Navigating Church as an Autistic Person
Written by Madeleine Grace Scholefield, Australia
God, I feel so stuck right now.
I’m all wound up in my own body. I want desperately to move and hum and flap and do all the things to put myself right, but I know I can’t.
The lights are the wrong colour and the speakers closest to me are buzzing, though it seems like no one else notices. Any minute now we’ll be asked to talk to the person next to us, and my heart’s already beating faster at the thought.
What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be like everyone else, who don’t seem phased? I feel guilty that I can’t concentrate on the sermon. I’m frustrated that it’s hard to feel comfortable in church. I wish it wasn’t like this.
These are words I wrote in my journal during a church service a few years ago. At the time, I didn’t know why I was finding church community so hard, or why I came home from services feeling more drained than filled; I just knew that no one else seemed to be struggling the same way I was.
Not long after, at the age of 22, I suddenly had the answer to the question that had plagued me all my life: Why am I different?
The answer? I’m autistic. Armed with my new diagnosis, I started trying to learn more about the way I was made, how my brain works, and what that means for my faith.
What does being an autistic Christian look like, when church spaces are so often hard for me to be in? What does my relationship with God look like, when sometimes I have to fight my own mind and body just to sit with Him?
Four years on, I’m still figuring it out. And so is the broader church, I think.
What Is Autism?
Before I share any further, I want to make sure we’re all coming from the same point of understanding. So, if you aren’t entirely sure what autism is, I’d encourage you to watch this short video clip of Dr Katy Unwin, a lecturer and researcher into the autistic sensory experience whom we recently had as a guest in this podcast episode, explaining it:
Sensory Experiences in Church
When you hear the word autism, my guess is that you’re picturing someone who has difficulty with social communication; maybe they struggle with eye contact and body language, or they miss sarcasm and take things a bit literally. And while those are all common struggles an autistic person might have (myself included!), perhaps a lesser-known sphere of life that autism affects is our senses, and the way we experience the world because of them.
All of us—autistic or not—have a sensory system that is constantly filtering through the input of stimuli around us, but for autistic people, that system is often working in overdrive to process sensory information. What that means is that seemingly innocuous stimuli that may go unnoticed by the average person, might prove trickier for an autistic person to process and shut out. The brain is operating on a different ‘filtering system’, and tells an autistic person “pay attention to this sound/smell/sensation”, which in turn can make it difficult for us to shut that information out and concentrate on something.
To my brain, for example, small noises are a big deal. I’m hypersensitive to sounds, so a car driving past signals to me that there’s a threat, and my whole body responds with the urge to cover my ears or get away from the sound. I experience similar sensations when a part of my clothing isn’t sitting right. For example, if a tag is rubbing on my skin, instead of simply feeling slightly uncomfortable, as a non-autistic person might, the feeling of the tag becomes all I can think about, and until I can fix it, my brain won’t let me concentrate on anything else.
In churches, sensory input can be hard to escape. I can’t just turn the volume of the worship band down, or dim the overhead lights so they’re not as bright and distracting. When someone sits next to me, the feeling of their arm brushing against mine sends prickles all over my skin. They might be wearing a perfume, which registers as an overwhelming sensation in my brain.
It’s been years since I’ve taken the full communion during a church service. I can handle the little-cup-of-grape-juice, but I’ve learned not to push myself to consume the wafer-like crackers that stick to the roof of my mouth; I’d rather focus on the reminder of Jesus’ sacrifice for us than be fighting the urge to gag!
And those are just some of the sensory aspects of church; add to that the sometimes-unexpected changes to a service, the expectation to mingle before and afterwards, and navigating whether to hug people or not, and church can become a really exhausting and overwhelming event for me to tackle.
Some weeks, I can’t. And I can only imagine that there are other people like me, neurodivergent or not, each with their own differences and brain wirings that can make it uniquely difficult for them to participate in church communities as well.
So what can we do about it? And, perhaps more importantly, why should we bother?
