Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (16)

Having dealt with Scripture in his 15th maxim, Hopko now adds

‘Read good books, a little at a time.’

This maxim encourages the love of learning while gently discouraging behaviour that can lead to burnout or intellectual pride. ‘Good books’ here means writings that nourish your faith and sanity – Scripture commentaries, lives of the saints, solid theology, spiritual classics, or well-chosen books in your areas of interest that help you see creation truthfully – rather than doomscrolling endless social media or polemical blogs.

The society we live in encourages skim reading, multitasking, and speed. For those of us who find that the pressure to read more and faster leads to overload or who tend to binge read or treat reading as form of escapism, ‘A little at a time’ advises us to receive what we are reading as steady, digestible food. Hopko is, in fact, commending the art of slow reading.

Slow reading rejects the productivity metrics of contemporary society. It favours deep reading over speed reading. It involves giving structure and pacing to our reading. This might involve choosing one ‘good book’ at a time, setting a clear limit (e.g., 5–10 pages, or a single chapter, per day), perhaps reading selected passages aloud, meditating on striking ideas, and/or capturing key sentences and thoughts in a notebook. In effect, it is about applying the spiritual practice of lectio divina to books other than the Bible.

This maxim is a blessing for the many autistic people who have been shamed either for reading ‘too much’ or for not being able to keep up with a demanding reading list. If you are not sure where to begin, you might ask your priest or a trusted guide to help you curate a short reading list – perhaps one Gospel commentary, one biography of a saint, one modern spiritual work, and one non-theological ‘good book’ that honours God’s world – and consciously ignore the pressure to read everything. If your special interest is, say, ecology, science fiction, or photography, you can allow some of your ‘good book’ time to dwell there, offering that focused attention to Christ instead of treating it as a guilty secret. Lived this way, Hopko’s maxim welcomes your autistic love of knowledge, while teaching your mind to eat slowly, gratefully, and in a way your heart and body can actually bear.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (15)

Hopko’s 15th maxim is ‘Read the Scriptures regularly’.

This means letting the Bible become steady nourishment rather than occasional spiritual ‘snacking’. It does not require long, emotionally intense reading sessions or constant ‘insight production’. More important is a simple, repeatable pattern you can actually keep (e.g., one psalm in the morning, the daily epistle or gospel in the evening, or a single chapter read at the same time and place each day. The aim is to receive Scripture as food and fuel for your mind and heart, not as ammunition for arguments or as a way to prove your worth.

Autistic cognition often loves detail, structure, and patterns, which can become a gift in Scripture reading when rightly directed. You might track readings in a small notebook or app; follow the lectionary so your personal reading syncs with the Church; or focus on one book at a time, slowly noticing its repeated words, images, and themes. If you tend to hyperfocus and burn out, it may help to set a hard limit (e.g., 10–15 minutes or a fixed number of verses), then stop, even if you want to keep going; this respects both the maxim and your nervous system. If language processing is difficult when you are overloaded, try listening to an audio Bible, read in a clearer translation alongside a liturgical one, or pair the text with an icon so that your visual strengths help you stay present.

Because many autistic people carry religious trauma, scrupulosity, or fear of ‘doing it wrong’, it is important to remember that Scripture is given as a gracious gift, not as a test you must pass. If certain passages are heavily triggering, you can set them aside temporarily with your priest’s blessing and dwell for a season in the Psalms, the Gospels, or comforting epistles like Philippians or 1 John. Written routines can help some people: ‘After breakfast, I light a candle, make the sign of the Cross, read today’s section, sit in silence for one minute, then close the book’. If your attention wanders, you are not failing; you can gently return with a brief prayer such as, ‘Lord Jesus Christ, speak to me through Your word’. Lived this way, Hopko’s maxim becomes a stable, non-dramatic rhythm where your autistic love of pattern and depth is welcomed, and the Scriptures slowly shape your imagination, your self-understanding, and your hope.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (14)

‘Reveal all your thoughts and feelings regularly to a trusted person.’

