A Word On Our Daily Prayers For Autism’s Belonging in the Body of Christ

Those who are praying along with our daily intentions this Lent will notice that each day’s prayer examines an aspect of neurodiversity which many may not have considered. We are seeking to shift the stereotyped sense of autism as problematic symptoms and misbehavior toward a deeper realization that autistic expressions are very human, very functional ways people respond and attempt to cope when our processing system is flooded. Most people know what it’s like to feel overloaded. The difference is, autistic people’s processing systems reach capacity at a higher frequency, and overload when we are asked to keep pushing. Our bodies absorb every bit of data from our surroundings at once, filling all available processing slots quickly to capacity without the benefit of extra time to sort it all out. As with the famous chocolate factory scene from “I Love Lucy”, we do what we can to keep up, but pretending we are fine only makes things worse. Unless that conveyor belt slows down or we get the support we need to finish, we know how this is going to end. Except – for autistic people – we’re not laughing. More like, it is devastating, each and every time. It is exhausting. It is humiliating to have to ask for help, all the time… and, it’s even more so when we are met with those who think the way to help us is to shape our behavior for us. “Try harder! You can do it if you really apply yourself!” – No. We can’t.

But here’s what we want to convey: Any person’s capacity to participate in anything – including social activities, learning environments, and worship services – requires the ability to process information and engage with others. When our sensory systems are bombarded with more input than we can process, autistic or not, our bodies shift from relaxed participation to high alert.  If we do not take time and space to catch up with what we are already processing, our fight/flight/freeze reflexes start acting like circuit breakers, systematically shutting down extraneous processes (such as social graces, small talk, and creative thinking) as a last-ditch effort to keep our processing afloat. Most of us can recall a time when we felt frazzled by too many people speaking at once or too many demands coming in at the same time. If someone approaches us right then with a bit of unrelated conversation or unsolicited advice, we can well imagine what our response might look like… and, most neurotypical people would make plenty of allowance for why this is reasonable. Why, then, is it unreasonable when autistic people experience this (which we do)? Hint: It’s not unreasonable. It just happens more frequently, and more intensely, because our loads are constantly full, and traditionally, people have been told to “help” us by making us struggle. These prayers are intended, in part, to show the other side of this.

The crucial point to remember: Neurodivergent minds are flooded with simultaneous processing tasks, all the time. The way we look, sound, act, and cope, is a reflection of how well – or not – we are able to keep up with those processes at any given moment.

Corollary: The degree of assistance, patience, and accommodations we receive from others around us helps determine the ease with which we can participate and engage with others.

Autistic people deal with this all day, every day. It is not something that can be trained out of us. We can’t be cajoled into doing better. We look and act the way we do because we are at capacity, all the time, even when other people are not.

Why do we take such deliberate care in phrasing our intentions? In hopes of helping the wider Church see that autistic traits are not moral failings, and are not conquerable with the right attitude. Autistic traits are expressions of the same Body of Christ in which we are all members. Our experiences are more intense, and our capacities are reached sooner and more frequently than neurotypical members. The point to remember is that our needs are the same human needs as the rest of the Body – not subhuman needs, as original models of autism would lead us to believe, and not willfully lazy, self-absorbed, oppositional, or anti-social.

The extra time, extra space, extra patience, and gentler environments which autistic people utterly need to participate in ordinary things of life are arguably conditions which benefit anyone. Who among us does not feel a bit of relief when someone shows us empathy and helps us out when we are struggling? Which then begs the question: why are so many people so reluctant to allow these things? Why is slowing down, making things easier, and softening the sensory environment seen as “giving in” instead of giving the Body an oasis of desperately needed neurological rest, where all of us – including and especially autistic people –  can heal?

 

Lord, Hear Our Prayer!