Why Does Accessibility Matter?
According to the World Health Organization, 1 in 100 people are autistic. It’s likely that number is actually a lot higher given the barriers many people face to receiving a professional diagnosis, but even if it is just 1% of our population currently struggling with some of these potential barriers to church, does that make striving for better accessibility less of a priority?
No. The Bible talks quite a lot about the importance of unity. If you’ve been in church communities for any length of time, you’re probably familiar with the metaphor of each of us in the church being “many parts of one body” (1 Corinthians 12:12-26). The idea is that while no two of us are exactly alike, we need each other to function and thrive as a community of God’s people.
Churches wouldn’t function if they were made up of the same people. Imagine a church service with fifty worship leaders up on stage all at once, because they were all equally gifted in musical talent. Or what about a church with hoards of people lined up from the carpark to the front doors ready to greet you with warm smiles, but no one inside the building who knew anything about teaching or pastoral care? Can you picture a church filled with people gifted as preachers, but with no one there to serve tea and biscuits, or make sure the toilet paper gets restocked?
Thankfully, God gave all of us different gifts, passions and interests, and when we come together as “one body”, something really beautiful happens — we each get to serve one another. As an autistic person, I might struggle in certain areas of church life; but that doesn’t mean I don’t also have gifts to bring to the table. I’m great at noticing things others sometimes miss, for example, so I’m good at seeing people who look like they might be left out. That’s one of the ways I can use what I have, though different from others, to serve the church.
Similarly to Paul’s words in Corinthians, the writer of Hebrews prompts us to think about how we can “spur one another on”, placing emphasis on the idea that we shouldn’t give up meeting together (Hebrews 10:24-25). This would suggest to me that churches need to be spaces where anyone can join and gather, regardless of neurodiversity, disability, or any other potential barriers.
How, then, do we go about trying to make churches accessible for all people? The answer is, we can’t. One person in the congregation may be hard of hearing and wish that the sound system was louder; another, like me, might be sensitive to loud noises and long for things to be quieter. It’s impossible to accommodate everyone’s unique needs. I know that, and you do too.
Instead, I suggest that it’s more about the heart behind wanting to make church accessible for all. It’s about taking an honest look at our spaces and communities and being humble enough to admit that we don’t always get it right, and that there’s more to learn.
To do that, here are two suggestions for how we can work towards better accessibility in our churches and broader communities:
1. Start by Listening
You may not know what steps your church can take to help autistic people engage better, so the first step is to ask. Even if you don’t know of any autistic people in your church, there’s a high likelihood that they’re there. How can you make space for someone to feel safe enough to share their needs? Is there an anonymous feedback system you could introduce?
Opening up the conversation is one thing, but listening is what really matters. I was recently part of an online gathering for autistic Christians from around the world, and the question was asked: What have your experiences with seeking accommodations at church been like? I was sad to hear that most of the group members had experienced being shut down by pastors or ministry leaders when they’d expressed a need they had.
If someone comes to you with a genuine need or suggestion to change the way your church does something so they can participate more easily, are you willing to listen?
2. Let People Participate the Way They Want To
In my podcast interview with Dr Katy Unwin, she explained the results of one of her recent studies into the sensory experiences of autistic people and the way that impacted on church engagement. One of the key learnings Dr Katy shared was the idea that giving an autistic person an element of control and predictability to their environment went a long way in making that person feel comfortable in church.
When I heard this, I thought about my own experiences of church, and how I’m most at peace and able to engage in a service when I know what to expect, and feel a sense of control over some of the sensory inputs around me. For example, if I know I’m free to get up from my chair and move around at the back of the room if I need to, that helps me relax. If I know I won’t get odd looks when I flap my hands or rock back and forth while I listen to the sermon, then I can pay attention and engage much more easily.
Giving autistic people (and everyone, really), the option to participate in church the way that works for them might mean providing space for movement, encouraging people to use headphones if that helps them regulate auditory input, or any number of other relatively-small adjustments that could go a long way in making space for autistic people in your church.