Decades ago, when I was an evangelical student, there was some pressure in the circles I moved in to be completely open with one another. This was something I found impossibly stressful. Hopko’s 14th maxim is much more nuanced than this, but it can still sound threatening to autistic Christians However, this is not a demand to become emotionally ‘transparent’ in a socially neurotypical way, nor to over-share with people who have not earned your trust. Rather, it is an invitation to step out of the isolation of your own head by choosing at least one safe person – a priest, therapist, close friend, spouse, or spiritual mother/father – before whom you can gradually bring your inner world: your scruples, special-interest worries, sensory fears, anger, joy, and confusion. The point is not to perform piety, but to stop carrying everything alone and to let Christ meet you through another person who knows you are autistic and honours that reality. 

Because many autistic people have been gaslit or punished for ‘too much honesty’, this maxim requires clear boundaries and structures. You might agree on regular, time-limited check-ins (e.g., once a week for 30 minutes), use bullet points or written notes to organize what you want to say, or give advanced warning if you need concrete feedback instead of vague reassurance. ‘Revealing thoughts’ can include naming sensory overload and meltdowns, describing masking fatigue, confessing when you have fixated on a fear or resentment, or simply saying, ‘My body and brain feel strange and I don’t know why.’ You do not have to share with everyone; part of this maxim is about learning who is actually trustworthy, and giving yourself permission to withhold your inner life from people who mock, minimize, or spiritualize away your autistic experience.

For many autistic Christians, written communication will be the most truthful and least overwhelming way to live this maxim. You might email your priest before confession with the main themes you need to discuss, keep a private journal that you sometimes share in part, or send a message to a trusted friend when you notice yourself getting into a vicious spiral of shame or anger. An autistic-aware therapist, psychiatrist, or support group can also be a legitimate fulfilment of this maxim, especially when your thoughts and feelings are shaped by trauma, OCD, anxiety, or depression as well as by autism.

Lived this way, ‘revealing all your thoughts and feelings’ does not erase your need for solitude or your preference for clarity; instead, it becomes a gentle, structured practice of stepping out of lonely hyper-reflection into communion, where another person helps you sort what is truly sin, what is suffering, and where the mercy of God is already at work.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (13)

Hopko’s 13th maxim is ‘Do not engage intrusive thoughts and feelings. Cut them off at the start.’

This is not an order to ‘think like a neurotypical’! Autistic Orthodox Christians should not feel pressured into suppressing every intense emotion or special-interest thought, or blaming oneself for sensory overwhelm. Rather, for neurodivergents, it means learning to notice when a thought or feeling is pulling you away from trust in Christ – especially shame scripts, catastrophic ‘what if’ spirals, replaying social interactions, or harsh self-criticism – and choosing not to feed them with endless analysis. You can acknowledge, ‘This is an intrusive thought, not the voice of God’, and then gently return to a short prayer, a psalm verse, or a grounding task, without expecting the thought to vanish instantly. 

However, because autistic cognition often tends towards looping, rumination, and very detailed analysis, ‘cutting off’ intrusive thoughts may need to be concrete and embodied, rather than purely mental. Helpful practices can include setting a time limit for reviewing a distressing event, using a timer; writing down the worry once and then placing it before an icon; shifting attention to a sensory-safe task (walking, knitting, simple chores); or using a script like, ‘Lord, this thought is noisy; You are still here’, whenever the loop restarts. Intrusive feelings can also be intensified by sensory overload, low blood sugar, or exhaustion, so part of obeying this maxim is caring for your nervous system – reducing noise or light, eating, resting – so that your brain is less likely to grab onto every passing fear as absolute truth. 

It is also important not to confuse clinical anxiety, OCD, depression, or trauma responses with deliberate spiritual failure. If intrusive thoughts become constant, blasphemous, or terrifying, or if cutting them off feels impossible, this maxim quietly points towards the later maxims about getting help without fear or shame: talk with a trusted priest, therapist, or doctor about what you are experiencing. In some cases, using medication, therapy, or structured coping tools will actually make this maxim more keepable, because your brain will have enough stability to notice and redirect thoughts instead of being dragged down by them.

Lived in this way, Hopko’s 13th maxim becomes an invitation to let Christ stand guard at the edge of your vivid, detail-rich inner world, so that not every passing image or feeling has the right to rule your heart.

