Category Archives: Spirituality

If It Ain’t Broke. . .

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Recently, a co-worker made a comment that continues to reverberate in my brain.

We were talking about a passage from the Acts of the Apostles that described some of the miraculous healings that St. Paul performed during his ministry. As you might expect, our conversation included on the age-old question of why we don’t see so many of these healings today. Mind you, we have seen real healings in our lifetimes, but they just don’t seem as prevalent as what is described in the Book of Acts. It was in this context that this fellow said: “Just think: if St. Paul were here today, so many people would be healed. Who knows? Maybe even your kids would be normal.”

I had an internal hiccup, but instead of addressing it I gently shifted the conversation.

Normal—It’s such a loaded word. It implies that my kids are abnormal, that they’re defective or not good enough. Now I doubt that’s what this fellow really thinks about my children. He has a history of choosing the wrong word at the wrong time. But still, the comment made me think.

Healing? No, Thanks.

First, there’s the question of healing. I said in an earlier post that I don’t pray for their healing half as much as I pray for their success in the world. Frankly, I don’t know what healing would mean for them. Autism, Aspergers, PDD-NOS—they’re all so pervasive in their effects on a person that it’s hard to disentangle the ASD from the person. Some would even say it’s impossible. It’s who they are, to the core of their personalities.

I have a very hard time imagining any of my kids without autism. I can’t fathom what they would look like. It’s not the same as if a deaf person were suddenly able to hear, or if someone were suddenly cured of cancer or diabetes. I suspect that if my kids were somehow “healed,” they would end up being different people.

Different, Not Less.

That’s the thing about ASD. It carries with it some heart-rending social challenges. It frequently causes cognitive and learning glitches as well. The brain of an ASD individual is wired differently, and that’s going to cause some deviations from a neurotypical brain. But along with the challenges and deviations come strengths and bonuses: Amazing attention to detail; very strong memory; hyper-focus; even the occasional savant expertise in an area. Not for nothing are figures like Thomas Jefferson, Wolfgang Mozart, and even Bill Gates identified as being on the autism spectrum. Heck, even Dan Aykroyd has said that he has Asperger syndrome!

Mind you, I wouldn’t complain if my six-year-old suddenly lost his tendency to melt down at the first sign of a change in plans. And it would give me great joy to see my eleven-year-old freed from her perseverations. But autism isn’t melt downs and perseveration. It isn’t anxiety and narrow focus of interest. Those are all symptoms of a broader condition: a brain that processes sensory input in atypical ways. The melt downs, anxieties, and perseverations are all the results of the core otherness of an ASD brain.

They are the results, too, of feeling the pressure to conform to other people’s expectations. It’s bad enough that so much in the world seems stacked against them. Just imagine how stressful it is to be made acutely aware of how different you are by people who misjudge you. Now add that to the already strong social anxiety that is typical for someone with ASD. And add all that to the virtual assault on the senses that many ASD folks feel when they are in an environment that they can’t control.

What Do I Want?

Asking for my kids to be “healed” of their autism would be like asking God to unmake their entire brain structure and forge a new personality. Is that really what I want for my children? Isn’t that a way of rejecting who they are and wishing they were someone else?

No, a far better approach would be to teach my kids how to make their way in a neurotypical world. I don’t want to change who they are. I want what every other parent wants: for my kids to learn how to deal with their challenges so that their natural strengths and gifts can shine.

Do you know what else I want? I want a world in which my kids, and everyone on the autism spectrum, are welcomed, respected, and appreciated for who they are and for the gifts that they bring. I want a world that understands these folks and treats them with the dignity they deserve. I want a world where they get a fair chance to show what they’re made of and to make a difference for other people.

They’re not broken. So don’t try to fix them.

Daddy Didn’t Kill Jesus

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Yup, that’s what we talked about at dinner tonight. All because our 11-year-old was convinced that I was guilty of deicide. She didn’t use that word, but she sure meant it. So how did she come to make such an accuastion? Simple: She has Asperger syndrome. And that means that she fixates on small details and makes huge conclusions from them. It means that she can’t see the forest for these off-kilter trees. It means that she makes connections that most people don’t make–creative, occasionally dark connections that only an aspie brain would come up with. Here’s what happened:

Yesterday, we went to our church’s Good Friday service, where we all read from the Passion according to St. John. One characteristic about John’s retelling of Jesus’ death is his use of the shorthand “the Jews” when he talks about Jesus’ enemies. It was “the Jews” who arrested him in the garden. It was “the Jews” who cried out, “Crucify him!” And it was “the Jews” who told Pilate, “We have no king but Caesar.”

