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

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PDA and Lent

Here is a very interesting question: How can we troubleshoot between having a PDA profile and the necessary demands presented by Lent?

 

There are a few guiding thoughts to help tailor Lent to the demand-anxious neurotype while keeping the intention and integrity of the season.

 

Creativity: Try to plan for Lent as a response to a design challenge.  The Church outlines three staple ingredients: Prayer, fasting and almsgiving.  What we do with them, how we bring these to life and in what way, is up to us.

 

Autonomy: For the most part, we get to decide what we do and how we do it.  The boundaries provided by the Church pertain to Ash Wednesday and Good Friday (where we are asked to begin and end the season with meatless fasting), and Fridays during Lent (where we are asked to abstain from meat).  We might think of these as signposts and checkpoints employing the method Our Lord used in preparing for His public ministry to mark off this time as our own period of sacred preparation.  We might also think of how we find ordinary places closed to commemorate certain occasions every year, and, likewise, our regular meal habits are “closed” on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, and “partially closed” on regular Fridays during Lent, in commemoration of Our Lord’s sacrifices.

 

Low-Key: As with everything else, our Lenten practices will be more successful and meaningful if we strive to keep them nonchalant, low-impact and not all that drastic.  Aim for small steps rather than big ambitions.

 

Short-Term: Yes, Lent is 40 active days (and 46 days all together).  We can still make our plans day by day.  With demand anxiety and time blindness, sustaining anything more than a few days at a time runs the risk of not going well.

 

Rephrase: Words like “discipline” and “obligation” can be our downfall.  When we come up against these terms, why not turn to a thesaurus, or an etymology reference?  When we realize that “discipline” means “learning” and “obligation” gets its roots from the concept of giving thanks, the sense of demand is lessened.

 

Flexible terms: Be prepared for multiple contingencies.  Similarly, keep a wide field around the bull’s eye, so that coming close is an acceptable alternative to perfection.

Novelty: Related to creativity, this is a reminder to keep things interesting so that we feel motivated to continue.  Lent does not have to be monotonous.  Change it up often enough to keep going.

 

Menu approach: Sometimes, there are too many choices.  Sometimes, there is not enough structure.  Yet, too much structure feels confining and restrictive.  One way around this is to make a Lent menu to consult day by day, whereby we strive to balance our practices between variety and predictability.  A menu also allows us to put a check mark next to the things we’ve done so that we can see our progress and where our strengths are.

 

Spark love: Similar to that other phrase used in a popular and patented home management program, try to keep those things in our routine which “spark love” in our hearts for God, and move on from those things which do not.  Love is a good choice here because it can be both joyful and sacrificial.  When we strive to do things for the sake of love, chances are, these will be things we will find worth doing.

 

Equivalent substitutions: Many Lenten practices can become prickly, such as dietary changes or trying to give things up which help regulate our functioning.  Being hungry is one thing; being hangry is another.  We are sometimes not able to fast the way others can, and this is where creativity comes to the rescue again.  The idea is not to circumvent what’s difficult, but rather, to decide prudently what is and is not possible.  When we simply cannot fast, we can calculate the equivalent and make an offering with what we can – such as, matching (or exceeding) what we eat that day in a donation to a food pantry, or donating money/time-per-calorie to assist a cause in our area – either in person, or through prayer, remotely.

 

Pilgrimage: We can’t always make a retreat, keep up with Bible studies or attend prayer services.  We can, however, design our own spiritual pilgrimage in the form of any kind of sequential progression during the Lenten season.  We can move forward on this at our own pace, some days a little and some days a little more, and some days not at all.

 

Growth mindset: Instead of looking at what we do as pass/fail, growth mindset accepts that we do not yet have all the skills to be successful all of the time, but believe we can gradually move in the direction we want to go.  Essential to this is resolving not to compare ourselves to others or set our progress by others’ standards.  Curiosity, openness, humility and freedom from pressure are our tickets to growing in our spiritual lives as much as in any other area.

 

May God bless our efforts and reveal His love to us, in all that we do this Lent!

 

We Interrupt This Lent…

by Aimée O’Connell

 

Nearly three weeks into the Lenten season, I come to our readers with the following string of thoughts, under the category heading: NOTHING WE HAVE EVER HEARD ABOUT LENT WAS IMAGINED WITH NEURODIVERSE INDIVIDUALS IN MIND.

(Okay… since I am a stickler for avoiding absolutes, let’s say “Almost Nothing.”)