New life for an old lens

I have, as a legacy from my Nikon using days, an old Nikkor 50mm f/1.8 AF lens. It is a nice lens, but it wasn’t compatible with the autofocus mechanisms of either of my Nikon DSLRS. As a result, I could only use it on manual. And I really didn’t like the manual focusing aid on those cameras. So, I only made occasional use of it for close-up work.

Recently, I invested in an Urth Nikon F to Fuji X adapter. And the old lens has become a great addition to my (still small) collection of lenses for the XT-3. Now manual focusing is a doddle because the XT-3 has focus peaking.

In fact, my recent use of that lens on the XT-3 has tempted me to (a) stick to manual focus all the time and (b) build up my lens collection with prime lenses rather than zooms. On the latter point, using a prime lens means I have one less decision to make: I don’t have to choose a focal length; if I can’t frame what I want to photograph, I simply have to move.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (12)

Hopko’s 12th maxim is ‘Go to confession and communion regularly.’

Confession can be an intense experience, and the Russian Orthodox practice of queueing up to say confession before every Liturgy with other parishioners milling about nearby can be too much for some autistic people. To make confession manageable, you might want to agree with your priest to meet at a quieter and more private time and place. If you are non-speaking or liable to selective mutism, it is a good idea to write down a brief list of your sins, which you can read out or hand to the priest. It is also a good idea to ask for suitable accommodations such as that the priest use clear, concrete language or that he indicates clearly when you are finished. If eye contact is hard, if you need to stim, or if you speak in a very detailed or ‘info-dumpy’ way, none of these things invalidate the sacrament; you can name them briefly (‘I’m autistic, so I may . . .’) and then focus on bringing your heart and your real actions into the light before Christ.

It is worth remembering that receiving communion (or engaging in any other act of Christian piety) ‘regularly’ is primarily about our relationship with Christ and our fellow members in the body of Christ; it is not a matter of frequency or copying someone else’s pattern. It is perhaps best to work with your priest to find a simple, predictable rhythm that takes account of your needs as an autistic person, rather than waiting until you feel ‘worthy’ (which will never happen) or forcing yourself into a schedule that leads to shutdown. 

Hopko’s maxim should not be seen as a terrifying demand to perform neurotypical piety. Rather, it is a promise that, through a realistic, sustainable pattern of confession and communion, Christ will keep meeting you in your actual autistic body and story, cleansing, strengthening, and feeding you for the Kingdom.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (11)

Hopko’s 11th maxim, ‘Go to liturgical services regularly’, is an invitation to anchor your life in the Church’s prayer.

But ‘regularly’ need not mean ‘every single service, no matter what’; it can mean a stable, realistic pattern of attendance (e.g., Divine Liturgy every Sunday and one weekday service when possible). For neurodivergent Christians, such a pattern should take seriously your sensory limits, executive function, and energy. The goal is not to collect attendance ‘points’, but to let Christ reshape your time, body, and imagination through the rhythms of the Liturgy, the feasts and fasts, and the presence of the saints. 

Because services can be loud and crowded, this maxim should be interpreted with compassion and creativity for autistic needs. You might stand at the back or near a door, use earplugs or noise-reducing headphones, hold a small object to stim with (such as a small cross or a prayer rope), or agree with your priest that you can step outside and return as needed without shame. The relatively predictable structure of the Orthodox Liturgy does mean that, once you become familiar with it, the sensory and social load is easier to handle and your mind can rest more on the prayers themselves. For some, ‘going regularly’ may also include connecting via livestream when illness, shutdown, or travel makes physical attendance impossible, while still treating in-person Liturgy as the irreplaceable centre whenever you are able to be there. 

This maxim also touches the pain many autistic people feel when church becomes a place of misunderstanding, exclusion, or pressure to mask. Going to services regularly does not mean enduring spiritual or psychological abuse, forcing eye contact, or pretending that everything is fine while you quietly break down; it means returning again and again to Christ in the midst of His people, with your real body and real needs, and letting Him meet you there. You may need to choose a parish or a particular priest who is willing to discuss accommodations, to arrive early or late to avoid crowds, or to sit or kneel when others stand, without apologizing for being ‘different’. In this way, Hopko’s maxim becomes not another impossible social demand, but a promise: that the liturgical life of the Church can be a stable, patterned refuge where your neurodivergent nervous system and your baptized soul are both slowly shaped for the Kingdom.