorlák do our work from within the “home” of God’s Household. This Domestic form of missionary work differs from that of missionaries who leave home to do their work elsewhere, publicly.

The Domestic Prayer Missionaries’ focus is prayer in any way we are capable, including all forms of communication: fully spoken, low speaking, variably spoken and non-speaking. Our prayer takes the form of however we best express our hearts and intentions to God, in the place best suited to our abilities: at home, in chapel, outdoors; standing, kneeling, sitting, walking; wherever we connect fully with God at any given moment. Many Domestic Missionaries spend their time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, but others may pray better in motion. Some “practice the presence of God” throughout the day, offering as we go, and some simply focus on the breath in prayer (e.g., breathe in “My Jesus,” breathe out “Mercy”) to create a “chapel of the heart” wherever we happen to be. Domestic Missionary prayer deliberately minimizes physical and social demands to keep our efforts focused on prayer. We draw special inspiration from the ways of Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection, whose Practice of the Presence of God is an excellent model for anyone, in any state of ability or disability, to offer prayers efficaciously and sincerely alongside those called to more conventional and active forms of missionary work.

To learn more about the Domestic Prayer Missionaries of Saint Thorlák, or to become a Prayer Missionary yourself, download our prayer manual or contact us at AutismConsecrated.Com.

 

Domestic Missionaries of Saint Thorlak – Prayer Booklet

 

 

As we mourn in lonely exile here

by Aimée O’Connell

 

Autistic theologian Grant Macaskill, speaking on the difference between inclusion and belonging, says:

 

“To belong, you have to be missed;

to belong, you have to be named,

and enjoyed,

even in bodily absence;

and your absence has to be acknowledged

as an absence only from the physical space

and not an absence from the presence or from the workings of God.”

 

(Excerpted from The 2023 Scottish Episcopal Institute lecture, “Disabling Norms and Acentering Churches: Autism, Long Covid and the Return of the Old Normal” – October 26, 2023)

 

 

Advent is upon us, and we revisit the liturgical theme of waiting in hope: mournful, weary waiting; darkness, yearning for light; the forgotten, longing to be remembered; the invisible, seeking to be known. Advent is a natural fit for neurodivergent people who are already familiar with “exile” in our ordinary lives. All too often, we feel this separation most acutely from the margins of our parishes and church communities, having wandered there after learning we must check our vulnerabilities at the door in order to gain access, and finding the task insurmountable.

Armand Léon Van Ommen, a colleague of Grant Macaskill at the Centre for Autism and Theology at the University of Aberdeen, has published a book addressing this problem, Autism and Worship: A Liturgical Theology (Baylor University Press, 2023). What follows here is Fr. Mark Nolette’s review of this book, which also appears on his blog, The Anchorite.

 

Autism and Worship (A Book Review)

 

Look down from heaven and regard us

from your holy and glorious palace!

Where is your zealous care and your might,

your surge of pity?

Your mercy hold not back!

For you are our father.

Were Abraham not to know us,

nor Israel to acknowledge us,

You, Lord, are our father,

our redeemer you are named from of old.

Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down,

with the mountains quaking before you!

Isaiah 63:15-16; 19

 

In a recent survey, nearly a thousand Protestant pastors were asked if people with disabilities would feel welcome in their churches. About 98 percent responded yes, of course they would feel welcome. How could anyone dare to hint otherwise? I know of no similar survey done of Catholic pastors, but I have every reason to believe that the result would be the same. Moreover, nearly every convention or workshop that I have seen advertised on the topic of ministry to disabled people always makes it a point to thank Catholic parish leaders for the splendid work they are already doing in this area. Many parishes like to use hymns such as “All Are Welcome” to bolster this conception. We’re there, or so we are to believe. Our doors are open. Ramps are in place. What else is there to do?

When we look at statistics from the point of view of autistic people, however, a very different picture emerges. Disabled people attend Sunday Mass less frequently than the typical Catholic. Some people have physical disabilities that make going to church or being there simply too difficult. Many are shut-ins, and have the Eucharist brought to them. Statistics consistently show us that, of all the varieties of disabilities that are out there, autistic people attend Mass (or services in Protestant churches) less often than any other group of disabled people. This is true even though many autistic people are physically capable of going to church.

