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.

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

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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:

 

 

Prayer: Let Me Be Leaven

A new addition has been made available on our Prayer page, entitled “Let Me Be Leaven,” based on the very brief parable in Matthew 13:33 –

“The kingdom of heaven is like leaven which a woman took and hid in three measures of flour,

till it was all leavened.”

There are many, many times when we find ourselves in situations where we ask whether or not we should stay, or whether we would be missed if we leave.  Oftentimes this has something to do with our neurodivergence – our being misunderstood, or not noticed, or not able to participate because our needs exceed the accommodations available.  It is an awful feeling, to say the least.  There are times when it is obvious that it is appropriate (maybe even necessary) to leave.  Other times are more ambiguous.  We may want to stay for many valid reasons, but question whether it’s worth the cost.  We may feel a sense of loyalty and belonging, even if that is not always reciprocated.  It may be important to follow through on principle.  Or, we may very simply want to be there because we are there – which is valid reason enough!

For those times, the parable of the leaven in the Kingdom of God seems an apt comparison.  Aside from any physical parallels between how we feel and what dough endures (need we mention kneading, punching or pulling?), the idea of leaven makes an interesting meditation.  Our Lord spoke of leaven to describe how something small and humble grows into something grand and nourishing to great numbers, referring to how the Kingdom of God grows with each simple “yes.”  And yet, the process of leavening is also worth pondering, if we consider how yeast works alongside and within the popular and easily recognizable pantry staples.  Indeed, the sometimes silent, sometimes turbulent action of yeast is absolutely essential to the growth, expansion and full expression of the finished product.

Here is the text of the prayer.

 

Lord, let me be leaven.

When I am unseen, unheard, unknown in my community: Let me be leaven.

Let the full spectrum of me be present, if undetected, exactly as I am: stimming or still, restless or recollected, vocal or silent, vibrant or subdued, needy or fulfilled.

Hide me deep within surrounding measures of activities and committees and busyness and social gatherings.  May my presence permeate and thrive within the community, even when it is not perceptible.

Take into Your Loving Hands my yearning to belong, my desire to serve, the gifts I would share if given the opportunity – and rest them safely beneath the warmth of Your gaze, to rise and expand and thrive in the time You appoint.

Lord, hide me in the places You need me to be, and let me be leaven, wherever You lead me.

 

Amen.

 

 

 

From The Anchorite: An Open Letter To My Beloved Church

An Open Letter To My Beloved Church

By Fr. Mark Nolette

 

To all Catholics, and all people of good will: May grace and peace be yours from the Father, through the Son, in the unity of the Holy Spirit!

I am an autistic Catholic priest.

My unusual identity gives a particular twist to how I am called to live out my priesthood. In the ancient world, one of the images used to describe the priest was pontifex, Latin for bridge-buulder. We still use this term when we refer to the Pope as the Supreme Pontiff. The role of the priest was seen as building a bridge between divinity and humanity. Since Jesus Christ, by His Passion, Death, and Resurrection, reconciled us to the Father in the Spirit, He became known as the true High Priest, the ultimate bridge-builder between God and humanity.  All Catholic priests, from that time on, have been given a share in His work of bridge-building. Some exercise this in parish ministry. Others serve as hospital or prison chaplains. Still others dedicate themselves to specific groups of people who are in need of shepherds and bridge-builders.

I had been in parish ministry until the effects of my autism and my growing sense of a calling to devote myself to a more contemplative form of priesthood led me to retire from parish ministry. However, my calling to build bridges remains. The Lord has shown me that an important part of my vocation now is to be a bridge-builder between the Lord, the Church, and autistic people. I seek to do this through this blog.  I seek to do this through the Autism Consecrated website. I seek to do this through a life devoted to prayer as a contemplative hermit in the Lord’s presence. It is in this role as bridge-builder that I address you now.

Autism is considered to be a disabling condition. If you are diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder and meet certain criteria, you can qualify for Social Security Disability in the United States. As a nation and as a Church, we still struggle to make our churches and public spaces accessible to people with disabilities in general. Many of our churches may have wheelchair ramps. Some may have people who can interpret the words of the Mass in sign language for our deaf members. It’s the rare parish that offers more than this.

What about the needs of autistic Catholics? Most of the books written (so far) on autism and Church have been written by Protestants.  Those written by Catholics are chiefly focused on how to adapt a faith formation curriculum for autistic children.  People forget that those children grow up! A few parishes have set up “sensory-friendly” rooms (anti-cry rooms, so to speak), separate from the main worship area. These rooms feature (ideally) softer lighting, lower audio volume, and a TV screen for watching Mass.  Having spent time in one, I can say that such rooms cut both ways. On the one hand, they are a positive help. On the other, people who use these rooms are easily forgotten by the parish community, even its leaders, because they are unseen. A few dioceses are trying “sensory-friendly Masses”. These are Masses in parish churches, in their usual worship space, which feature lower audio volume, softer lighting, and other tweaks. These Masses are a step in the right direction.