Lenten Resolutions

by Aimée O’Connell

 

With the season of Lent just up ahead, I would like to offer Autism Consecrated’s take on Lenten resolutions. Boiled down, these would be something like this:

  • Learn about my neurobiological infrastructure
  • Live within my neurobiological means
  • Patiently, politely, cheerfully refuse* to exceed those means
  • Consecrate my neurodivergence to God, offering Him all that I am, that I may bear witness to autism’s belonging in the Body of Christ

(* This phrase, “cheerfully refuse,” is a direct nod to the title used by Leif Enger in his 2024 novel. That wording captures how I strive to face confrontation when trying to be faithful to my needs, and I express my sincere gratitude for his giving the world that phrase.)

Awhile back, I was asked in an interview what advice I might give to autistic individuals and families who are seeking to strengthen their connections to God and their faith communities. My response from then fits very well with the way I recommend forming our Lenten resolutions.

First: Understand what autism is, and what it is not.  Learn about autism from neuroaffirming sources and from fellow autistic people. 

Second: Consider that the autistic neurotype is part of God’s design, and contemplate the intentionality of that being part of our lives.  How have the autistic aspects of our lives shaped us, and how have they shaped the people around us? 

Third: Consider consecrating our autism to God, that He may lead us to where we will be most fruitful, exactly as we are.

Fourth: Be forthright with our needs. The more comfortable we are with our limitations, the more others will become comfortable supporting them. It takes mutual, voluntary humility to admit when we don’t know what to do but are willing to support one another in figuring that out together. 

Fifth: Never forget that God loves us and knows our limitations. So long as we sincerely desire to grow ever closer to God, we cannot let Him down or disappoint Him simply because we are neurodivergent or are struggling to keep up with the obligations and demands on our processing. 

Sixth: Keep the conversation going as long as it takes for the people in our parishes to better understand and support its autistic members of all ages, not just children.  And: Remember that starting a “conversation” does not necessarily require speaking or depend on traditional communication. It was St. Francis who said we do well to preach the Gospel at all times, but use words only when necessary… and it was the one-person-at-a-time example of St. Thorlak, not his words, which comprised his legacy and led to his canonization. Being authentically and cheerfully who we are, autistic and all, is mission work to the rest of the Church.

Once again this year, Autism Consecrated is offering Daily Intentions for Autism’s Belonging in the Body of Christ as a season-long deep-dive into various aspects of neurodivergence, seeking in prayer to build better understanding of and support for neurodiversity in our parish communities. These daily reflections serve as a prayer for the Church, but can also be a means of learning more about our neurobiological infrastructure, in line with the Lenten resolutions suggested above. The Daily Prayers for Autism’s Belonging are free for individuals and groups (including parishes) to pray, print, download and share.

Likewise, The Scriptural Stations of the Cross for Autistic People by autistic Catholic priest Fr. Mark Nolette are based on his firsthand experiences and a desire to unite the gifts and challenges of neurodivergence to the suffering and redemption of Jesus. This devotion may be accessed directly on our website or downloaded in print and audio formats (English).

And then, the Prayer to Consecrate Autism is also on our website, free to access and download and pray for ourselves or on behalf of someone close to us.

Let us all pray that the upcoming season of Lent will be fruitful for all of us, in the ways we need that most.

 

 

 

 

 

The Better Part

by Aimée O’Connell, T.O.Carm.

 

In a previous post, I talked about how tricky it can be to recognize the signs of neurodivergent burnout, how long-term masking can contribute to impostor syndrome, and how these factors together create significant obstacles to our spiritual health. In my opinion, this is where the Church needs to focus attention when asking how to reach out to and support neurodivergent members. We need to ask: What can the Church do that isn’t already being done by service agencies, advocacy groups and autism professionals? How can the Church speak to the humanity of the people we want to reach?

In my opinion, we do well to be less concerned about “best practices” and more concerned with simply spending time with Christ before us. In terms of the story of Martha and Mary of Bethany, we can say there are more than enough Marthas in the world with programs and protocols that help us feel like we’re “doing something” for autistic people. Yet – burnout and impostor syndrome still persist, even within the Church. Maybe that’s because the world (and the Church) is lacking the necessary balance provided by the Marys, who lead with an intuitive, often impractical sense of hospitality instead of following the expedient but impersonal suggestions contained in the three-ring binders of the Marthas.