 

Why is this? Are autistic people simply too lazy? Are they looking for an excuse to not go to Mass? Do they need to try harder?

 

Since I became involved with Autism Consecrated, I have seen messages from other autistic people who share their experiences of dealing with parish leadership. The stories are heartbreaking. It takes a great deal of faith to continue to seek a connection with the Church when one is constantly running into cement walls of misunderstanding and being ignored. We would all love it if the Lord would rend the heavens and come down, and thus become our shepherd!

Some parishes have lighting reminiscent of interrogation rooms. Some turn up their sound systems way too loud. Many parish communities show no patience or empathy for those who have differing needs. Harsh lighting actually causes some of us pain; it disables us so we cannot stay. Loud sound systems do this for others. Still others are overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and the seeming impossibility of meeting all their expectations. Youth ministry groups meet in loud gyms and presume that all teens love noise and physical activity – the kinds of things that have caused autistic teens humiliation before.

It’s not that we haven’t tried. However, we can’t seem to find the right password to get anyone to listen to us. We propose a sensory friendly Mass and are told that there are too few of us for them to bother with that. Some parishes offer a sensory-friendly room, which is a start, but it keeps autistic folks out of sight and out of mind, and lets everyone else think that all is well. Imagine a family where one child had to eat meals in a separate room, out of sight of the others. Would that child feel like a part of the family?

How, then, can we have a situation where the overwhelming majority of Church leaders believe that their communities are welcoming, while the majority of autistic people feel most unwelcome no matter what they say or do? How can we feel like we matter to the Church when no one will listen to our genuine needs? When no one even misses us when we are not there, or blames us if we are not there on Sunday?

Seeking to address such cognitive dissonance, Armand Léon van Ommen offers us his latest book, Autism and Worship. Dr. van Ommen is co-chair of the Centre for Autism and Theology (CAT) at the University of Aberdeen, Scotland. The other co-chair of CAT, Dr. Grant Macaskill, has already given us the excellent Autism and the Church – as much a must-read as this book, Autism and Worship, is for anyone who deals with community worship on any level.

Autism and Worship is a scholarly work, with plenty of footnotes and an extensive and fine bibliography. At the same time, the book remains readable for most educated laypeople. The writing style is generally easy to follow. Dr. van Ommen is not Catholic, but he cites a number of Catholic authors. He also quotes Vatican II’s Constitution on the Liturgy, Sacrosanctum Concilium. I say this to affirm that there is very little here that is not in harmony with basic Catholic teaching on the Church and the liturgy. In fact, Dr. van Ommen argues that one major factor of the cognitive dissonance that many autistic people feel when it comes to church participation is a refusal to be consistent with the theology and the liturgy that we already claim to believe in.  The other factor is a refusal to listen to and take seriously the stories that autistic people themselves tell.

Too often, as is the case with other kinds of disabled people, the tendency in church settings (and many other settings) is to talk about autistic people and not with them. This habit is based on a medical approach, describing anything that is common to autistic people as pathological in nature, usually without bothering to hear from autistic people as to what such behaviors actually reflect. Most parish communities use the medical model as a justification in the exclusion of autistic people (passively or actively) instead of personally relating to them. In fact, churches do not need diagnoses, workshops or programs to minister to autistic people; they need vulnerability and compassion. As Dr. van Ommen shows, this goes a very long way.

This book begins by offering its readers an orientation to help them best understand the issues at hand. The first chapter deals with the need to be sensitive in the language we use to speak of autistic people. It introduces the emerging field of autism theology and introduces stories by autistic people about how they experience liturgy.

The second chapter wrestles with the nature and definition of autism, showing why the definition has shifted over time. This helps explain the confusion and lack of knowledge about autism today, as many of these explanations of autism exist side-by-side, even in the psychology community. It also shows that there is a real opening for us to speak theologically about autism.

