While I do not remember the exact words spoken to me, I remember the day on which I finally received my autism diagnosis. The evening sky exploded into a vast array of colors as my family left the testing center, and the breeze of fresh summer air seemed to crescendo into a satisfying breath. There was a sense of finality, of elation. At this moment, my understanding of and walk with God changed forever.
I could contain this reflection to my own experiences with being autistic and how I have personally experienced God, but I desire to reflect more on how the experience of the divine can be and has been made manifest for those on the margins, using a neurodivergent lens.
In her seminal work The Disabled God, the late Nancy Eiesland essentially flips the script on our perception of the divine: “I saw God in a sip-puff wheelchair, that is, the chair used mostly by quadriplegics enabling them to maneuver by blowing and sucking on a strawlike device. Not an omnipotent, self-sufficient God, but neither a pitiable, suffering servant. In this moment I beheld God as a survivor, unpitying and forthright. I recognized the incarnate Christ in the image of those judged ‘not feasible,’ ‘unemployable,’ with ‘questionable quality of life’. Here was God for me.”
There is an unmistakable power in this revelation. I understand that some may find this image difficult to work with, but I think it perfectly aligns with the God who desires to be further revealed to us in our relationship with Jesus Christ. The image of the disabled God is powerful precisely because it is situated in utmost weakness. Essentially turning the tables on the image of God that many Christians have been raised to understand their entire lives not only serves to question why we perceive God in a particular way but also reframes the purpose of Christ, as evidenced through Scripture.
The first story in John 9 details Jesus healing a man born blind. When questioned by his disciples as to whether the man’s blindness was a result of his sin or his parents’ sin, Jesus replies that the man was born blind “so that the works of God might be displayed in him.” While some may take this statement as a clear link between disability and sin, I would consider otherwise. Certainly, far from all neurodivergent people would consider their condition to be beneficial, but I would argue that their neurodiversity is where God has deliberately chosen to reveal God’s glory. Such can be said for other marginalized groups, who blur the lines of normality yet accordingly bear the image of God in unexpected ways.
In light of this understanding, I tend to envision God as neurodivergent, typically using the label of autism. I find that God lines up with several different traits: a creativity that goes bounds outside of any box, a sense of humor that often goes overlooked, multiple acts I would consider stimming (drawing aimlessly in the sand), and a universe like a child’s sandbox–chaotic and beautiful at the same time. While I do not define God as literally neurodivergent, this image helps me to understand my role in creation as an image bearer of the divine.
As someone who has had a lifetime struggle with fitting into some realm or another of society, this image brings me hope. Knowing that God embodies the least of these figuratively and literally (Matthew 25:40) is infinitely comforting and reminds me just how much God desires us. We can better connect with God through an understanding of God as “other”; particularly, as Eiesland describes, “the image of those judged ‘not feasible.’” As an identifier with the oft cast out, Christ presents an avenue for liberation and life.
Proclaiming God as autistic or “other,” I believe, is imperative in understanding the extent of God’s grace. 2 Corinthians 12:9 reads, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” The living Christ came into his resurrection not perfectly bodied but with scars–embodied as we are; simultaneously disabled and divine. God as a survivor–conqueror of the grave and of death. God as autistic–actively rebelling against perceived social and even universal norms. God within us, God as us.
Following this line of thought, I want to argue for a theology that is truly inclusive of all people. A major aspect of this theology is considering how we approach the nature of God, and conversely how God approaches us, in particular, those often neglected or even cast out by the church. Feminist theology, for example, centers itself in reckoning with the femininity of God as well as with elements found within the history of Biblical canon that uplift women and their roles within the church. The increasing relation to God as “Mother” in certain denominations marks a powerful shift in the consideration of theology as a whole. Reframing our perceptions of God within a “neurodiverse” theology allows us to be more open to the lives and experiences of marginalized groups and their particular expressions.
As embodied souls–as image bearers, it is imperative that we further engage with the complex intersectionality of the divine and the marginalized. John 1:14 from the Liberation and Inclusion Translation of the Bible reads that “The Conversation was embodied and set up a place to be present among us, and we saw its praiseworthiness–praiseworthiness as one-of-a-kind from the Father, filled with generosity and trustworthiness.” The nature of God is an ever-evolving conversation, but always rooted in love, justice, and praise.
While I find the saying “God works in mysterious ways” to be trite and often ignorant of God’s true potential, there is indeed a mystery unfolding as more marginalized people come to reconcile their being through God and find themselves more fully. I myself find immense sanctuary in this truth. My life–my style of worship–has been transformed. I can now relate to God in many different and refreshing ways while still acknowledging God’s holiness and power. Ultimately, whether one approaches God as autistic, disabled, or as Mother, the image of God within us is no less altered, and the God who reigns forever all the more adored.
