by Father Mark P. Nolette
We are about to begin Holy Week.
April is Autism Awareness Month.
We are in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic.
All three realities converge for us now. What do they have to do with one another? Nothing… and everything. The pandemic, and our responses to it, have brought us to a crisis moment as the People of God. There is hope on the horizon – an immense, brilliant hope, hidden in Christ but offered to us now. Before we can perceive this hope, we must acknowledge our situation as it is. This will be very difficult for many. It entails seeing things in a manner differently than the world as a whole sees things. That is why we need to look to autistic people – people who habitually see things differently; people who are not fooled by ‘spin’ – as an example of what this means and how it can work. It is the hour when people who appear to be of no use – such as autistic people and contemplatives – may have something valuable to share with everyone else.
Let us begin.
We Americans like to define ourselves by what we do. We feel better about ourselves when we can tell others how busy we are. We may complain about it, but we also pride ourselves in it. We define others by how well they can adapt to our culture of busyness. We speak of those who cannot keep up as “dis-abled”. We do not respect those who choose to order their lives differently. We plan and fill the hours of our days, our work time and play time. When we must physically stop, we fill the space around us with movies, TV shows, games, and conversation. Our culture of busyness also provides us with the illusion that we are in control of our lives. We have calendars; we have meetings; we have detailed plans and agendas. We have life by the throat – or so we like to think.
Enter COVID-19.
This virus and the methods we have chosen to slow its spread have upended our usual sense of busyness and control. A sense of loss and absence is pervasive. Schools and colleges have either gone to online learning or are shut down completely. Some people must work from home, while others have lost their jobs. Social distancing makes it more difficult to connect with friends and family. Restaurants, movie theaters, museums, and even many parks are closed. Professional sports leagues have cancelled games. Clubs and other social groups have cancelled or postponed activities. The way we shop for groceries has changed. Most states currently have stay-at-home orders in effect for their people. We now find that we have more time on our hands and fewer ways to spend that time. We miss the easy familiarity of friends and relatives. We fear the loss of control. We feel as though we are now in a Twilight Zone episode where everything looks the same on the outside, but our lives have changed profoundly. We do not know how long these changes will last, or how many of us may end up with coronavirus. Where we once knew busyness and control, we now find absence and emptiness.
Absence is suddenly all we see, starting with our own removal from where we normally go. We basically agree that it is a concession, a sacrifice, for a greater good; and then, we seek to fill the space. To lessen the shock of change, we begin finding substitutions to approximate what is missing. Restaurants closed? Then, we can order takeout! Housebound for the evening? Movie marathon! Meetings cancelled? Video conferencing! Birthday party? Neighborhood greetings on parade, viewed from the safety of your window! After a while, this improvisation becomes a badge for the war effort. We cheer each other on as we prove that we can overcome any loss with enough creativity and imagination. Yet, we cannot help but detect the scent of cognitive dissonance in all this. All these actions are substitutes, desperate attempts to convince ourselves that life goes on as usual – except that it isn’t. And we know it.
We look to our Church for help and guidance. In official statements from diocese to diocese, we find instead a reflection of what we see everywhere else, written with such consistency from one diocese to the next that we wonder if there is a template that everyone is passing around. First, we find absence – an absence that we are told, regrettably, is necessary as a response to COVID-19: no public Masses, few if any Sacraments publicly celebrated (or celebrated at all), devotions and other public gatherings cancelled; church buildings in many (but not all) dioceses locked 24/7. Yet, these same official statements assure us that all is well and in control. The work of the Church continues, we are told. We are encouraged to watch livestreamed Masses and make prayers of spiritual communion. Yet again, if we are open, we will catch the scent of cognitive dissonance. The work of the Church is not continuing as it should – and we all know it.
Something is missing here. Something is not being spoken or acknowledged. Until we can fully acknowledge where we are, we cannot know which way we should go from here to move forward. What is missing?
If all we do is attempt to replace one form of busyness with another, we learn nothing. If all we do is try to maintain the illusion that we are in control, we see nothing.
