Advice and teaching for living a Christian life are almost universally the same: attend church, read your Bible and pray. This “holy trinity” of spiritual practice is often communicated to be most effective when practiced regularly.
But what happens when “regular” or “routine” are not natural parts of your brain’s processing and functioning? What happens to faith practitioners who find religious gatherings to be overstimulating or inaccessible? What about those for whom reading or the ability to focus are not natural skills?
Neurodivergence is a term used to describe the deviation from what is considered the “typical” way brains function. It is a catch-all term that can be used to describe a variety of different disorders, such as Autism, Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), Dyslexia, Tourette syndrome, Dyspraxia, Dyscalculia and Dysgraphia. Other sources suggest neurodivergence may also include Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Bipolar disorder, Auditory Processing Disorder (APD), etc.
For those who are neurodivergent, operating in spaces designed for more “neurotypical” experiences can be overwhelming, debilitating, or shame-inducing. This is especially true when support, accommodations or modifications are not provided.
Before I was diagnosed with ADHD, church attendance and faith practice strained under the weight of my brain’s neurodivergence. I struggled to keep up with the expectations.
In church services, both as a child and adult, it would take considerable effort to keep my body from fidgeting or squirming. “Lady-like” posture would become increasingly uncomfortable, exacerbating the discomfort of my church clothes. I would play with my posture, crossing and uncrossing legs, leaning forward and back again, uncomfortable no matter the position.
I was aware of my movement in a silent and still church. Each repositioning became a calculated effort to be as quiet and unassuming as possible.
The dresses, pantyhose and shoes also occupied my mind. They were too tight, too scratchy, too close to my neck, too bunchy or too saggy. After the age of 10, I vowed never to wear pantyhose to church again.
In the mega-church where I grew up attending services, the intense chill of the air conditioning distracted my mind throughout the service. I would count the flags hanging on the wall, the ceiling squares, and the hanging microphones throughout the sermon.
The moments before, after and during service when we were required to greet strangers and friends alike were fraught with anxiety. Was I shaking people’s hands correctly? Will I remember their names? What do I say to them?
I could have simply abandoned the adult world of quiet order for children’s church, but I did not like the loud and seemingly chaotic environment there. I didn’t want to be spoken to as if I didn’t know anything about God or the Bible.
I wanted a serious experience of church. I was not comfortable in either place.
Church is still uncomfortable, even as an adult who is aware of my diagnosis. Sitting still and “ladylike” is still a mental hurdle.
If I opt for less overstimulating clothes, I risk upsetting others who see my choice of jeans and rainbows as inappropriate. I still find myself counting the bulbs on the chandelier or grooves on the handrail. After service, I enjoy speaking to the members of our small church, but social anxiety still accompanies me.
Lately, I have begun doodling on the order of worship to keep my brain distracted from the discomfort and focused on the preacher. I worry if I seem rude.
Practicing my faith with ADHD is my burden to bear. But faith spaces that did not accommodate or understand diversity outside of the neurotypical experience contributed to unnecessary shame, persistent discomfort and unachievable expectations.
Even while attempting and failing to meet the markers of good Christian practice, I struggled to relate and connect to God. The shame I carried created a barrier between myself and God, keeping me from experiencing the love and peace of Christ.
Loving one another as Christ loves us asks us to determine how we can create more accommodating spaces that decrease barriers for neurodivergent families and individuals. The lack of accessibility may prevent these members not only from participating in the community but also from forming an authentic relationship with God.
Working towards more inclusive spaces is good both for individuals and our church community while also helping us live into the great commission and Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God filled with diverse people, all made in the image of God.
In the next few weeks, I will explore ways for neurodivergent folks, with a particular focus on those with ADHD, can reclaim faith practices and spaces. I will also explore ways to incorporate support and understanding into religious teachings and routines, creating more inclusive environments.
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Erin is a current student at Campbell Divinity School, attending night classes for the Master of Arts in Christian Ministry. During the day, she participates in the holy work of teaching public school teenagers how to cook as a Family and Consumer Science teacher (formally known as Home Economics). A self-proclaimed Jack of all trades, Erin dabbles in an array of hobbies when school allows, including knitting, crocheting, spinning yarn, sewing, gardening, reading, writing, and, of course, cooking.