The third chapter offers an explanation for what has become the major obstacle for Christian communities of all kinds to truly welcome autistic people (and others). The obstacle? Most people have been co-opted by the “cult of normalcy”, a phrase van Ommen gets from Lennard Davis and Thomas Reynolds. They no longer value people according to the Gospel, but according to the dictates of the god Normal and the goddess Average. The argument of this chapter is not unlike that which St. Paul makes to the Corinthians who have become divided because they have forgotten Christ and adopted the ways of the surrounding culture. The argument in this chapter is eye-opening and compelling. Once you see it, you cannot “un-see” it.

The fourth and fifth chapters are the heart of this book. Here is where Dr. van Ommen makes his argument from philosophy, theology and liturgy. We learn of the French philosopher Gabriel Marcel’s concept of availability. We are led from there to the Christian idea of kenosis (the self-emptying of Christ) and how this makes real availability possible by anyone who graciously lives this out. This kenosis cleanses us from our fear of deviating from the cult of normalcy and emboldens us to embrace a new (or better, the original) definition of who we are as Church, allowing it to shine forth in all its splendor. This, then, becomes the Church that is reflected in its liturgy, for liturgy (among other things) shows the Church who and what it is. If autistic people (among others) are not truly welcomed in liturgy, the Church is not truly itself.

The sixth chapter tells the story of how one community, the Chapel of Christ Our Hope in Singapore, has been making an effort to truly welcome the autistic people in their midst. This community has about 25-30 autistic members. It tries to live out a theology of availability by listening to autistic people and offering what accommodations it can to help them worship. (It should be noted that such accommodations are not “unusual”, but are no different than wheelchairs, hearing aids, or eyeglasses.) One of the striking things about the experience of this worshipping community is that these accommodations did not involve any change in the structure of the liturgy itself, but were all about changes in the attitudes of the community as a whole and its leaders.

Who, then, should read this book? Autistic Catholics (and Christians in general) will find this book encouraging. Someone listens; someone gets it. Parish and diocesan leadership should read this book in a spirit of kenosis. There is a group of people they have excluded (knowingly or unknowingly) not only from liturgy but from the overall life of their communities. Repentance and conversion are needed. This is no time to maintain the usual spin. In this sense, this book would be a good read for Advent or Lent. Anyone in any kind of training for ministry should read this book. Anyone who would like to begin to see all this from the angle of their autistic sisters and brothers should read this book.

In short, I cannot recommend this book highly enough. I found myself pausing at nearly every page to reflect on some statement or insight. Dr. van Ommen says that he is not autistic, but he has modeled what he advocates. He has listened extensively to autistic people. Their voices matter in this book. It shows. Read it!

– Fr. Mark Nolette

 

The Leaky Cup: A Parable

There once was a family who was part of a large Catholic parish.  This parish was a flourishing center of faith and fellowship, highly attended every weekend and host to many ministries and activities during the week.  Of all the gatherings sponsored by the parish, the most popular by far was the weekly Community Dinner offered every Friday night.  People young and old, from all walks of life, eagerly filled the parish hall to partake of the feast, freshly prepared and served by parish staff and members of the social ministry committee.

This family was among the many who came each week to eat and enjoy the camaraderie.  Curiously, it seemed that as often as they dined there, at least one of their cups had a leak, and needed to be refilled more frequently.  Week after week, the family ate with friends and neighbors just the same, but the food servers noticed how often one of them would ask again and again for more water.  Soon, the staff began to muse among themselves.  Was this family more careless than their neighbors?  Was the water being spilled?  Were they greedier than the other families?  Was there something wrong with one of them, that they drank so much water?  After a few more weeks, the staff started asking these questions directly of the family, who replied honestly that one of their cups seemed to have a leak, so their water needed filling more often.  The servers grumbled impatiently once back in the kitchen, wondering why this family could not use cups like everyone else did.  They speculated that the family might be purposefully doing this for attention.  Maybe they needed to be shown the proper way to use cups, or should learn not to ask for more than their allotted portion.  Eventually, the staff began to refuse this family water refills.  One or two even thought it might be in the best interest of the community to ask this family to not attend the dinners – at least until they can learn better manners, or, at the very least, show some gratitude.