An artist or an architect might tell us that what we are missing is negative space or, more precisely, what only negative space can reveal. Negative space – those areas deliberately kept empty – is as essential as every visible color, line and element in any work of art. The use of space in a painting helps us see the subject as the artist intends. Pauses bring out the melody in a musical piece. Silent moments are a necessary part of any good conversation. Negative space reveals a depth of meaning that color or sound or shape alone cannot offer. If the artist filled all negative space, the work would suffer and even become incomprehensible. Negative space, then, is necessary in art and in life.
How does this concept of negative space enter our discussion of the COVID-19 crisis and how we as a Church can see it and respond to it?
In the Christian spiritual life, we have a term for negative space. We call it contemplation. Contemplation is a long, loving look at the real. Because it is a loving look, it means that we see things through the eyes of God. Because it is a long look, it means that, in order to have that loving, divine perspective, we must create negative space in our hearts and minds. We let go of control and power so that we can look around us with open eyes and humble, loving hearts. Contemplation, or Christian negative space, reminds us that God’s ways are not our ways, that we are all blinded by the world, and that we can only see once we see the truth in love, as God knows it to be. This can only be given us by God as a grace. We cannot control it or set its agenda. We receive it, and then we offer it to all.
Here we must add a warning. Some people have the impression that contemplation should always yield peace of mind; that it is a method to calm fears and anxieties. Not necessarily. Christian contemplation sees what really is with the eyes of love. In this case, we may fear what we might see. We see absence. Emptiness. But it’s not a neutral emptiness. We would not fear that so much. In that empty space, we perceive pain.
What pain do we perceive? There is the pain of the hundreds of thousands who have COVID-19 and the thousands who are dying of it. There is the pain of hundreds of thousands of others who have other afflictions that we might be ignoring now. There is the pain brought about by social distancing and the lack of human touch. There is the fear of what this pandemic will mean for everyone. There is the pain of separation from Mass, the Sacraments, and especially the Eucharist.
All these are our pains. But can we speak of a pain in the very heart of God? Does God not in some mysterious way share our burdens? Does God not know the suffering of those who are ill with COVID-19, or any other illness? Does God not know the pain of social isolation, or anxiety, or uncertainty? When we no longer offer one another the Sacraments – those extremely precious gifts of God to us – have we not, in a sense, spurned God by rejecting His gifts? Does our lack of faith and courage also cause God pain, in that our fears become an obstacle to His love and mercy?
When we stand in the love of God, we have the courage to face all such pain. Where do we go from here? Where does hope enter in?
The Scriptures show us. Faced with such overwhelming pain, people in the Scriptures lament. We see it in the Psalms, first of all. We see it in the prophets. Jesus weeps and laments over Jerusalem for its inability to recognize what the Father was offering it through Him. So must we lament.
What should we lament? We lament the pandemic itself and the great suffering it has caused to so many around the world. We lament the effects of the measures taken to try to curb the pandemic – the social separation, the loss of jobs, the weakening of a sense of community, the loss of access even to many of the Sacraments. We lament our refusal to pause our busyness long enough to gaze upon the world with that long, loving look of contemplation. We lament how we have treated those who God has sent to show the rest of us how to do this. Since we find lamentation in the Scriptures, we can be assured that the Lord also laments for all these things and more.
Just as many of the lamentation psalms ended in expressions of hope, so, too, hope can truly enter once we have seen with open eyes what is going on, allowed ourselves to feel the pain, and lamented it. Then, and only then, do we know where we truly are. Then, and only then, can the Lord reach us. Recall that His power is best manifested in what the world calls weakness. Foolishness. Failure. Nowhere is this better manifested for us than in the events we are about to commemorate during Holy Week.
Only when we have seen things as they are and lamented them fully can we be truly open to the Lord’s voice in our hearts. Only then can we discover what the Lord has planned for us – a future full of hope and joy. But this future will not come from our own efforts. It will be a gift of God. Living that gift will take plenty of effort, of course. But the gift will make the effort possible.
Where do we go from here? Only the Lord can fully answer that question, if we are serious about trusting Him and loving Him with all our being. Yet, we can say this as a beginning.
First of all, the COVID-19 crisis reminds us that we are not in control and that our plans cannot account for everything. We need something else to add to the mix: we need contemplation. We need that ongoing long, loving look at the real. We need to value it in our lives and live it when we can. We need to value those whom the Lord has called to devote their lives totally to this. We can now see that contemplation is as valuable as action, for action loses its purpose without the negative space of contemplation.