The biggest challenge, however, isn’t about buildings or programs or even sensory input. It’s about attitude. Do you want us? Do you, my dear fellow Catholics, want us autistic Catholics as part of your faith communities? If the attitude is there, the rest will follow.

This is an extremely important question. One recent survey has shown that over 80% of autistic Christians (Catholic, Protestant and Orthodox) do not attend services in their local churches. This is the highest percentage of non-attendance of any group with a disability that still leaves them capable of going to church. Slipping into my logical brain, I would assume that this statistic alone would make autistic Catholics (and other autistic people) a prime focus of the New Evangelization. I would assume that this would make autistic Catholics an ideal target for the New Apologetics that Bishop Robert Barron and his Word on Fire community speak about. The harvest is indeed rich. Where are the laborers?

When I could see that I could no longer do parish ministry, I proposed to officials in my diocese that I could be a consultant or liaison for ministry to autistic people in my diocese. No one showed interest in this. Diocesan officials say that the local parishes should do something about this. Local parishes say that they lack the resources for this.

That is not all. I regularly hear from autistic people who have tried to connect with their parishes and find that they are ignored, their needs minimized, and their behaviors (over which they may have little control) ridiculed or mocked – even by pastors and lay parish leaders. Many autistic Catholics end up feeling like they have to pastor themselves. Is this right? Is this what Christ had in mind for His Church?

It doesn’t help that autism is seen by many as a “mental illness”. Even in 2022, when people see the term “mental illness”, they are much more likely to think of serial killers and mass shootings than the story of a group of Down’s Syndrome adults who had a foot race in a Paralympics.  The ones who took the lead then slowed down so that all the runners could cross the finish line together and win together.

Let me be blunt. If we autistic people were all wealthy, parishes and dioceses would beat a path to our doors. If we were members of a favored group in our culture, some Church ministers would reach out to us, if only to score points with society as a whole. Far too often, Church leaders take their cues (even without realizing it) from the prevailing cultural standards and not from the Gospel. We matter only if the surrounding culture says that we matter.

The Gospel has a different narrative to propose to us. Christ offers us the parable of the man who had a hundred sheep. One of them runs off. In first-century Palestine, anyone wealthy enough to have a hundred sheep could easily replace the missing one. Yet the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine in search of this one sheep that had no worldly value.

Saint Paul gives us more guidance. The community he founded in Corinth was beginning to think highly of itself from a worldly point of view. They believed that they had “made it” in the world, and looked down on those (even of their own Christian community) who had no worldly status. Saint Paul reminded them, first of all, that most of them had little worldly status when they first embraced the faith. Moreover, they are now members of the Church, the Body of Christ, where all cultural values are inverted. Those who seem to be worthless in the culture’s eyes are all the more valued by Christ and should be all the more honored by all His disciples.  Every Catholic community, from then until now, shows its understanding of the Gospel by how they love those people who are deemed to be lowest in the society around them.

Autistic people, at first glance, may not seem attractive or promising candidates for a Catholic community. We have trouble reaching out and expressing our feelings, even feelings of love. We may seem cold and uncaring to those who do not know us. We can move in odd, repetitive ways, make sounds unexpectedly, or have meltdowns in public. We wear headphones to church to protect us from the audio volume (which may be too loud even for you) and we are accused of disrespect as you assume we’re listening to music.

If there is anything you can learn about us, let it be this. We are like you in many ways.  The things that bother you, bother us. Where we differ from you is not in kind, but in intensity. Imagine an equalizer. In some areas, our settings are like yours. In others, the settings are turned way up – or way down. Some of us are extremely sensitive to sounds, or colors, or certain smells or the feel of certain things. Some of us are very sensitive to inconsistencies and incongruities and cognitive dissonance. If you claim to believe one thing and live another, we see it immediately.  Given our lack of social skills, we might even say so.  This may not ingratiate us to you!

Nevertheless, we have souls and hearts.  We are human beings. Christ died for us as He did for you. Our salvation is as important as yours.  The fact that we are human, like you, should be more than enough for you to reach out to us and work with us to help us become part of our Catholic communities as best we can.

Now I’ll let you in on a little secret. We have a special gift that comes from being autistic. Think of the odd behaviors we may exhibit – the movements, the noises, the meltdowns, the anxieties. Some of these, at least, are in fact given to us for the community as a whole. How so, you ask?