Finally, one Friday, the pastor himself was helping prepare and serve the food in the kitchen, and overheard the talk begin about the family with the leaky cup.  As one of the servers scoffed that it was not possible for this to be a random problem week after week, the pastor spoke up in agreement.  “You are right,” he said.  “This can’t be happening by accident.”

The servers were pleased that the pastor noticed the problem too, and asked what he planned to do about it.

“Nothing,” he said.  “I am the one who gave them that cup.”

Taken by surprise, the servers were at a loss for words.  The pastor continued: “It is very easy to become complacent with what we do in the name of service… and so, to make sure we keep the elements of solicitude, compassion and hospitality at the front of everything we do, I asked that family if they would be willing to take a very special cup I’d set aside for them to use, week after week.  I call that particular cup, ‘the cup of kindness,’ as it brings us to the very brink of human need each time the holder asks in humility for it to be refilled.”

The kitchen staff looked down and said nothing.  The pastor added, “Since it’s just water, I didn’t think anyone would begrudge the family a few extra refills.  They have been very gracious to keep the one with the leak for me.  I’d asked around before I found a family willing to regularly use a cup with an imperfection.  Most people said they are here to enjoy a meal, not to have any extra hassle.  I finally found a family with the foresight to see that this cup was good to use at any table, and would in fact be an avenue for blessing and grace for the entire community.”

The pastor excused himself, noticing the food was nearly ready to be plated.  The servers were unusually quiet for the rest of that night, but as they brought plates and poured drinks, they found themselves focusing less on the cups and dishware and more on the people using them.  And thus it was that the leaky cup brought more to the banquet, exactly as it was, than anyone ever imagined it could.

 

How do people respond to your leaky cup?

 

Raise your hand if you’re not here

by Aimée O’Connell

Next time you go to church, look around and get an idea of how many neurodivergent (i.e., autistic and/or ADHD) people are in attendance.  It’s a number you’ll want to know if ever you are asked how your parish might offer sensory supports and accommodations for neurodivergent parishioners.

Right away, the difficulty of such a task becomes evident.  Counting ourself, the number is… one? More, maybe, depending on how many of our family members are with us?  How can we truly tell, without falling back on stereotypes?  Somehow, tabulating any “problem behaviors” we see feels unfair… and yet, this is usually how people begin considering what neurodivergent needs exist in any community.  Catechists can usually pick out the students whose sensory and processing needs don’t work well with the way classes and instruction are expected to run, for instance.  Parishioners learn to recognize which little ones have the most difficulty sitting still and staying quiet during the liturgy.  But that only takes into account the younger members of the parish.  Where would we look for the neurodivergent teens and adults?  Youth ministry? CYO? Bible study? Social ministry and volunteer committees?

Mmm… not exactly.

In many parishes, neurodivergent teens and adults simply do not participate.  Sometimes this is voluntary avoidance on their part… and, sometimes, this is the result of participation being discouraged by the parish.

Yes, you read that correctly.

Sometimes subtly, sometimes directly… sometimes by deliberate omission… sometimes by an accumulation of unkind gestures which finally reach a breaking point.  Sometimes by fellow parishioners, and sometimes by parish staff.

It is not an exaggeration to say that a large portion of people who reach out to Autism Consecrated do so in distress and sorrow after being told, in one form or another, that their sensory needs are a nuisance, a distraction, a burden… or a sign of bad character.  The prevailing belief seems to be that autism and ADHD are childhood conditions, and those parishes offering support and accommodations only do so for children.  Teens and adults are expected to either have no further needs or to meet their own needs for themselves.

How can this be? Is it that parish resources are limited, and what few helps exist must go to the children first?

More often, the reason given is that there aren’t any [or, aren’t enough] teens or adults with special needs to justify further supports. Making accommodations for a small number of adults is considered catering, and nobody wants to give preferential treatment to one or two fussy parishioners. Better they should learn how to cope, like the rest of us.

But, you say, maybe the parish does not yet understand what the needs are, and would do better if they had a better explanation!