So instead of getting the big picture of why Jesus died and the promise of his resurrection, my daughter fixated on John’s use of “the Jews.” She spent the rest of the service slumped over, with a grim scowl on her face. I let it go, knowing from bitter experience that if I tried to ask what was wrong, I would be risking more drama than would be wise at the moment.

Afterward, as we were walking to our car, she voiced the same theology that folks like St. John Chrysostom and St. Augustine held: All Jews are bad because they killed Jesus. Only now it was personal. You see, one of her best friends is Jewish. So she was convinced that she had to scold her friend and get her to apologize, if not convert and become a Catholic like us so she could go to confession.

I assured her that her friend had nothing to do with Jesus’ death and that she surely wouldn’t have been shouting for Jesus’ crucifixion if she were there. I promised that God doesn’t hate the Jews, either. In fact, he loves her  friend and her whole family.

I thought all was well–until she brought it up at dinner again tonight. The same question. The same implication of her friend. The same thoughts about the Jews. She just couldn’t get it out of her mind. Katie tried to deflect the issue by telling her that it was the Romans who put Jesus to death, not the Jews.

So what did my girl conclude? That Italians were to blame.

And who’s Italian? I am.

And what does that make her? Half-Italian.

So she slapped herself in the forehead a few times. Then she picked up a pizza box (we had carry-out for dinner) and began punching the overdone picture of an Italian chef on it. Then she pointed an accusing finger at me. “You!” she shouted angrily. “You killed Jesus!”

“Daddy didn’t kill Jesus,” Katie said, back pedaling as fast as she could. “And neither did you. And neither did your friend. But if you really want to go there, then think about this: In a sense, we all killed Jesus. It was our sin that put him on the cross. But you know what? He let it happen because he loves us. He let them crucify him so that he could forgive us and open heaven for us. So don’t feel bad. And don’t blame anyone. Just thank him for what he did, and be glad that he did it for you.” My girl just rolled her eyes. “If you say so,” she said, unconvinced.

I’m sure we haven’t heard the last of this. I’m sure it will spring up again, unannounced and unexpected. That, too, is what an aspie brain does. Its fixations come and go, but they never quite disappear. But at least for now, the crisis have been averted, and I’m off the hook.

I think.

I hope.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Even the Vatican!

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Kinda churchy in its wording (and a bit stiff in the translation), but the head of the Pontifical Council for Health Care Workers had some really nice things to say to the autism community. Here is one passage that I really liked:

In this pathological movement of self-envelopment and closure to the other and the external world, the Church sees as impelling the task of placing herself at the side of these people – children and young people in particular – and their families, if not to breakdown these barriers of silence then at least to share in solidarity and prayer in their journey of suffering. Indeed, this suffering, at times, also acquires features of frustration and resignation, not least because of the still scarce therapeutic results. These frustrations are to be seen, in particular, in families which, although they look after these children with loving care, experience repercussions as regards the quality of their own lives, and are often, in their turn, led to be closed up in an isolation that marginalises and wounds.

If you untangle the words, you see that Archbishop Zimowski gets some of the most challenging aspects of living with ASD: the frustration of the ones “trapped” inside of themselves and the isolation that not only they but their families can experience as a result.

I’ve often thought that the greatest gift the Church can give to the world is the gift of solidarity–one of JPII’s favorite words. Today’s Mass readings described how Jesus showed the greatest solidarity with us by becoming one of us and walking the paths that we walk–even to death on a cross. And now we as members of his body are called to the same solidarity–to become fellow-travelers with anyone who feels abandoned, marginalized, or less than worthy.

This, too, is one of the greatest challenges–and privileges!–that I find in raising my ASD kids. It takes more to get inside of their brains than it does for neurotypical kids because ASD kids can have such a hard time communicating who they are and what’s going on inside of them. You have to learn to think like them, and that can be very hard to do. But once you’ve got the key, you can make all sorts of contact and bond with them in new ways. And the love that flows between you is something extraordinary.

The problem, of course, is that not too many people outside of the family are going to go through all the work it takes to get there. And that leads to misunderstanding, isolation, and limited opportunities. So this is why statements like this one from Rome are so encouraging. It’s so good to know that we’re not walking this path alone.

Then there’s the archbishop’s statement that people on the spectrum . . .

. . . are never alone, inasmuch as they are passionately loved by God and, in Him, by the community of those whose faith commits them to becoming a living and transparent sign of the presence of the Resurrected Christ in the world.

A “living and transparent sign” of the presence of God. Yes! This is what I want to be for my kids. And this is also what I know my kids are becoming for me. God just shines through them in a special way.

May we all have eyes to see!