I say this while considering those things which most often contribute to burnout and impostor syndrome, such as:

  • Forcing our executive functioning to operate at a pace it is not designed for or equipped to handle
  • Rationing our accommodations and supports for “once in awhile” or “only when we struggle” – when our need for neurological support is at all times
  • Setting goals for ourselves based on neurotypical benchmarks and assumptions which our neurological infrastructure cannot sustain
  • Acting as though neurodivergent differences are a question of “mind over matter” and can be extinguished through positive thinking, behavioral conditioning, dying to self, and other such maxims
  • Embracing these maxims as good discipline without first asking who (or what) we are seeking to serve, or why
  • Quantifying our worth in worldly terms such as social capital or tangible contributions
  • Adhering to disproven assumptions about neurodivergence made by neurotypical people (which were never accurate, and have been greatly amended in recent academic and professional discussions)

Mary of Bethany may not have set out to subvert the tyranny of custom, but she certainly made that statement when she “wasted” so much of her time and expensive oil on Jesus. And yet, we do well not to confuse her behavior with fawning: Mary was neither making a spectacle of her devotion nor trying to gain favor with Jesus. In my estimation, she was simply acting on a deeply intuitive sense of hospitality, and doing a rather good job at that.

In Mary of Bethany, neurodivergent people might find someone who knows not to hurry us when we need extra time to get to the point.… who knows not to cajole or prod us on when we say we’ve reached our limit… who knows how to adjust plans because the opportunity to sit with Christ is more important than making him adhere to the activity agenda… who generously provides for our sensory comfort even in the face of scorn and ridicule and comments about enabling us, as she knows instinctively that our bodies engage and respond to human connection more easily when we are not overwhelmed by light, sound, texture, dampness, smell and temperature fluctuations.

We can guess that Mary of Bethany’s hospitality does not worry about scarcity, especially when the One who fed the five thousand on five loaves is really and truly present. And, if Jesus had some “special need” which required an extra “something” to relieve that distress during His stay, Mary would think it absurd to only make that available on a schedule (like, say, every third visit to Bethany, or once every three months, whether Jesus is in Bethany or not) … or to pretend not to notice His need because she didn’t want the apostles to feel left out… or to leave Jesus in His distress because He needs to learn to cope on His own.

Back to the actual story: What does Jesus say when Mary is called out for her foolishness, ignoring protocol, acting inexpediently, and encouraging wastefulness and indulgence?

“Mary has chosen the better part.”

Mary, it seems, is not blindly obedient to maxims. Mary’s Lord is the One she welcomes without hesitation – not the Lord of Normal, who demands conformity and measures transgressions in standard deviations.

How do people of faith address burnout and impostor syndrome? By asking ourselves which Lord we serve. By not prioritizing appearances and protocol over Christ, Who dwells within us and sits before us. By choosing the better part.

 

 

Icebergs on icebergs

Picking up where we left off…

Autism Consecrated is hoping to start specifically naming the underlying things which erode our spiritual health, in hopes that identifying them will help the wider church community better understand and support ND needs. This iceberg here is itself the tip of a bigger iceberg (perhaps an entire armada of them) where our faith is concerned. Things like examinations of conscience, teasing out morally neutral neurodivergent traits from what is consciously sinful (without getting tangled up in criticisms which do not account for our legitimate processing differences), prayer, fellowship, engagement with scripture, why we need sensory support EVERY WEEK and not just once every three months at a “special” service… and many more. So much has yet to be addressed by people in the Church to acknowledge the gaping holes in our spiritual formation and support. The Church needs to hear from autistic people about our experiences and struggles, and autistic people need to feel safe and heard in sharing them. Let us pray this will happen.

 

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

Jesus, Re-member Us!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Further reading

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

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

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

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

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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.

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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.