Secondly, we find ourselves struggling to maintain contact with people we like and love. We are challenged by the constraints of social distancing. We feel the uncertainty of a crisis over which we feel little control. All our normal routines are disrupted. Can anyone help us with all this? Who knows how to live such lives? Might it not be the autistic people among us, who have always felt socially distant and challenged? Autistic people, who have always struggled to connect emotionally with people they love? Autistic people, who often feel overwhelmed by life and who try to maintain daily routines? Might this be the moment when autistic people can share their hard-earned wisdom and experience with the world?
Finally, we are about to celebrate Holy Week. This is the week where Jesus made Himself negative space; where He emptied Himself completely, giving His life for us and giving us the Eucharist as the ultimate Sacrament of His presence among us. This would be an excellent time to practice the art of negative space, the art of contemplation, of a long, loving look at the real. Set aside times during Holy Week when you can tune out everything, both outside yourself and within, and say to the Lord, “Here I am!” Be ready to share His love and His sorrow; His joy and His pain. It is all a part of Love. It is all a part of how Love will bring you, by love, to Love.
On this World Autism Awareness Day, we wanted to take a moment to highlight some of the things we have been working on here at Autism Consecrated.
Prayer Cards and Leaflets. The Prayer for Autism Support and Prayer to Consecrate Autism are now available in print format, able to be requested by individuals and also available in bulk quantities for bookstores, parishes, schools and large gatherings.*
(* We recognize that large gatherings are not feasible for the next several weeks, but when regular establishments begin operating once again, we are ready and available.)
Audio Format for Prayers. Though still a work in progress, we are actively exploring options for good-quality audio recordings of the autism prayers on our website.
Translation. We are still looking for volunteers who would be willing to adopt sections of our website content and translate them into languages other than English. This might be a wonderful way to apply free time during the COVID shutdown!
Support for Autistic Clergy and Religious. Over the next several weeks, we are looking to introduce a support area for autistic priests, deacons, seminarians and religious brothers and sisters. We plan to roll out a forum for online gathering and discussion, as well as build an idea bank for approaching and navigating consecrated life on the spectrum. Our long-term vision is to be a place where autistic clergy and religious can find understanding, support and encouragement in their respective vocations, dioceses and communities. If this applies to you, and you have any wishes or suggestions for us in these building stages, we invite you to share these with us directly.
Symposia, Webinars and Retreats. Just before COVID began shutting things down, Autism Consecrated was assembling our inaugural symposium, “Autism Through the Eyes of God,” featuring an array of speakers to discuss the theological implications of autism and inclusion in the Body of Christ. Though our plans are on hold with everything else, we are still intent on bringing this to fruition, one form or another. In the interim, we are exploring alternate ideas for presenting our material and using the down time to brainstorm creative ways to spark and conduct these conversations in the absence of the ability to gather.
In sum: Great things are happening. We are very blessed to be part of it all! Saint Thorlak, pray for us, as we pause to acknowledge the autistic lives that shape our world!
Front and back of our Prayer for Autism Support
Leaflet of the Prayer to Consecrate Autism
In this unprecedented time of shutdown and social distancing, the majority of Catholics worldwide are being asked to stay home instead of congregating for weekly Mass. Though a bit ahead of sequence, we wanted to share a few observations about Mass and the Eucharist. In keeping with our annotation of the Baltimore Catechism, the points we reference come from Lessons 22, 23 and 24 of Baltimore Catechism Four.
Why are priests continuing to say Mass when people are asked to stay home?
Mass is more than a worship service organized by and for the faithful, although that is an undeniably important component. Mass itself is “the unbloody Sacrifice of the Body and Blood of Christ” (lesson 24). Sacrifice itself is an act tracing back to ancient times when something of value would be given over to God in gratitude and acknowledgment of God’s goodness. Most often, the object of the sacrifice would be an animal or harvested produce, and the offering would be made by destroying the object in an act of sending it back to God. Archaic though that seems to people of our time, the underlying sense can be compared to children buying their parents gifts from their allowance money. With every provision we receive coming from God, we are unable to create anything that would be a gift to Him; thus, the practice of taking our best and sending it back was the closest approximation of a gift we might give to God.
