A few weeks ago, after several sessions with a clinical autism assessor, I received a diagnosis. I met the clinical threshold for a diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). 

This is something that I have been exploring and wrestling with for a number of months. (Let’s be honest, doing several months of extensive research). 

Autism isn’t something I have, but Autistic is what I am. It is certainly not my entire identity, but it is a lens that explains a lot of my life and experiences. 

So I guess that makes me the Autistic Millennial Pastor? Maybe. 

Is this a new reality? Kind of. I have always been Autistic; I just did not know that the way I experienced the world was with an Autistic brain, with a medically defined neurodevelopmental disorder, and a sociologically defined difference in neurotype. 

In every other way, I am still me and the same as I always have been. I just have language and understanding of how my brain works and the sensory differences that I experience. 

Below is a much longer reflection on how I arrived at this place and what it means for me to be autistic. Beware if you read on, and thank you if you do. 

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Twenty years ago, in my second year of seminary, I remember sitting in my faculty advisor’s office. We were meeting to talk about my progress in my program. My grades were great; I was doing well in my courses. In fact, my advisor was gently trying to suggest that I was doing too well. I had been studying history and theology through my undergraduate degree, and two years into my Master of Divinity, his concern was that I needed a more diverse experience of studies. As our conversation progressed, we got into a discussion of my social skills and self-perception. This line of thought threw me off, as social skills were something that I had worked on my whole life through constant observation. I had created a complex set of rules and responses to use in social interactions that by this time in my life seemed to be working reasonably well. I didn’t really get why they might be an issue. 

Yet, there was also a part of me that was deeply worried. Maybe there was something, some important social behaviour that I hadn’t figured out. I have always had the feeling of being alien in the world. I often did not know what the correct social responses were, or could sense in social situations that I was missing something that everyone else seemed to understand. From a young age, I coped by being quiet. My 3rd grade teacher called me the gentle giant. Nearly all of my grade school report cards included the comment, “Erik is a conscientious and shy student.” Being quiet was a way to hide the fact, even from myself, that I was missing a lot in social situations. By being quiet, I could get by. 

Thinking back, I suspect my faculty advisor sensed that there was something different about me. I think he was concerned that a socially awkward kid who was good at theology but didn’t like making eye contact or reciprocal small talk might run into challenges in ministry. 

In 2006, the awareness of things like Asperger’s or Autism was still relatively new. Though around since the 50s, it took well into the 80s and 90s for Asperger’s and Autism to be fully included in the Diagnostic Manuals used by psychiatrists and psychologists. Still, each update was dramatically changing the definition. 

It wasn’t until 2013, when several neurodevelopmental conditions were combined into Autism Spectrum Disorder in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5). Sheldon Cooper wasn’t on TV until 2008. Asperger’s, Pervasive Developmental Disorder – Not Otherwise Specified, and Autism were not well known.

Still, my faculty advisor was probably on to something. I don’t think I presented like those obvious little boys who act like little fussy professors when we think of Asperger’s. But for those who watched closely, I must have been giving off some kind of vibe of strangeness. I guess I could be a little bit fussy about some things (just ask my wife). 

Thankfully, despite whatever my faculty advisor may have been worried about,  I have managed 17 years of ordained ministry. Certainly, there have been struggles and challenges, usually around social-communication problems. I know that I just did not pick up what people have been trying to communicate at times. But for the most part, ministry has gone well.  

Now, with a lot more awareness and resources available in the world in 2026, Autism Spectrum Disorder is a lot easier to find information on. After realizing that there might be something more than just being quiet and awkward that explains what has been going on with me for the last 40 or so years of my life, I sought out an Autism diagnosis earlier this year. Through a clinician’s formal assessment, I was given a diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). 

It turns out that I am Autistic.

Back in my faculty advisor’s office in 2006, I found myself sharing things that I had never shared with anyone else before. I talked about how I often felt like an observer when interacting with others. Keeping track of facial expressions, posture, and gestures while closely monitoring others for the same so that I could correctly respond to social cues. In that moment, I realized how odd this sounded. Yet, I was quite certain that this was how everyone navigated social situations but never talked about out loud.

I assumed that everyone was watching TV to learn social interactions, that everyone scripted conversations ahead of time, that small talk was just a social nicety and not enjoyable, that being sociable meant following very structured rules of conversation and that socializing was like being a character in a play where you don’t know the lines or plot ahead of time. You just try to fit the role as best you can. 

Turns out this is NOT how most people do social interactions. Turns out most people just intuitively know the rules and can interact and respond without thinking about it much at all. 

When most people think of Autism these days, the images we have to rely on are ones like Sheldon Cooper from the TV show The Big Bang Theory, or Raymond from the movie Rain Man. The image of non-verbal children who struggle to communicate at all also comes to mind: the children whose disability is blamed on vaccines or other unscientific reasons. Love on the Spectrum, Atypical, and a host of other Autistic coded characters are out there in media, portraying different versions of Autism, either explicitly or implicitly. 

