I do not mask as much at church anymore.
Today I stood having a conversation with some church friends. I subconsciously began rocking and petting my hair. Having no context for what it looked like to them, the conversation stopped. Noticing the lull, I looked up. They were both staring at me. Their expressions were somewhere between perplexed and concerned.
"Are you okay?" they asked me.
I smiled at them and said, “I am neurodivergent.”
As if on cue, they spoke simultaneously. “I know, but are you okay?”
I told them, “I am fine. I am just stemming because I am happy.”
That may seem insignificant, but it is not. It was at that moment I realized how long I had masked. Sure, I could not hide my neurodivergence entirely, but I have always masked it. But today, I did not.
Photo by Naomi Suzuki on Unsplash
Upon reflection, I realized I do not mask very often at church anymore.
My church has become a place where I am safe. After seven years in ministry, my spirit knows and trusts in the security that I can unmask myself and be me.
This shift is monumental.
I know we place on ourselves unreachable expectations and sometimes false interpretations of what others are thinking. I admit much of my feelings of being unsafe are because of my assumed discomfort of others.
If you are neurotypical, this may seem insignificant, but it is not.
Family, society, and social pressures have always told me to be a certain way, look a certain way, be quiet, and be still. Be normal, or suffer consequences like being bullied or even beaten. So I learned to mask in public. It takes a lot to unlearn 30 years of behavior. It takes a great deal to make me feel safe enough to exist in all my neurodivergent-ness.
But I realized today how much more I have just been me in front of our church family. I have wiggled, rocked, tapped, and bounced. Here is the craziest thing: with me being me, not one person has allowed that to bring them (at least publicly) to question my calling.
Maybe it is because I have earned their respect, but I think it goes deeper. Our church is growing comfortable with diversity and differences. It clicked with me today how special that is, not just as our Special Needs Pastor but as a person who is disabled.
Our church has become a safe place to be authentic and never feel judged or invalid—this is huge for my traumatized mind. This growth and change have become so palpable that my P.T.S.D.-informed, neurodivergent brain feels safe setting aside the societal view of what a pastor should be and becoming the pastor God designed me to be.
It is not only a breakthrough; it is a miracle. Not only because I belong but because it means others will too. It means after years of work and welcoming people, even the most traumatized by being unwanted in a typical world will be able to breathe and be. How beautiful is that!
I pray that you find a community that will encourage growth in your faith and directs you away from sin. May they admonish what is sinful in you. However, may you never be treated in a way that makes you feel unsafe to be you.
Whether that is being vivacious and ostentatious or quiet and introverted. Prim and proper or silly and stemming.
This New Year, may you be so loved in your church home that you can exist as fully you and never have to mask. May your church know and welcome the unmasked you—which God made in His image. May the church stop pretending difference is sinful instead of just different.
Joanna French is the special needs pastor at Flint Hills Church, Junction City, KS. Joanna and her husband Jairmie have two boys with autism. In 2017, Joanna started Flint Hills Embrace, with the goal to make Flint Hills Church a place where everyone belongs. Why? Because we all have a place in God's plan.