Looking at the statement above, then, that the Mass is the unbloody Sacrifice of the Body and Blood of Christ, we encounter the center of our faith. At every Mass, the priest offers God the sacrifice of Christ’s Body and Blood, in an unbloody manner.
Who is offering to whom? Why and how was Christ’s Body and Blood offered in the first place?
On the Cross, Jesus offered His Body and Blood in a gesture of reconciliation and atonement. God chose to become human, suffer and die in an offering of sacrifice on behalf of all humanity. God became human for this purpose — that Jesus may offer humanity back to God through Himself.
The Mass, then, is the continuation of this offering. It is continued each time a priest offers the Body and Blood of Christ by consecrating bread and wine in the words provided by Jesus Himself. When the prayer of consecration is offered worthily, Jesus becomes truly present in that offering. The bread takes on the substance of Jesus’ flesh, and the wine takes on the substance of Jesus’ blood. God, in His mercy, arranged the sacrifice to be made perpetually with material that nourishes and soothes us, rather than horrifies and frightens us, as might happen in witnessing the actual sacrifice as it took place on Calvary. Hence, the sacrifice of the Mass is “unbloody.”
Every time a priest offers Mass, he intercedes for us to God, calling down the tremendous graces released to humanity at the moment of Jesus’ death. Each and every time.
Why, then, do we attend, if the priest can do this without us? What do we add?
Now we’ve hit the heart. In fact, we’ve hit the very core of the Autism Consecrated website. What do we bring to the table? Why show up if we have nothing to contribute?
In terms of utility, what do we add by attending the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass? NOTHING.
Yet, deep in the fiber of our hearts, we know that cannot be true. And that’s right: it’s not true. It’s not about our utility. What do we add by attending Mass? OUR VERY SELVES. Our presence alone suffices as a gift to Our Lord as He offers Himself in love for us. We can never say we have nothing to add if we arrive with open hands and open hearts, to stand in witness and in solidarity with Our Crucified Lord as He suffers betrayal and death to prove just how far He will go to say to each one of us: I LOVE YOU !
The Sacrifice of the Mass is the perpetual outpouring of love from God to His people. That love will pour forth whether we are there or not. But knowing that each Mass is an offering not only of ourselves to God, but of God’s tremendous love to us… how could it be that anyone, regardless of ability, regardless of need… ought not to be there to receive that love?
Technology permits us to watch and pray from a safe distance. As we do, may we realize that we are watching Our Beloved, Jesus, pouring out His love for us. That love is as real and valid as any love. But how much more vividly love touches us when we are able to receive it in person!
May our temporary absence give us time and space to reflect on the true nature of the Mass. More importantly, may we reflect on how it feels to be separated from this Divine Love… and if we can ever say that anyone among us could not benefit, and be of benefit, by attending.
(Ordinarily, Father Mark Nolette’s posts appear on his blog, The Anchorite. If you have not yet seen his page or subscribed to his blog, it is well worth checking out. Since his post today offers very timely support and validation for the autistic community, I am cross-posting here. – Aimee O’Connell)
I begin with a statistic. The New York Times reported this morning that the number of confirmed cases of COVID-19 worldwide, as of yesterday, is 160,000. About half of these are in China. On the one hand, if we focus on this number only, it seems rather small compared to the total population of the planet, which is estimated at over seven billion people. This number is, for the moment, far smaller than the number of people who are infected with a typical late winter flu outbreak. However, that’s not the number that has experts worried. They believe that the number of cases will explode geometrically, becoming many times that number before the outbreak peaks.
How many times?
There we find a difference of opinion. Last week, the New York Times reported on four possible scenarios for how many people in this country could be infected with coronavirus, and how many could die. The estimates of infection range from 15% to 50% of the population. The number of deaths range from 500k to 2 million. The experts acknowledge that containment efforts, if applied, could reduce these estimates. Moreover, because coronavirus is novel, no one knows if some people might have some immunity to it or not.