But knowing exactly what Autism is can be hard to parse. Ask the stressed, frustrated and grieving parent of a non-verbal child, and you get one version. Or find the reels of an ASD level 1 late-diagnosed adult with sensory issues and a certain kind of blunt communication style who is advocating for Autism to be treated as a difference and not a disability, and you get a very different version. Both are Autism, and both are difficult to hold as examples of the same condition. 

Autism Spectrum Disorder is a neurodevelopmental condition, likely caused by genetics. It is a multifaceted diagnosis and heterogeneous condition. This means that those with ASD can present very differently and can require very different support needs and accommodations.

Funnily enough, and maybe something that should have been an early clue about my Autism, is that back in 8th grade, I had diagnosed my father with Asperger’s. I was doing a research project on Tourette’s Syndrome for school, a condition that also runs in my family. In whatever resource I had found at the public library, there was a ’see Asperger’s Syndrome’ note at the bottom of the Tourette’s entry. After looking into Asperger’s, I could see that it described my father accurately. My father was diagnosed about 20 years later by a psychologist. 

Even though Autism is genetic, I was strongly committed to not being like my father, who struggled with sensory and emotional regulation, and executive function, among other things. Not wanting to be like him, I discounted the idea that I could have Asperger’s/ be Autistic as well. 

These days there is a lot more information available online about Autism, some helpful, some not as much (see some links at the end of this post). Autism can be such a broad set of symptoms that it can be unhelpful to say that autistic people are like this or that. There is even the saying that “If you have met one Autistic person, you have met one Autistic person.” 

So rather than trying to describe all people with autism, I will share some of what Autism (or being Autistic) looks like for me:

Sensory issues: Fundamentally, autism is a nervous system condition or difference. Autistic nervous systems filter information differently than the norm. 

I have discovered that I don’t filter out sound the way most folks do. Loud venues or busy restaurants can make following conversation difficult. Noise-cancelling headphones are something I can’t live without these days; sometimes I don’t even listen to anything while wearing them. 

I have challenges with finding comfortable shoes, which I now see as a sensory issue with the bottoms of my feet. I am hypersensitive to heat, which makes me sweaty, tired and irritable almost instantly. I am hypo-sensitive to cold, which is why I generally only wore a hoodie (or two) as my winter jacket in Winnipeg. Certain fabrics and textures can make my skin crawl, and if clothing feels good, I will wear a lot of it. Also, thank goodness transition lenses are cool these days, because sunglasses are a must for me outside, and even great inside in some places like the grocery store. 

Lastly, I am relatively hypo-sensitive to pain. I have often thought that the people around me were exaggerating their injuries over the years. I think I have probably given a few people the impression that getting a tattoo is not very painful at all. I guess it might not be if you have a diagnosed sensory difference. 

Communication: When I was younger, I was told I lacked tact or was too direct. ‘Intimidating’ was also a word used often. I tend to be specific and pedantic at times, but I really appreciate when people are explicit and clear. I often over-explain things or miss jokes. I ask questions, seeking more information when asking questions can be perceived as challenging authority. 

I know that I can sound formal in the way that I speak and write. My wife likes to jokingly call me Professor Parker (maybe the joke is on her, as I am teaching at the seminary this fall!). I like to use formal titles and greetings in emails; I probably can give off the impression that I am fussy about those things. I just like being precise. 

Social cues: Eye contact is difficult for me. I can do it, but it feels like staring into someone’s soul and is incredibly intimate. Don’t be surprised if I am staring off into the distance while I talk. As some autistic folk say, you can have my eye contact or have my attention, not both. 

I am not good at small talk; I really have to mentally script out responses rather than naturally knowing to ask questions. But I am a good listener; as a good rule follower, I will patiently listen until someone else is done talking. I have learned through Clinical Pastoral Education not to respond to someone sharing their experience with my own experience, but sometimes I forget myself. I will miss hints and subtle non-verbal cues. Don’t invite me out for lunch by asking me if I am hungry… I won’t get it!

Living life on Manual Mode: I realized my brain doesn’t have an autopilot function. Everything I do requires me to think and choose each step, from brushing my teeth to cooking breakfast for my kids to driving somewhere. For example, when cooking, I have to think about each utensil I use, which drawer they are in, how to open the drawer, which pot to use, how to get the pot drawer open, which stovetop burner to use, etc… Every step in any process requires me to manually follow; I cannot just do things without thinking. 

I also learned that it is unusual to have a constant inner monologue. Every thought in my brain comes out in complete sentences and paragraphs, like a narrator is saying out loud every idea, always bringing order to the chaos, systematizing everything. Writing for me is not putting vague thoughts into coherent language, but simply transcribing the narration that is already happening. 

Routines and inflexibility, concrete and literal thinking: I generally try to hide it, but I like things predictable. Changes or surprises can really throw me for a loop. I like to eat the same breakfast every day, wear the same kind of clothes, and keep my wallet, keys and phone in the same pockets. 