You’d think.  But it has also been our experience in hearing story after story that these explanations are anything but helpful.  Many neurodivergent people have taken great pains to describe their needs and find ways to meet parishes halfway in finding accommodations for them to be able to attend liturgies and social events.  The response has been tepid at best and callous at worst.  Teens have been cut from youth group rosters rather than efforts made to adapt existing programs.  Adults have been asked to leave Bible study for asking too many questions or taking too long to respond in small-group sharing sessions.  Priests have given homilies sarcastically asking if people leaving Mass early enjoy their early bird dinners and sporting events, when in fact there are some who have left on the verge of sensory meltdown after enduring overload from the lights, music and pressures of having to suppress their neurodivergent needs.  Ear defenders have been yanked from people’s heads for being disrespectful.  When people have asked for basic accommodations ahead of planning meetings and volunteer events, their messages are not returned, and the meetings go ahead without them – finding them afterward branded as a no-show.

Other times, it’s a Catch-22.  When neurodivergent adults have availed themselves of the supports offered, such as a cry room, they are summarily told these spaces are for children, not to be taken advantage of by bored or restless adults looking for more legroom.  Or, parishes have offered a designated sensory support space for neurodivergent parishioners, only to “borrow” the space during Masses for other purposes, acting surprised when someone wants to use the room that was supposed to be for their needs.  Some parishes offer adaptive First Communion prep and pictorial guides designated for children.  A good start, yes, but when those autistic children have grown into teens, they find that there are no similar supports for participation and sacramental prep as teens and young adults.  For that matter, many parishes have adaptive catechetical resources for young children, but nothing adaptive for RCIA.  (In fact, if you search online for “adaptive RCIA,” the results all point to how to make RCIA accessible to children, not adults).

These are not hypothetical situations.  These have all actually happened… and are actually happening.  Many neurodivergent teens and adults have tried their best to participate but find themselves left out anyway.  Many now simply stay home because the combined demand of participation and fielding criticism is too much.

Recent estimates suggest one in fifty adults may be neurodivergent.  That number is likely too low, as it is extremely difficult for adults to be formally assessed for autism and ADHD, even when they show a majority of the defining characteristics of either or both. Some have proposed that a better estimate  assumes one autistic/ADHD adult for every autistic/ADHD child we know.  (See more in the articles linked at the end).  If that’s the case, it’s safe to say that every parish has at least one person with sensory needs, with the actual number being much higher.

It’s hard to count how many of us there are when parishes keep turning us away.  Where is the spirit of John 18:9, “I did not lose a single one of those whom you gave me”?

We must pray all the more that our parishes awaken to the words of Luke 19:10, “The Son of Man came to seek and save the lost.”  May we especially apply this to the lost generation of neurodivergent adults.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A sampling of articles for further insight:

 

 

An update on the Virtual Café

It is nearly two months after Autism Consecrated introduced our Virtual Café, and the concept is doing exactly what we had hoped it would.

In offering a Virtual Café, we sought to provide something simultaneously real and imaginary, simultaneously tangible and intangible.  Whereas an actual café might be a building offering an oasis of refreshment, our concept goes one step further by requiring participation of the imagination.  What distinguishes the experience is that it is a shared activity – the formation of a community in the unseen, where empathy and acceptance exist unbounded by tangible limitations.  When we offer a space to rest and recharge without pressure, that space comes from the constructs of our attitudes, our beliefs, our desires, our intentions, and our lived experience.  It is what ultimately drives any sense of refreshment our visitors will experience and take with them.  None of those things are “make believe.”  The hospitality we extend is very real. We know what it is like to live in a world that dismisses autistic needs as irrelevant to the community, as individual hardships to be endured without inconveniencing the many… and we also know that is not the way human beings are designed to live.  Our goal is to make St. Thorlak’s Virtual Café  a place where empathy and compassion are freely and happily given, as often as our cups need refilling.

We are pleased to have a model at hand showing that neurodivergent hospitality can, in fact, be offered in a readily applicable and sustainable way.  St. Thorlak’s Virtual Café has no other operating cost than the fraction of the web domain devoted to its posting.  The resources needed can be readily found in the imagination… in the unseen… in the creativity that flows from the mere attitude of welcoming one another.  Would that brick and mortar institutions might notice that inclusion and belonging are not prohibited by either the limitations of disability or the lack of physical resources and accommodations.