The fear we are feeling is not so much about the numbers of people who now have it, a number we can safely estimate. The fear is about the uncertainty of how many people will eventually get it, and how bad it will be. Moreover, given that a sizable number of people in this country do not trust scientific or medical experts, that compounds the uncertainty. Moreover, the very existence of this virus among us makes us feel vulnerable. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men (and all the king’s money) cannot drive it away. No wall can keep it out. We Americans are not used to feeling vulnerable. This only heightens the anxiety.
What do we have, then? A grave level of fear and anxiety. An overwhelming sense of impending doom. People grasping at any straw, even to the point of stockpiling toilet paper, in order to feel some sense of security or preparedness. A sense of panic that may be more severe than the virus itself.
Welcome to the world of autistic people.
What I am seeing, as a priest and an autistic person, looks very much like autistic anxiety. Some of the reactions I see look very much to me like autistic meltdown. The anxiety I often feel before a weekend liturgy is something like this. The anxiety I feel when something unexpected, like a funeral, enters my life is something like this. The anxiety I feel when some future plan is still uncertain is something like this. As an autistic person, I have needed to grapple with anxieties like these, learn to decipher them, and learn to live with them. Therefore, I may be able to offer something from my experience as an autistic person that could help many other people during these trying times.
What have I learned that may be of help to others?
1) Things are not as bad as they feel. Yes, I am well aware of the danger of minimizing the risk of coronavirus. However, my sense is that the opposite is the greater danger; that people will panic and make the danger more than it really is. Then, with panic in control, people do not think well. They may make choices that make the situation worse. They may look for people to blame. Sometimes, when I am celebrating Mass, it can feel as though I were the deer and the congregation were all hunters. Now, there’s a kernel of truth in this. Social exposure of this kind is difficult for me. However, it’s not quite as bad as it might feel for me at that moment. In the same way, coronavirus is a real danger, but it’s not quite as bad as our panic might make it out to be.
2) We are not powerless. When anxiety becomes panic, we feel overwhelmed. We feel that we have no control, no options. We learn to step back when this happens and remind ourselves that this is not true. As an autistic person, I know that there are ways to manage anxiety. There are also ways to address the outbreak and reduce the risk. In managing anxiety, there are techniques like cognitive behavioral therapy, which help us examine our thoughts and see if they correspond to what really is. Many people find that a few moments with camomile tea helps them soothe their nerves and be recollected. Then, when anxiety and panic are more manageable, we can look at the actual situation and take appropriate action. There are ways to significantly reduce our risk of catching or spreading coronavirus.
3) We must never deny or ignore our needs. This COVID-19 outbreak reminds us of our fundamental vulnerability as human beings. We may find it difficult to acknowledge this vulnerability, to ourselves or to others. We may feel the overwhelming temptation to camouflage those weak spots at all costs. As an autistic person, I am well aware of my own vulnerabilities and limitations, especially in social situations. Nevertheless, I have found that the stronger and more courageous thing to do is to acknowledge those vulnerabilities to myself and to others. Paradoxically, this unlocks a strength in me and in others that makes all of us stronger. Acknowledging our legitimate needs, and drawing healthy boundaries, are essential for our health and survival. This is all the more true in the stressful situation we now find ourselves in.
4) We are not alone. Perhaps the greatest danger when we feel overwhelmed with intense anxieties, panic, or depression is the sense that each one of us is alone in this. No one else could understand, we tell ourselves. In this kind of isolation, we feel weaker. We become easier prey to panic, depression and despair. As an autistic person, I grew up with a profound sense of being “different” without being able to name that difference. There were things about me that others could not understand, and there were things about others that I could not understand. Though there is truth in this, there is also a danger – the danger of feeling ultimately alone in a dangerous world. When I find others who share some of these attributes with me, I know I am not alone. It is important for us all to share our anxieties and concerns with others so that we know we are not alone.
