When I Become Autistic

The word “autism” has been an almost-idea for most of my adult life. Dustin Hoffman’s portrayal of Raymond, autistic savant, captured my imagination one Friday night in college, until the next wave of Greek prepositions migrated into my skull and pulled out any competing thoughts. After college, I worked at a residential treatment center for children with mental health issues. I never encountered a child with autism during those years due to how the State of Pennsylvania organizes its funding streams. However, I was a case manager when a new diagnosis, Asperger’s Syndrome, was added to the DSM-IV in 1994.

For the uninitiated, DSM stands for the Diagnostic Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders. It’s like a Land’s End catalog, but instead of kayaks and checked poplin shirts, its filled with every officially recognized ailment of the brain, so service providers are able successfully bill insurance companies.

So when Asperger’s Syndrome was added to the DSM, I quickly read the summary and learned Asperger’s Syndrome is a mild cousin of autism. I remember that some individuals with Asperger’s Syndrome suffered from sensitivity to fluorescent lighting and some clothing textures.

Other than that, autism and Asperger’s Syndrome were just vague terms to describe yet another way the human machine can malfunction in our corrupted world.

That is, until recently.

This July, one of the mothers at the church where I serve as an associate pastor approached me to see if we’d be willing to host a conference on autism. I jumped at the chance. We’d just moved into a new campus and we were eager to partner with local agencies to serve our city. I wasn’t firmly aware of what autism was; but I knew if we could connect parents of autistic children with teachers, service providers, educators, psychologists, psychiatrists and self-advocates, something good was bound to happen at the end of the day.

Part of that good was my realization autism is not just a deficit, but that it can also be a source of strength.

The presenter, William Stillman, is a self-advocate. He’s a speaker and author who happens to be on the autistic spectrum. He has Asperger’s Syndrome, which empowers him with unique authority and insight when he speaks. Stillman explained to the room that experiencing autism is a lot like waking up in the middle of the night after sleeping on your arm. You will your limb to move, but it hangs there unresponsively. Such is life for the autistic person. He or she wants to respond with speech or movement, but they experience a restricted or repetitive response. How severely one experiences these restrictions is different for each individual on the autistic spectrum. For some, like William, the restrictions are relatively mild. And for others, autism makes communication and mobility extremely difficult.

However, William went on to present the opportunities of autism. Individuals with autism reports skill sets most nuerotypicals don’t possess. Some autistic individuals report having increased abilities to hear sounds from great distances and notice or remember details others would miss. Stillman reports experiencing an “interior film” that constantly replays images in his mind’s eye as he goes about his day. For Stillman, autism is not a disease needing a cure, but an alternate human experience.

William Stillman has written much about this alternate experience and how it touches on spirituality in his books Autism and the God Connection and The Soul of Autism. Through his work as a consultant and an advocate, William has encountered several individuals who report experiences we’d consider to be paranormal—stuff straight out of The X-Files. Some autistic individuals report the ability to communicate with their pets. Others report a pre-birth experience in heaven, or having past lives. Autistic children report being tormented by spirit beings or comforted by benevolent presences. William notes that for non-communicative autistic individuals, spiritual experiences could be considered monastic. The challenge of autism cloisters some from the outside world; it shouldn’t be surprising that some people on the spectrum turn to contemplation resulting in advanced spiritual awareness.

William and I discussed these phenomena over the phone in a conversation following the conference. I repressed my skepticism and tried to give William a good hearing. As I listened, I recalled my own Christian story. Sin has corrupted the human experience right down to our molecular biology. Scientists tell us humans only access 10% of the human mind. What if humanity lost access to that other 90% as a result of the Fall? St. Francis of Assisi reportedly talked to birds. Was he autistic?

Understanding religious phenomena is a tricky thing. We interpret our experience through the filter of our theology. Meanwhile, we form our theology through the filter our experiences. The Christian narrative disallows the possibility of reincarnation. However, that narrative doesn’t mean these autistic individuals aren’t experiencing something. But what is it?

William and I exchanged well-wishes and returned our respective phone receivers to their cradles. But the conversation continued in my mind for hours. If autism truly unlocks new storehouses of human potential, then my theological imagination must expand. When Jesus returns and all things are made new, right down to the synapses in my brain, I will join my friends on the autistic spectrum. Electrical impulses will dance through my gray matter in patterns currently unimaginable. Meanwhile my friends on the spectrum will retain the “autistic assets” they currently enjoy without the physical limitations many currently face.

If William’s instincts are accurate, if I take the time to befriend and serve individuals on the spectrum, I might catch a glimpse as to who I will become.

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Larry Shallenberger is a pastor in Erie, PA and the author of Divine Intention: How God’s work in the Early Church Empowers Us Today. Visit him at www.larryshallenberger.com.