The Cross of Autism

This article was first posted with the Mission of Saint Thorlak in April, 2019.

by Aimée O’Connell

When Good Friday gives us pause to consider Jesus’ Passion and Crucifixion, our attention is most naturally focused on suffering, even to the extent where the words “cross” and “suffering” have become intertwined in the Christian lexicon.  For much of my life, I have equated “the cross of autism” with enduring the suffering particular to this condition and accepting it as my lot.  Perpetual anxiety, painful sensitivities to light and sound, headache and nausea in noise and crowds, inability to express emotions, difficulty speaking… all of these have been realities for me, along with debilitating exhaustion and a heavy measure of self-loathing when I fall short in acting up to social expectations.  All of this seemed in line with how I took Jesus’ Passion and Crucifixion to be.  In my spiritual immaturity, I saw Jesus’ suffering as a demonstration of “walk it off.” Take what life deals us, even when it’s unfair, and carry on without complaining.

Perfection in suffering, to me, seemed that I should do it so that nobody knew I was suffering at all.  I reinforced this idea with Mother Teresa’s admonishment to “do everything with a smile,” and with Matthew 6:17, which exhorts us to fast and sacrifice without making a show of ourselves.  I also tried to rationalize this through St. Therese’s Little Way, proposing that “doing things with great love” meant doing them so as not to bother the people around me with my problems.

Through the grace of God, and the fruits of my time spent in prayer this Lent, I am learning to see now that this is not at all correct.  It is an overly literal distortion of what is actually meant by each of those spiritual maxims.  My view has been rooted in manipulation – that is to say, manipulating my suffering to such a degree that I denied it, and I denied myself the chance to experience it fully.  In denying the truth of what I suffered, I paid the triple price of ordinary exhaustion plus the extra work of maintaining an untruth plus enslaving myself to standards I cannot possibly reach or maintain (and in the process, unfairly raising the expectations of others).

I see now that Jesus never “walked it off.”  He knowingly faced his accusers with complete vulnerability.  He told the truth of who he was, knowing it would be rejected, mocked, ridiculed and punished.  He made no pretense that the scourging was mortally painful.  He did not suggest he had the strength to carry the cross.  He did not say he would not die if he was crucified.  He knew every one of his limitations, and he offered them to the extent he could.

The actual cross of autism is embracing what I can and cannot do, in the same plain nakedness as Jesus.  To do this, as St. Therese implores, “with love,” it is not to pretend it is fun or easy.  Rather, it is to accept and believe that I am loved as I do.  Even in my weakness and shortfall, God loves me fully… right here, right now.

And, guess what?  This new way is harder.  Walking it off is nothing compared to checking my pride and admitting that I can’t do something, especially when it’s someone I don’t want to disappoint, like a friend or a superior or a family member.  Admitting the truth would actually spare me the pain of sensory overload and trying to do what I don’t have the energy or adequate capability to do, but it requires stripping myself of the clothing of my pride.  In that moment of truth, it is so tempting to heed the voice of the thief tempting me to avoid the cross and save myself from revealing my vulnerability. But, as we saw with the two thieves beside Jesus, one embraced his need and brought God present; the other sneered, preventing God’s grace from saving him.  Even on Calvary, where two or more acknowledge their need before God, there He is with them (Matthew 18:20).

The ordinary suffering of autism remains the same.  The anxiety, the exhaustion and the sensory overload are part and parcel of our condition. But in the absence of acknowledging this truth about ourselves, the suffering becomes dead weight… a thankless burden we adopt in exchange for the chance to look strong, to avoid being naked in our need, to not be mocked, criticized, or accused of being lazy. Yet, we know what’s true.  Are we willing to stand up for that truth, as Jesus did?  We begin by accepting God’s immediate, unconditional love in these weakest, most naked moments of truth… and discovering, to our surprise, that God’s love alone is real and plentiful enough to withstand the insults of those who refuse to believe, and to sustain us through all of our needs – good measure, and flowing over.

May each of us experience the reality of this love, abundantly, as we meditate upon the mystery of the Cross.