5) We are saved by Love. Everything I have tried to say is summed up here. It is Love that saves us. It is Love that empowers us. It is Love that assures us, above all, that we are not alone. It is Love that we need more than any other thing. And this Love is God. As an autistic child, I felt more withdrawn from other people than I do now. The first things to reach me were what some call “special interests” – my love for astronomy, dinosaurs, history, and many other things I began to discover. Caught up in love for these things, I could easily talk your ear off, whereas I’d be silent most of the time otherwise. Some see these interests as excessive and pathological. Not necessarily. They are meant, for the autistic person, to be a training ground for love. Learning how to love these things helps us begin to love other people and, ultimately, to love God with that same total devotion that flows from the very marrow of our bones and the very cardiac tissue of our hearts. All of us, faced with the fears caused by this outbreak, can renew our love for our own interests and, especially, for God who is Love. It is this Love that ultimately frees us from panic and fear. We need to do what we can to open ourselves as fully as possible to this Love.
This is why I have argued, and continue to argue, that we need the Sacraments and, especially, the Mass and the Eucharist at this time. Yes, we should follow flu protocols and take all reasonable precautions to safeguard ourselves and our loved ones. However, we cannot deny or ignore our need for Love. Our need for Christ. He has told us that we need to eat His Flesh and drink His Blood so that we might have the fullness of His life in us. Christians of past centuries believed that this need was so fundamental that it was worth risking their lives for it. That has not changed. We need the Lord, and we need to follow His own teaching of how we can best receive His love. Who could know this better than Him?
I leave you with this in the hope that my insight – that our experience of this outbreak parallels autistic experience – will be helpful, as well as my sharing of what I have learned from this. It may be that this outbreak is a time when people who may have been shunned as eccentric or lacking in social graces may have something most valuable to offer the world.
May the love of the Lord be with us, now and always!
by Aimée O’Connell
The shift from Mission of Saint Thorlak to Autism Consecrated may seem to have come quickly from the front-end point of view. However, the people behind the websites have felt the need for changes for some time now. Adopting a new name and look reflects far more than simply rebranding or moving to a permanent webhost.
“We” – that is, myself, Father Mark Nolette and the people who regularly engage with us – are acutely and personally aware of the need for a better discussion of the theology of autism. Where does autism fit into God’s plan? Where do autistic people fit into God’s plan? It’s not that the questions need asking… these questions have been asked about autism and every other disabling condition for decades, if not centuries, in some form. It’s more the fact that the answers have remained the same, and are just as unsatisfactory, starting with the conceptualization of “disability” itself. When a person approaches the community, the wider Body of Christ, with a condition that requires particular accommodations to facilitate their engagement and participation, we can just as easily say the community is “handicapped” [definition: “having a circumstance that makes progress or success difficult”] as many still call people with needful circumstances.
It is usually not helpful to debate if autism is a disability because autistic people find that our success often hinges on the amount of support and understanding we receive from those around us. Difficult tasks are not as challenging when others recognize and adapt to our needs, and simple tasks seem impossible when we are held to the standards of images we do not fit.
Where, when, why, how does this discussion enter our parish lives? Our communities? Our dioceses? As we prayed about how to fulfill our call as “missionaries” of the themes we promoted on the former website, it became clear that the need goes all the way down to the very foundation of our faith as Christians. We cannot support one another without first asking How is autism experienced in the Body of Christ? The answer tends to vary quite widely. Some communities are living, thriving models of such natural inclusion that it is evident their identity rests in Christ Himself, as described by St. Paul. Other communities are not there yet, for numerous reasons which deserve exploration without presuming the worst conclusions.
People of all ages and walks of life have a habit of forgetting that God creates life from love and fulfills in perfection. Humans, by comparison, make objects. It is appropriate to evaluate these objects, and even the materials from which they are made, in terms of purpose, utility and quality. God has no need of such assessment. From perfection comes perfection; therefore, all that God creates is useful and purposeful by the mere fact that God is God. We do well to keep that in mind when considering the value of including, understanding, inviting and adapting to the needs of one another, as individuals and as communities. Exclusion arises when we slip into seeing one another in terms of what we can do, how well we function, or where we fit in… instead of recalling that we all bear the same value as children of God by virtue of our personhood. People are not objects. We do not have utility. Perhaps we have skills and ideas which can be judged as useful or superfluous, but in terms of our membership in any community, we have all been endowed with inherent value by God.
