Building autistic paths to ministry leadership
My response to a recent article in Autism Consecrated, and sharing my visions
(This is in part my response to a recent Autism Consecrated article, “Praying for vocations?” dated Jan. 7, 2024.)
It was in the spring of 2007 when I received a phone call from Dave. At the time, I was an inexperienced and undereducated minister in a small, obscure (and thankfully, now long-defunct) Christian denomination that promised me training and mentorship that did not materialize. I was isolated both geographically and spiritually from the rest of this organization, which was concentrated in Florida and New York.
Dave belonged to the same denomination and had recently become a bishop. Unlike most of this church, he lived in Tacoma, Washington, and I lived in Portland, Oregon. We became a fairly good friend, and we got along very well. It turns out that Bishop Dave is autistic. Back then, my awareness of how autism shaped me and informed my behaviors was nearly non-existent. But he was one of the very few people I could talk to for hours, and spend a whole day with, and did not wear me out.
He had a long history of involvement in Christianity. In his younger days, he was even a member of a Christian religious order/residential intentional community. His adoptive father was a well-known figure in the Lutheran world. Dave, like I, had a heart for mission; he, like I, was a kind of a religious geek who was very well-versed in theology and liturgies. Yet, he had a very difficult time entering into ministry and serving in a Christian leadership capacity. Like me, Dave had a heart and a vision for ministry, only to be exploited by a small fringe religious organization of questionable integrity. By the end of that year, I was thoroughly burned out from the ugly drama and power struggles within that so-called church, but Dave managed to become a chaplain for the county sheriff’s office where he ministered for the next several years, and I was proud of him for that, in spite of my abolitionist political stance. Yet, now Dave works as a private security guard working long, odd shifts for such a low wage that he is constantly at risk of houselessness. Dave did not become a pastor, although I feel that he is a great pick for a pastorate in a small, rural church.
In the Autism Consecrated article, the author relates the experiences of many autistic Catholics they have contacted: aspiring candidates for discernment go through interviews and everything seems to go well until the candidates drop the “A” word; religious orders and monasteries have a de facto “no autistics need to apply” policy. The author critiques this practice of accepting ministry candidates solely from the fittest and likens it to a “selective abortion” of potential ministries.
While I am very unfamiliar with how the Roman Catholic Church works, I find similar dynamics in most Protestant denominations I have encountered. Ironically, the more theologically liberal they are, the more “open and affirming” they are, the more DEI- and social justice-oriented they are, the barriers to ministry opportunities — ordained or lay — become much higher and insurmountable. Ableism and classism are the unspoken rules of discernment. Most Mainline Protestant denominations require a minimum of three years of postgraduate education at an approved seminary, as well as a documentation of physical examination and psychological evaluation to be even considered for candidacy. Conservative Evangelical denominations usually have smaller requirements, maybe they only need a bachelor’s degree in ministry or biblical studies; or enroll in their in-house academy to earn the qualification. Yet, even there, autistics face many challenges and barriers due to misunderstanding and unrealistic expectations.
Not many autistic people survive schools, let alone graduate schools. With 85 percent of autistics being chronically unemployed, they cannot afford expensive tuition and they cannot qualify for loans.
Many, perhaps correctly based on their perspectives, argue that ministers must be well-educated, well-adjusted, and in good physical and mental health. After all, pastoral ministry is a demanding job, there will always be difficult people to handle and vulnerable souls to counsel. They believe these requirements are responsible things for a church to expect of those whom it hires to oversee the flock.
I find that at the heart of this argument is the reason why autistic people are excluded from the field of ministries: a “professionalization” of ministers. By this, I am not arguing that ministers should not act with professionalism, but rather, pastors in typical North American churches are expected to act more as executive directors of non-profit corporations, than as spiritual leaders and mentors acting in the relational context of God’s missional community. Indeed, by-laws of most U.S.-based Protestant churches designate their senior pastor as the executive director, the president (or chairperson or moderator), or both.
This means that a pastor has to be a “people person,” adept at corporate politics and power maneuvers, a “diplomat,” a great public speaker who can entertain and inspire a demanding crowd, a counselor, and a social worker, all rolled into one. Especially in the liberal major denominations, pastors are often career-seekers: they graduate from prestigious seminaries and move from one church to another in search of career advancement and higher salaries. They are not so different from American corporate executives. And this can burn even neurotypical folks.
To create ministries that are inclusive of autistic people, we must reimagine what it means to be a church and how it operates. For a starter, we should separate the spiritual leadership from the corporate leadership. Maybe an autistic pastor could be aided by a neurotypical “executive pastor” who handles the administrative aspects of the church. Or, even more radically, keep the spiritual community and the building that houses it two separate legal entities. Even better, imagine what an autistic church can look like. The latest CDC estimate claims that 2.8 percent of the U.S. population (and 4.5 percent of California!) is autistic. That is a sizable minority and there is a huge potential for culturally specific ministries led by and shaped by autistic leaders, thus “indigenizing” the church and laying the foundation for self-governing, self-supporting, and self-propagating.
Equally important is the creation of formation programs that are anti-ableist and anti-classist. Tuition-free ministry schools that extensively utilize learning modalities in which neurodivergent students can excel are a must. They may take the form of self-guided digital learning platforms, one-on-one mentorship, hands-on service-based learning, or combinations thereof.
These are big parts of my vision as I kickstart the formation of The Infinitus this year. I hope it can become an answer to the prayers of at least some of those people who run into barriers when they aspire to ministry.
~ Willow.