I never thought of myself as a literal thinker, but I realize it is the preference of my brain. Anytime I hear an idiom, I picture the image in my brain: needle in a haystack, rock and a hard place, piece of cake, spill the beans. etc.. Even though I know these are expressions, every time I hear them, the literal image appears in my mind. 

Special Interests: Autistic special interests are often imagined as little boys playing with trains or dinosaurs, lining up toys in a particular order. However, special interests can be all kinds of things. They can change over time, or they can last a lifetime. Mine is, as you can guess, theology/lLutheranism/church/pastoring. I thought everyone was thinking about their favourite topic during all waking hours… no wonder I got those weird looks from parishioners when I would tell them I thought about church stuff all day and night…

Masking and 2e: We all behave in certain socially acceptable ways, but Autistic masking is hiding all the above traits to appear more socially acceptable out in the world. Wearing sunglasses in the grocery store can look a little weird. Practicing and learning to use social cues manually, instead of intuitively, is very cognitively draining. Getting frustrated by having to respond to too many demands placed upon us can seem selfish, so we just suffer through the nervous system static. Being too weird about having a favourite spot like Sheldon Cooper, or about using a certain spoon, or being unable to accept changes to a plan came across as being “too much,” so we just deal with the discomfort. Talking about Martin Luther all the time can be seen as being obsessive, so I hold it in. 

Masking takes energy, and the more complicated life gets, the more responsibilities need to be balanced; the older we get, the harder it is to spend all the effort to keep up appearances of having it together. 

In reviewing my childhood history for my Autism assessment, I discovered that as a child I had been assessed for giftedness and had my IQ measured, which I wasn’t aware of before. I was identified as Gifted then. Giftedness and Autism occurring together are called being twice exceptional (my pietistic upbringing is struggling with the possibility of sounding too braggy by sharing this information). 

As I have explored and researched Autism, I have also researched Giftedness. It is difficult to disentangle one from the other, as Gifted children are also reported to experience sensory issues and social-communication challenges. While many Autistic people can report delayed processing, especially of verbal processing, that has never been an issue for me. If there is something that likely allowed me to mask more than many other Autistic/Asperger’s boys of my age, it was that I think I could pick up pretty quickly that people were noticing I was being weird. I didn’t know why, but I could figure it out fast enough to stop. 

I was able to get by in school without having to put in a lot of effort; I don’t think I wrote a single paper during my undergraduate degree sooner than the night before. This freed me to watch and learn the social rules and keep from being too much of a strange kid. To hide and suppress my Autistic traits. 

I know that there were other Autistic (or ADHD) kids around during my childhood, and I would feel bad for them as they couldn’t suppress their sensory issues or their frustration with changing routines or plans. I had figured out that incessantly talking about whatever thing I was obsessed with at the time seemed to annoy most people. I felt bad for those kids who didn’t have this figured out. 

In my 20s and 30s, as life got more complicated, I was still able to use my cognitive capacity to mask. To learn how to blend in, to play a socially acceptable role, even when I was missing a lot in social settings.

However, in my 40s, juggling all the balls of family, work and social relationships in combination and now realizing that I was masking my Autistic traits, things were getting harder. Hiding the things my nervous system needed in order to regulate was taking all my energy. I couldn’t just push through the nervous system static distortion anymore. That’s when I started wondering what was wrong with me, and eventually stumbled onto Autism. 

There is a lot of debate online about whether Autism, or Neurodiversity more generally, is a disability or a difference. I am not sure they are mutually exclusive concepts. I certainly struggle with the idea of my Autism being disabling, and yet the reason I sought a diagnosis is that I realized that I couldn’t push through the struggles anymore. I needed to make changes and adaptations that would allow me to continue to function. At the same time, I cannot imagine doing all the things that I have done in my life without being autistic – it is part of what makes me me. 

Maybe there is a useful theological lens here. As Lutherans, we acknowledge that we are imperfect and flawed creatures. Some imperfections and flaws are easy to identify; others are more difficult to separate from the essence of our being. Our experiences and stories make us who we are. When Jesus appeared to the disciples in the upper room, he still bore the scars of crucifixion. Jesus could not be disambiguated from his history; his experience had become integral to who he was, even in the resurrection. 

I am not sure if my experience of Autism is inherently a flaw, or if the world and people around me are also imperfectly structured so as to make the differences that I bear cause me additional struggle and suffering. Most likely, as with everything about us and this world, it is a combination of both. 

Even though being Autistic is now a part of my identity, a lens through which my understanding of my experiences in life makes a lot more sense, I recognize it is only one part of a greater whole. Though it touches all the other parts of who I am, I still confess that at my core I am a beloved child of God. This external declaration of my identity, given by God in Christ, has not changed. 

But now, knowing that I am an Autistic beloved child of God, is sure helping to explain a lot of things in life, and also helping me to understand and adapt myself going into the future. 

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Links to some further information about Autism
Autism BC
Canadian Psychology Association

If you have questions or want to share you own experiences, feel free to post in the comments or email me at millennialpastor@gmail.com

What is Autism?