If you’re thinking that all of this sounds a bit hard or abstract to implement, I’d love to share some simple ways that my own church family have enabled me to engage in church services in a way that suits my autistic needs, and therefore gives me the chance to grow in Christ and serve others, too.
What It Looks Like to Do It Well
I sat around a table at a church event and tried to concentrate on the speaker, who was telling us to submit our questions using the QR code on the screen. I couldn’t think clearly because I was so distracted by the harsh white lights glaring down at me, which seemed to emit a buzzing that no one but me could hear.
“Please,” I typed into the anonymous question box on my phone, “could you dim the lights a little?” I sat back and waited, my cheeks a little flushed. I knew it was a silly request and was likely to be ignored, but the idea of another hour spent trying to block out all that sensory input felt overwhelming.
A few minutes later, the speaker stopped scrolling through the list of anonymous questions and smiled. “Um, tech people?” he said into the microphone, shielding his eyes to see the light and sound team up the back. “Someone’s asked us to dim the lights, could you please make that happen?”
The people around me chuckled, but within 10 seconds the lights were dimmed from their hospital-waiting-room-bright and a beautiful, warm glow filled the space. A few people clapped, and I felt relieved. Rather than ridicule my strange request, someone had taken the time to meet my needs with kindness and a willingness to listen.
Maybe it hadn’t mattered to anyone else in that room, but it made all the difference to me that night. The buzzing in my head went away and my whole body softened. I was grateful to be able to relax and participate in a way I wouldn’t have been able to before.
I can think of dozens of things my church has done to make its space more accommodating for those of us with sensory sensitivities (autistic or not). But it might surprise you to know that my church still has loud music, colour-changing lights, and the little wafer-crackers for communion that I can’t stand. Not all of my needs—or preferences—are met by my church, but that’s okay, because I know that I’m welcome there, and they’ve made room for me to participate the way I’m able to.
When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I can go and sit in the back lounge, in what is usually a space for parents with babies, and no one asks me why I’m there; they just trust that I need a little break from the crowd. I take my shoes off in worship so I can feel grounded when all my other senses are taken up with the music. I sit in the service with a weighted blanket on my lap and slime running through my fingers, and I don’t get funny looks. If I do meet someone’s eye, there’s a smile that seems to say “you do what you need to do; we’re just thankful you’re here.”
What Now?
I hope that this blog post, and my conversation with Dr Katy about accessibility in the church, have given you something to think about.
If you’re a non-autistic pastor, leader or church member reading this, I challenge you to start by listening to the voices of autistic people in your church. If you’re not hearing any, perhaps have a think about some of the ways you can open up a conversation about accessibility in your church.
As you look around on a Sunday, try and notice how someone different from you may be experiencing the service. Are there things you can do to make your community a space where everyone feels comfortable, autistic or not?
It’s not about getting it perfect, because we can’t. But it’s about striving for the unity that we’re called to as members of “one body”. As Dr Katy shared with me, it’s about striving for “a willingness to support anyone within the service to participate in the way that they want to participate — not the way we think they should participate, but the way they want to participate.”
If you are autistic, or someone with accessibility needs, is there someone at your church you can share those with? Change might not happen right away, but your courage in speaking up about some of the barriers you might face, in humility, will hopefully pave the way for a more unified body of Christ.
And, even though a church won’t ever be able to meet all our needs, God does. As Paul writes in Philippians 4:19, “And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.”
You can watch the full video interview between Maddy and Dr Katy Unwin, a Lecturer in Psychology with a PhD in Autism, here on our YouTube channel.
Madeleine Grace Scholefield
Madeleine grew up as a third-culture kid on the missions field, who now uses her writing as a way to make sense of the world and to point people to the story of hope and grace found in Jesus. Madeleine serves full time with Our Daily Bread and currently lives in Adelaide with her husband, Matt.