Think of the old story of how miners would bring caged canaries with them into the mines. The canaries were more sensitive to poisonous gases than the miners, so the gases affected the canaries first. When the miners saw this, they knew they had to leave that mine, and quickly.  In the same way, if an autistic person reacts very strongly to the sound volume, or to poor sound quality, this is a problem that will affect everyone eventually. Rather than blame the autistic person, look at the problem this person perceives. If an autistic teenager can’t deal with youth ministry as most parishes do it, maybe the problem is with the way youth ministry is done. I read about a teacher who decided, as an experiment, to change the way she ran her classroom to accommodate her two autistic students.  When she did so, she found that everyone did better, not only the autistic students.

What the world deems foolish is often wisdom before God.

There is much more I can say; much more I can offer in regard to all this.  If you want to pursue this, you’ll find some other posts in my blog and a lot of the material in Autism Consecrated to be most helpful.  Please remember: Christ died for us autistic people, too!

May the Lord generously bless all of you, all that you do and all that you are!

Father Mark

Three Simple and Meaningful Ways for Parishes and Churches to Promote Autism Awareness in April (And Beyond)

(Note – the graphic is designed primarily for Catholic viewers and readers, but the text here has been adjusted to apply more universally to any Christian worship community. Feel free to share in your own circles!)

Three Simple and Meaningful Ways for Parishes and Churches to Promote Autism Awareness in April – And Beyond!

  1. Plan one homily or sermon acknowledging God’s wisdom in creating neurodiversity: noting the role of autistic people in the Body of Christ, dispelling myths many people still have about autism, and setting the tone for the parish as a place that recognizes and cherishes its neurodiverse members – seen and unseen, heard and unheard.

 

  1. Consider offering a sensory friendly worship service as part of the regular services one weekend… then, consider how that could become a recurring option throughout the year.

 

  1. Host a brainstorming session for autistic people in the church, asking what would make it easier to participate in church events, sacraments, leadership and ministry. Plan this so that input can be received in writing or pre-recorded as well as in person, to include input from non-speaking persons.

 

What is – and is not – on our Youth Ministry Resource Page

The following text comes directly from our Youth Ministry and Catechesis link, which may be found here.

A Message From Autism Consecrated’s Co-Founder, Aimée O’Connell:

I know that many people who click through to this page will be looking for concrete resources.  Having been a youth ministry volunteer myself, I’m guessing you are here because you have a tried-and-true youth ministry program which reaches a fantastic group of young people – and yet, there are still some who are not participating in group activities or connecting well with their peers, and you suspect autism might be a factor.  Perhaps you are looking to intentionally welcome and invite the autistic youngsters in your parish to participate.  Maybe, too, there are one or two who have brought their autism to your attention, and you would like to know what can reach and help these kids in particular.

I need to start off by letting you know that you are not going to find answers or solutions on our website.  It is my belief that the ideas you have and the programs you are using are exactly right, exactly as they are.  Furthermore, it is also my belief that any program or activity designed solely for autistic people will either fall short or miss the mark entirely, which is why we do not offer such resources here.

How is it that I have such strong convictions, especially considering that I have a master’s degree in school psychology and extensive background in working with, and developing accommodations for, autistic youngsters?

For starters, I am autistic myself, and so I’m what I would call “insightfully biased.”  I also know, from many years of experience, that autistic people benefit far more from people getting to know them than from pre-packaged curricula and activities.  While we can speak generally about autistic tendencies and what might or might not be helpful, we autistic people don’t always match the assumptions others make about us, even those made in the best of intentions.  We often feel unknown because our needs and preferences fall outside the norm and are hard to guess… and, because we have a difficult time letting people get to know us.  Pre-designed activities may be just fine if they are a good fit for our personality and processing style, so long as you remember there is no single autistic personality or processing style.

In the bigger picture, youth ministry is often a difficult fit for autistic people for practical reasons relating to our sensory needs and social anxiety.  Group activities are hard, period.  They can be (but are not always) confusing, unappealing, loud, too fast, and difficult to connect to the concept or object lesson you’re trying to teach.  Many of us like the idea of faith-sharing but not the games.  Others like the games but not the vulnerability of faith-sharing!  Some of us would like to dive more deeply into our faith than youth ministry is able to go.  And some feel an enormous amount of pressure trying to be “faith-filled” and “have fun” at the same time, when we have been drilled for years that we need to behave differently in each scenario.  (These are not just hypotheticals; I have heard these comments, and plenty more, from autistic teens who would love to participate but find it too confounding).