 

While the better time to post this might have been before Lent began, there’s something to be said about solidarity in the trenches.  By “trenches,” I mean the places where we find the people who…

  • Are still trying to think of what to do for Lent
  • Have tried adding things but have not yet made it happen consistently
  • Have tried giving things up but realize we don’t function well without them
  • Have sat staring at examinations of conscience and wondered when we will ever find one that applies to our lives
  • Have abandoned stacks of planners, devotionals, penitential calendars and mini-retreats which seemed like a great idea when we picked them up
  • Find Lent JUST TOO MUCH

 

Maybe this doesn’t apply to you (… congrats!).  Or, maybe you’re reading this and thinking this is not exclusively an autism or ADHD thing (… but I will say, even if that’s the case, I guarantee, we feel it much more intensely!)  Bottom line is, I don’t see much written about the particular challenges of Lent for the neurodiverse, and so, for those who find Lent penitential for the sake of its being unattainable: you are not alone!

 

My intention here is not to say that Lent should be jettisoned altogether, or that neurodiverse people should be dispensed from Lent.  What I do wish is that we could have some real resources available for the neurodiverse, a list of Lent Hacks for us to familiarize ourselves with and practice here and there so that when the actual season rolls around, we have something proven to work with.  I don’t claim to have the answers, but I do have a growing list of thoughts.

 

For starters: We need to define Lent consistently and concisely.  What IS Lent?  We know it is a time of prayer, fasting and almsgiving, intended to remind us that our purpose in life is to love God with all our hearts, minds, souls and strength, and to pattern our lives around loving God, particularly in how we treat others.  Some will say it is a time to steer our focus back to God and away from the distractions of worldly entertainments and luxuries.  Some will say it is a time to make room for God amidst the clutter of our lives.  Some will say it is a time to discard the things that tempt us away from God, or a time to develop habits of prayer, meditation and contemplation.  All of this sounds good, in a very general sense; but, for the neurodiverse, it can also sound too broad… not specific enough… not tangible, not measurable – and, therefore, not anything we can grasp, physically or conceptually.

 

What about when the things other people consider “luxuries” are, for us, necessities?  Who decides what constitutes luxury? If we go by what the devotional guides say, we end up going without things that we absolutely rely on, such as grocery delivery and prepared meals.  Even more difficult is teasing out what others consider “entertainments” which, again, for us, are necessities.  Many, many neurodiverse people can regulate, cope and function better with help from electronic devices with screens.  Many of us communicate and connect with others over electronic devices in ways we simply cannot do in person.  Who gets to decide what is adaptive and assistive, and what is “luxury” or “entertainment”?  I never see that distinction made in suggested acts of penance or fasting… just the same urging to switch off our screens so that we can be more present to the people around us.  (If that were possible, we’d have already done it).  Where is the line drawn between acts of penance and denying ourselves basic needs?  And why is it okay to lump the things that neurodiverse people successfully rely on to function, in with the things deemed superfluous by neurotypical people, without some kind of qualification?  Does anyone ever suggest giving up other assistive and adaptive accommodations that are acceptable standards for other disabilities?  Is it ever printed in a Lenten devotional, “Just for today, leave your walker or cane home” – or, “For these forty days, stop relying on closed captioning, and rely on God instead” – ?

 

What about when our executive functioning does not know the difference between “distractions” and “important items”?  Do the authors of Lenten devotionals realize that, for some people, what you call “distractions” are an integral part of our panoramic, multisensory processing, and can’t just be given up?  Moreover, if what others call distractions are a way of life for us, is any spiritual growth even possible?  All I’ve seen are essays and dissertations saying that distractions are our downfall.  There goes another category of things that sound good for typical people, but don’t apply to us, unless difficulties with executive functioning really do disqualify us as saints.

 

Another question: How can we know which way to pray best, when the suggestion is to “pray more”?  What if we have difficulty keeping all our tasks in mind for any given day, and are doing well, but do not have the cognitive flexibility to stop midstream and pray?  What if our functioning is stretched to its limit already? What can we give up, to make time for prayer, when we struggle with time-blindness?  What if praying feels too verbal for us on any given day?  We are taught that mental prayer takes focus and years of discipline, and requires things like stillness and interior silence which does not often come easily to the neurodivergent.  We may be outwardly silent, but inwardly, the trains of thought are running on multiple tracks at full capacity.  We don’t have the cognitive ability to just stop.  Where is that accounted for, in Lenten guides and spiritual direction?

 

As an autistic adult, I find the Lenten guides for children easier to use and follow than those intended for grown-ups.  It is easier for me to concretely count out some of my possessions with the idea of donating them, or to budget out a certain percentage of my income or savings for charity.  It is easier to count prayers or minutes or check-boxes than to try and do an assessment of my life and my habits – because my environment and my routines are all wrapped up in the wild and crazy way I make sense of the world and function in it.  And yet – when I pray by rote, and write checks because it’s the time of year to do so… it doesn’t feel any different afterward.  I’ve done my duty.  How does that bring me closer to God?

