Helena Mary Cole

When I was in the evangelical Protestant church, there was a popular story that went around, that came from a popular book, and crept from there into sermons, and Bible study groups, and the like, and that story goes something like this:

Note: the person telling it would usually frame it as “the dream I had last night” (but I think the story’s official title is The Room): the person is alone in a room with a giant card catalogue, such as used to always be found in libraries, and each drawer in the card catalogue is labeled according to the deeds the person has done in their life. The labels read “Friends I Really Liked,” “Mean things I’ve said about people,” “Lustful thoughts,” and on and on, and the person starts opening all the drawers one by one to find out all the good and terrible things they’ve done copied down and filed away. And then the person comes across a drawer that’s labeled “People I’ve led to Christ,” and describes how shamefully empty it is and how sorrowful the person feels over the myriads of mean things they’ve said compared with the scanty number of people they’ve led to Christ.

And I get it. I really do. Maybe some people can hear that story and get the kick in the pants they need to invite that friend from work to come to church with them on Sunday. But what also needs to be said is this: an autistic Christian listening to that story is likely to feel like a very ineffective Christian, and come away discouraged. Chances are high.

There’s an “ideal” picture of evangelism that often gets painted in evangelical Protestant churches that looks like this: you are so full of love for Jesus that people are drawn to you because of that. Not just friends and acquaintances and coworkers, but even the person sitting next to you on the bus or on the plane are all people you can share the gospel with, and you should. In this way, you are actively and visibly bringing them into the church. And sure, it’s great, even if it does assume a certain natural charisma in the Christian in question, a trait that has become especially admired in Western culture as a whole over the last century or so.

But what if natural charisma is not something you’ve ever had and probably never will? You don’t have to be autistic to feel that’s true about you. But an autistic person may not have many acquaintances, friends or coworkers who don’t think they’re the office or factory misfit. Their relationship with their neighbours may be non-existent. On an even more basic level, we aren’t all that good at clicking with people, even people we interact with daily. Which is why (and I can’t speak for every autistic Christian), when it comes to my card catalogue drawer labeled “People I’ve led to Christ,” I am sitting pretty on a big fat goose egg (i.e. zero people). If you measure it against the “ideal.”

Because autistic people aren’t very good at clicking with people, and as an extension of that, have so few relationships where inviting people to come to church would be anything other than a blurting out-of-the-blue, this “ideal” picture of evangelizing is going to mean “talking to strangers.” Which may not be a strong suit even for a non-autistic person, but can be almost impossible for an autistic person. Of course, this is where the guilt and feeling ineffective comes in (after hearing the card catalogue story).

I’m not saying autistic people can’t evangelize. I’m saying that autistic people are going to find it extremely hard to see ourselves in the ideal picture of it. I am saying that the ability to express oneself easily by talking, in a natural and charismatic way, has become exalted as the ideal way to be in the evangelical Protestant church, even as it’s become exalted as such in the culture as a whole. While there’s certainly a place for that in the church, it gets held up as the standard that an evangelical Protestant should strive for. I do see that as a problem.

Again, I’m sure a lot of people in the evangelical Protestant church can hear the card catalogue story and take it into their consciousness in a healthy way. As for me, to this day, I have an automatic reflex of feeling anxious and guilty when I hear the command to “do God’s will” because it has become so deeply connected with the idea that “God wants me to talk to strangers.”

I’m just wondering why I had to enter into the Catholic Church before I ever heard things like, “The most important evangelizing you will ever do is within your own family” or “Want to see more Christians in the world? Have more kids. Raise them in the faith.” But don’t get me wrong – evangelical Protestants who think that Catholics are taught they don’t have to evangelize are grossly ignorant of the Church’s teaching. As a Catholic, I do still hear the call to evangelize. But being told to start with my own children, my own family members… That feels like a starting point of strength to me. There’s no natural charisma involved, which is good, because I don’t have that.

And it’s not like the card catalogue story can’t be redeemed. Maybe right beside the “People I’ve led to Christ” drawer could be a drawer labeled “Seeds I’ve planted that I had no idea led to people finding Christ.” I’m thinking of my own conversion story (see earlier post). My camp counsellor Jackie said, “Ask God for help in keeping up with your devotional life,” and she didn’t even say it directly to me – she said it to other people in my hearing. And because of that, I came to faith, and got baptized, and the last 32 years of my Christian life happened. Jackie has no idea. She’s probably not going to know until the Last Day, when everything hidden will be revealed.

Autistic people can be very, very good at planting seeds, just as good as anyone, or even better. Thinking of those of us who struggle to say much at all in company, this almost-never-talking means that when we do say anything, our words have tremendous impact. Who do people listen to more, the person who chatters all day or the one who says five words all day? People are more likely to tune out the chatterbox while the Five Words have the potential to be remembered.

I’m just saying that there are certain things that seem to be part-and-parcel with the evangelical Protestant picture of evangelizing that are alienating to autistic people, and evangelical Protestant churches would do well to be aware of that. These things aren’t so prevalent in the Catholic Church in my experience. Naturally, if and when we feel prompted to reach out and invite unchurched people to mass, we should respond to that prompting, even if it does come out of the blue. The Holy Spirit knows when that will be effective and when it will not. But that prompting could be something completely different, something that doesn’t even seem like an invitation to meet Christ. We just don’t know what God’s going to use to bring people to Him. We just don’t.

All of this is one more thing I’ve noticed as an autistic person who went from the evangelical Protestant church to the Catholic Church: I don’t feel I’m getting pushed to be more talkative and charismatic during Sunday sermons, and therefore shoved into a box where I don’t fit. The Feast of Our Lady of Fatima is coming up next Monday, and the message of Fatima was not “Souls are being lost because Christians are not charismatic enough,” it was “Souls are being lost because there’s no one to pray and do penance for them.” Which is, of course, a thing that anyone can do, regardless of personality, unlike the popular evangelical Protestant method, which not many people are going to measure up to.

The quiet Christian, plodding away in the background, praying, making sacrifices that no one ever sees or knows about, whose life may look glory-less from the outside, maybe not even worth very much to anybody, may be full of spiritual gold. That person may be saving more souls than you can count. It’s likely no one will ever know how many while this life lasts, not even the quiet person themselves.

Yet this is exactly where you’re likely to find an autistic Christian, especially an autistic Catholic. Don’t bother trying to put them in the limelight – you’ll just make them uncomfortable. A simple smile, a word or two of appreciation are enough. And then let them keep going.

We need to encourage Christians to do more quiet, hidden things. That’s an important way that the power of autistic people can be harnessed within the Church.