What else might keep autistic teens from attending?  Group activities require a lot of social energy, which is often in short supply among autistics.  If we have already had a long day where most of our “socializing and behaving properly” energy has been spent, we might not have a lot left for youth group.  Or, if we only have one day when we can recharge between all the other things we do, we might decide it’s too much to plug youth group into that day.

So, what can you do, if you want to reach out to autistic kids and engage them in youth ministry?  Above anything else, GET TO KNOW THEM INDIVIDUALLY.  Meet with them on their terms, and do so enough that you really have a sense of who they are, what they like, and what they don’t like.  Get to know their processing style, their relationship style, their prayer and spiritual style.  Are they introverts or extraverts?  Do they like to pray silently, or out loud?  Do they enjoy music?  Do they enjoy singing?  What ways do they learn best – by reading, listening, visuals or activities?  Do they have particular interests or questions about the faith?  What ideas do they have as to what they would like to see or do to share their faith?  Do they enjoy service projects?  Individually, or with others?  It is not just autistic people who can benefit from questions like these.  Most people will be able to engage better when there is a balanced blend of  visual, academic and experiential spirituality!

What about those who are introverts, who need alone time to process information, who feel especially anxious in group settings?  The richness of our faith allows for many ways to meet these needs and still foster community.  As a professed Third Order Carmelite, I can vouch that prayer is a powerful act of service and a meaningful way to engage with the community, even if this is done by one’s self.  Consider inviting those with higher social anxiety to pray for each week’s youth group theme, or to be someone who takes intentions from the members of the youth group and dedicates time to pray for these needs, on their own schedule and terms.  Consider pairing prayer partners between autistic and nonautistic youth – because this, too, is faith sharing in the community, and, where two or three gather in Jesus’ name, He is there among them (Matthew 18:20).

Can nonverbal autistics be included too?  Absolutely.  Taking the time to get to know someone who has difficulty interacting can feel intimidating and challenging, but be patient with yourself.  Most of us speak and interact so automatically that we do not stop to consider other ways of just-being with one another!  Once we do, it is surprising to realize how many ways exist to share the love of Christ.  Engaging less verbal and nonverbal youth will yield good fruit for the entire community, and once you get to know them well, it will be much easier to see how they would like to be included.

While I can’t promise answers or solutions, I would love to offer insights and ideas that are compatible with the programs that you already use.  I believe it is very possible to create space within the existing community to welcome and encourage people on the autism spectrum – be they youth, adults or volunteers – by both recognizing the wonderful individuality of each person and considering ways that typical fellowship and faith sharing formats may be made easier on the senses to allow the quieter, more reflective participants to thrive.

If you have specific questions or topics that are of particular interest to your ministry area as pertains to autism, please use our contact form.  I am also very happy to pray for you and your ministry!  I would love to hear from you.

First, Define “Leadership.”

When addressing the question of where autism fits into the Church, it has been said – and rightly so – that inclusion is not just a special project, but rather, should be something that flows from the top down.  For this to be authentic, then autistic people need to be included in the leadership of that community.

While this is easily said, it is not something that is easily attainable.  How so?

When we look at the question of how autistic people can have more representation in decision-making, the first step is to ask what is meant by leadership.  People normally think of the leader as the one on top, the one who is in charge.  That is one kind of leadership, but not the only one.  Let us use The Lord of the Rings as an example.  Aragorn is the one destined to be king.  He gradually moves into that role.  However, Gandalf also exercises a great deal of leadership though he is not a king or ruler in the usual sense.  As a wizard, he is an outsider – not man, elf, dwarf or hobbit; yet all recognize his wisdom and discernment, his prophetic leadership (if you will).

As a rule, autistic people do better in Gandalf’s role than in Aragorn’s.  But that requires a culture that values that kind of insight and prophetic speech and therefore values those who have such gifts.  In a parish, the pastor may ultimately be in charge, but others also exercise other kinds of leadership.  Deacons lead in one particular way.  The parish council is meant to exercise another kind of leadership as an advisory group to the pastor, assisting in forming the parish vision and in discerning how best to implement it.  All of this requires an openness from the pastor and the parish as a whole for collaborative leadership, and a focus on the individual gifts of each participant, rather than defaulting to pre-defined ideas of what “leadership” roles should be.

Autistic people are very well-suited to act as advisors and consultants to those in roles of parish and diocesan decision-making.  This is one way in which we can exercise a kind of leadership that is consistent with our autistic nature, valuing the gifts we bring rather than requiring us to conform to the system already in place (which, many times, excludes people like us).  A first step toward inclusion at the leadership level, then, is to invite autistic input at every level, starting with the roots – that our ideas and needs may permeate whichever entry point our comfort level may be, and be championed upward from there.