And so, we come together as Autism Consecrated, to recognize and value the autistic members of the Body of Christ.
by Father Mark P. Nolette – Autistic Priest/Hermit
Many autistic people, as well as their families, friends, and other fellow Catholics, have found in Saint Thorlak a powerful and compassionate intercessor before the Lord. Saint Thorlak, in his life, showed a number of personality traits that resemble autism. Whether or not he was actually autistic – and many believe he was – these traits make him a very appropriate Saint to turn to for intercession and help before the Lord.
This prayer is intended primarily for autistic people who wish to consecrate their autism to God in the way of Saint Thorlak. It may also be prayed by family members of people who are profoundly autistic and cannot say the words on their own.
Why would someone want to consecrate their own autism – or the autism of a loved one – to God, via Saint Thorlak? What is the point?
No matter where one is on the autism spectrum, to be autistic is to possess a combination of strengths and limitations that is unusual. To be autistic is to feel isolated, misunderstood, even by some who truly love the autistic person. To be autistic is to face the challenges of extreme sensitivities to various things, overwhelming surges of anxieties, and the abysses of depression. On the other hand, to be autistic is to be able to love a certain interest with great focus and devotion. It is to be one who seeks truth and integrity above all. It is to be someone who notices things that others do not. It is to be someone who is capable of great loyalty. It is to be someone who is also capable of great compassion, even if that might not be expressed in the ways neurotypical people express it.
An autistic person who is baptized is no less a Catholic, no less a Christian, than anyone else. However, autistic people often feel misunderstood, incapable, unworthy and unwelcome even among fellow Catholics, for the reasons stated above and others.
This is where Saint Thorlak comes in. There are already many stories of autistic people who were led to their true calling in the Church by Saint Thorlak, even before they knew he existed. Others, in seeking his intercession, found their anxieties lessen so that they could take an important step in their lives. Still others found renewed hope and a sense that they also belonged to the family of God.
By consecrating one’s own autism – or the autism of a loved one – to God in the way of Saint Thorlak, we open our hearts, minds and bodies to his blessing, intercession and guidance. We entrust ourselves to Saint Thorlak’s friendship, knowing that he will help us discover the power of God’s love in our weakness, uncover the gifts God has given us, and help us see how to put them to the service of others. Saint Thorlak understands the unique challenges and blessings of autism. His presence and intercession will be a great gift, and a means of God’s love, for all those who consecrate their autism with him.
Make this consecration only when you are ready. If you are unsure about consecrating your own autism via Saint Thorlak, pray and ask for guidance. You will know when the time has come. If you are a family member and are concerned about making this consecration in someone else’s name, there is no need to worry. Remember the people who brought the paralyzed man to Jesus. The Gospels tell us that Jesus, when He saw their faith, healed the man. Saint Thorlak can bless your autistic family member though you making this consecration in that person’s name. He will also bless you and your whole family.
Here, then, is a Prayer of Consecration of Autism via Saint Thorlak.
Holy Thorlak,
I come before you as a Christian and an autistic person.
As a Christian, I seek to love the Lord with all my heart, with all my mind, with all my soul, with all my body, and with all my strength. I seek to love my neighbor as myself. I seek to see Christ in the least of my sisters and brothers, as He has taught me. I seek to be close to Him always; close in prayer, close in the Sacraments, close as I read the Scriptures, close as I love others, close as I welcome the love of others for me.
As an autistic person, I know that Christ is the Truth, the ultimate Source of all truth that I seek. I know that God is Love. When I love anything intensely, I am beginning to know it as God does. I want to love as God does. I can feel that love, but I don’t always know how to show it. I don’t always know how to speak or act when I’m with other people. I have to confront great anxieties and fears at times. Certain sounds, smells, colors, or other things really hurt me and make it very hard for me to be with other people. I don’t know all the social codes and misunderstand what others say, and they misunderstand what I say. I often have a hard time knowing what I feel, let alone expressing my emotions. Some people see me as someone they would rather not be with, or someone who has nothing to offer. I desperately want to do the right thing, but I often don’t know what the right thing is.
Holy Thorlak, I need your help. In your life, you had to struggle to speak and be understood. You felt isolated and misunderstood. You felt anxieties and depression. And yet, in your love of God you found strength in your weakness and became a compassionate shepherd to those whom God entrusted to your care.