 

Making a list of Lenten Resolutions has likewise proven ineffective for many of us, mainly because it is the equivalent of taking our familiar flight plan and adding in several detours and extra stops – without the allowance of more time in the itinerary.  Calling our routines “autopilot” is not a bad thing at all.  Autopilot is a reliable means of getting from Point A to Point B in the face of all kinds of variables, interference and conditions.  Taking a plane off autopilot is not a guaranteed disaster, but it requires an enormous and constant expenditure of attention, energy and action.  While we can fairly say it will develop discipline among the flight crew, it will also put everyone on high alert and raise the potential for going off course and encountering difficulties, and demands our full, constant and immediate attention.  We all know that voluntarily adding stress to our already-stretched-too-thin processing systems is a straight line to crash and burn.  Changing our routines for Lent – at least, among the neurodiverse – is not a very useful idea; and yet, that seems to be the overarching theme to most Lent devotionals and calendars.

 

More and more, I see the need – a desperate need – for new wineskins for neurodiverse people.  We need guidance on how to approach Lent in the ways we are wired to approach anything.  We need permission to pass up the devotionals, calendars and suggested penances which are written for neurotypical lifestyles.  We need better examinations of conscience, written by neurodiverse individuals for neurodiverse individuals, so that we do not keep treating our failure to align with neurotypical standards as sinful.  Of course we sin, of course we are in need of forgiveness – but how many sinful habits have evolved from trying to do things in ways not suited to our wiring?  How much confusion comes from compromising our needs because we have been conditioned from the youngest age that it is of utmost importance to satisfy others?  How many times has our character been called into question over things we genuinely cannot change about ourselves?

 

We need to hear more from neurodiverse clergy, supported by more and better understanding of neurodiversity by the Church.  This is something I pray for every day.  I would like to see a prayer calendar with forty days’ reflections on how our Church can grow in this understanding and need for support.  I would imagine this would benefit the entire Body of Christ, not just the neurodiverse.

 

For now, my working plan is to see Lent as a season during which we invite Our Lord to show Himself to us in our lives, and to show us the ways our lives can be offered (i.e., made meaningful) to Him.  How does He use our neurodiversity to build the Kingdom of God?  How does the witness of our lives reflect Him to those in our orbit?  Do we spend more of our energy trying to know, love and serve Him in neurotypical ways than in ways that we are naturally wired to be?  Do we trust that He does not ask us to extend ourselves past our neurodivergent limits?  Do we trust that it is better to say “no” to resolutions that are not compatible with (and even harmful to) our physical, sensory or social processing?

 

It takes real courage to step out of the boxes other people would have us in, and be authentically and vulnerably who we are.  To me, that is the most radical offering we can make.

 

Autistic Egypt

The Lenten season of 2021 is just ahead, with all the usual encouragements of prayer, fasting and almsgiving – all of which are very good exercises, and necessary for our spiritual growth.  But for many of us (and not just autistics), too formulaic of an approach can separate Lent from its true roots, which stretch all the way back to the Exodus from Egypt.   Furthermore, many autistics find ourselves feeling lost and frustrated as we diligently apply these formulas and still find nothing but spiritual desert.  Perhaps a survey of the desert itself can provide perspective to help map out the right journey in the first place.

The Exodus took place when Moses led his enslaved Israelite brethren from Egypt to a place they could worship God.  The key here is that God desired communion with His people, free from coercion and distraction, to the point where He would escort them out of the land of their oppressors into an area of wilderness.  The gross oversimplification of this story finds many and varied reactions among those making the journey.  Some found it hardest to leave conveniences behind.  Others were challenged to believe this was really and truly the will of God.  Others questioned the trustworthiness of Moses.  And some were steadfast in their belief that such an unfathomable series of events could only be possible if God were leading them.  But the purpose of this journey was the same for everyone: Leave the spiritually empty rituals of slavery behind, no matter how familiar they are, and simply be with God, and let God speak to their hearts.

With that as our focus as seekers today, Lent is about leaving behind what is spiritually empty to simply be with God and let God speak to our hearts.

Easier said than done – especially for those of us who rely heavily on concrete, visual, and activity-based processing!

Let us then look, then, at the experiences of the Israelites in the Exodus story which we may recognize in our own lives today.