Holy Thorlak, I now entrust myself to your care. I wish to consecrate my autism to God by following the way you exemplify. I offer my weaknesses – my anxieties and fears, my depression and awkwardness, my sensitivities and my isolation. I offer my gifts – my great love for my interests, my desire for truth and integrity, my passion for justice, and every other gift I have received from God. I consecrate all of this, all that my autism has given me, to God.
Holy Thorlak, pray for me, that my autism may be a means of God’s love, wisdom and strength. Guide me and show me how I can best serve God and others through my autism. Show me how what I thought of as weakness, or what some people called weakness, is really a way for God to bless me and to bless many through me.
Holy Thorlak, I ask all of this of you that I might become a true follower of the Lord just as you were in your life. Please pray for me to the Lord that He might bless me and bless others through me. Let me be that mustard seed, that measure of yeast, that seemingly small and insignificant thing that becomes a great blessing by God’s love. Let it all happen for your own mission, Holy Thorlak, and for God’s glory. May Our Blessed Mother, Mary, and all the angels and saints join you in prayer for me as I consecrate my autism.
May it all be according to God’s Word, now and forever.
Amen.
By Aimée O’Connell
Most of us associate Ash Wednesday with putting aside, going without, giving away and pruning back those distractions which have accumulated since (at least) the end of last Lent. It seems an unusual choice for a website launch date, especially when screen use and social media are often among the first things we shave as we seek to get back to essentials. Yet, here we are, unveiling AUTISM CONSECRATED, squarely on the first of Lent’s two strictest days of fasting and abstinence. How so? It is a question worth exploring, since it happens to coincide with other Ash Wednesdays of recent years.
In January of 2017, the need for spiritual support and direction specific to autism was yet unmet on a widespread basis. I had a growing sense that the life and theology of St. Thorlak could help address this need, if only his story could be better known and understood. I brought this to prayer by requesting a weekday Mass for this intention at my home parish. I was offered the morning of March 1, and, in reaching for the right words to summarize my intention, I asked that the Mass be for “the mission of Saint Thorlak.”
Little did I realize that I would soon start building a website using that title, and that its launch date would coincide with the date of my Mass… and, that March 1 was also Ash Wednesday. I marveled at how apt that St. Thorlak’s online debut coincided with the Church’s call to seek that path which will lead us closer to God.
Autistic theology is still a largely unbroken trail… meaning, it is not readily visible along the landscape, and takes significant determination to navigate. The Mission of Saint Thorlak website has done a splendid job of commencing the journey and inviting others to travel along with us. We have only been walking together three years, but we have made a significant start in defining this particular path, which we have come to call the Way of Saint Thorlak, and we have also made great headway in telling his story. In fact, the opportunity to write (and eventually publish) a full biography of Saint Thorlak came, appropriately enough, on Ash Wednesday, 2018. Another beginning!
It has become increasingly apparent that our trail is branching. We are coming upon areas involving the larger community, and it is clear that we as autistics have both our own, distinct path and a common identity with the rest of the sojourners seeking the way to live in God’s love. In short, we are all members of the Body of Christ. The question has shifted from asking where we fit to wondering how the rest of the body interprets our being here. We have the same Mission, with a different focus.
And so it is that we have taken the heart of the Mission of Saint Thorlak and placed it in the center of AUTISM CONSECRATED – our new website, and our new vision: to realize autism’s belonging in the Body of Christ. Think of this as the same essential Mission from a new vantage point. Over the next few weeks, we will highlight several of our website’s features, and then prepare to move forward once more on this yet-unbroken trail of autistic theology.
May this Ash Wednesday be, for all of us, another beginning.
The Mission of Saint Thorlak has had the privilege of being the first contemporary apostolate in the spirit of St. Thorlak of Iceland, who led many in his day to experience rich, spiritual nourishment through recognizing the gifts everyone bears within the Body of Christ – including those not always seen by outward appearances. We find ourselves approaching the next stage in the realization of this Mission, here at our new home: autismconsecrated.com We thank you for your patience as we build our new site and continue our journey together along the Way of Saint Thorlak! Please pray with us, that this may be a place to pray, reflect and realize our belonging in the Body of Christ.
Autism Consecrated