  • Repeating spiritually empty routines
  • Working primarily to satisfy others
  • Dismissing, or delaying, our own needs of body, mind and spirit
  • Accepting our status as “less-than”

Again, at the risk of oversimplifying, the Israelites lived in 13th century (BCE) Egypt as slaves, compelled by harsh drivers who judged their worth as laborers without regard to human dignity.  The Israelites had no choice but to wake up, day after day, and please those who had no concern for anything but the quality of their performance.  Their work had no dignity but to serve the Egyptians, whose spirituality was based more in appeasement and demand than anything resembling love.  The rituals to the false gods were devoid of meaning to the Israelites who were pressed into compliance with their overlords.  In order to survive, the Israelites adapted to their status as slaves and labored away in great emptiness.

The conditions of our lives are far from actual slavery, but it’s likely that most of us can name at least one or two ways we relate to the four points above.  So, then, if Lent is meant to echo the Exodus from Egypt, the path to being-with God is likewise an exit from the patterns that drain us of our spiritual connection to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (who knows and loves each of us individually, to the point of sending Jesus Christ to redeem each of us, individually).

Now, here’s the rub: Our very being autistic can, at times, set us up to operate under these conditions on a regular basis…

  • Repeating spiritually empty routines
  • Working primarily to satisfy others
  • Dismissing, or delaying, our own needs of body, mind and spirit
  • Accepting our status as “less-than”

This is not necessarily true all the time, but I venture there are moments each of us have experienced one or all of those in our schooling, our families, our professional lives and our spiritual formation as a consequence of being autistic.  For instance: Some of us truly strive to understand the meaning behind the teachings and precepts of the Church, but are not yet at a place where we grasp the truths of some of these practices and devotions as pathways to connecting with God.  It may take years for some of us to experience that meaning personally, and yet we continue to follow the rules because, we are told, “that’s what we do.”  Yes… that repetition may be the path to finally, one day, understanding.  But if it feels empty, it can just as easily lead to resentment and apathy.  If that is the case for anyone reading this, then Lent might be a time to ask questions, and persist in the quest to discover spiritual meaning, as in Matthew 7:7.

Autistics are familiar with support services to help us navigate the neurotypical world and the expectations of those around us.  The benefit is learning what others want us to do.  The downside to that is a pervasive sense of not being enough as we are on our own.  It’s hard being autistic and not carrying even a little bit of this sense wherever we go.  Yet, God does not create people to be “less.”  Do we truly believe this?  Perhaps our goal this Lent is to notice how we see ourselves, and where we might have adopted habits of working only to please others, or believing ourselves to be less-than those around us simply because we process differently.  It may not sound like a spiritual exercise, but the foundation of this is to better understand what is pleasing to God – and how that differs from what is pleasing by worldly standards.  Yes, we ought to strive to please God – but only if we understand what that means!  We might start with the first psalm, and realize “the law of the Lord” can be summarized by Matthew 22:35-40.  And that leads to the last point –

How often do we dismiss or delay our own needs of body, mind or spirit?  Isn’t this the whole idea of giving things up for Lent?  Isn’t that the very definition of “sacrifice”?  Well, yes.  But.  In Matthew 9:13, Jesus exhorts the Pharisees to learn what it means when God says, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”  There is a time and a place for sacrifice, absolutely.  But it can be very difficult to give from a deficit, and when we have denied our own needs as a matter of course, our deficit is quite large.  It seems counter-intuitive to suggest a Lenten program of finding comfort, but the simple fact is this: “Love our neighbor as ourselves” means that we cannot truly show mercy to others unless we hold ourselves to that same standard.  If our thoughts toward ourselves were audible to those around us, would they be appalled by the way we demand, criticize, ridicule or dehumanize?  We may not even be aware of how often we do this, as these habits develop over time and are shaped by the implicit messages we receive our whole lives.  Autistics, on the whole, generally receive more critical messages than supportive ones, including those from people trying to help us.  Our sensitivity and anxiety can magnify those messages into harsh internal criticism which then filters through how we look at ourselves, how we treat ourselves and how we dismiss our basic needs.  Perhaps what we need most is to study mercy and learn how to apply it to ourselves before anything else.  (Autism Consecrated offers the Autistic Works of Mercy on our Prayer page if this would be a helpful place to start).

So, now, we’ve seen what this desert wilderness is, and we realize why it feels so foreign: It is a place where critical voices are neither heard nor heeded.  It is a place where we are valued just for showing up.  It may seem too simple.  It may be called “desert,” but for those of us living 365 days of going without and pushing ourselves out of our comfort zones, it is a leap of faith to believe we belong in a place this drenching to our souls.  Can this really be the Lenten journey we are asked to make – and are we willing to trust that God really and truly wishes this for us, even if it differs from how we have understood “sacrifice” in years past?

May each of us grow closer to God this Lenten season, in ways that surprise and delight us – and God.