Pray as you can, not as you think you must.
This is Fr Thomas Hopko’s adaptation of advice from Dom John Chapman: ‘Pray as you can, not as you can’t.’ Personally, I prefer Chapman’s more concise version.
Neurotypical Christians often seem quite dogmatic about the ‘right’ way to pray. Orthodox and Catholic spiritual advisers offer those who come to them more or less complex rules of prayer. While Protestant pastors commend things like the ACTS (Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication) formula or encourage their flocks to spend time every day interceding for family, friends, community, nation, and world. And in charismatic circles there is an expectation that glossolalia will be an essential part of true Christian prayer. In some cases, these are effectively presented as commands. More often, they are offered as recommendations for those wishing to live a ‘normal’ Christian life. But, for neurodivergent Christians, this advice comes across as pressure to conform to a neurotypical ‘ideal’.
This maxim sets us free from all that. What matters is that we pray as we can and not strive and fail to achieve what is for us an impossible ‘ideal’. If executive dysfunction makes a long prayer rule seem impossible, simply saying the Jesus Prayer or venerating an icon is not a failure; it is a victory over inertia.
For those facing sensory overload or autistic shutdown, this maxim validates non-verbal prayer. There is no reason that our prayers should be verbalized. St. Isaac the Syrian speaks of a state of prayer where ‘movements of the tongue and the heart cease’, and the soul prays through presence and silence. When an autistic Christian is in a state of shutdown and loses the ability to speak, standing silently before an icon or holding a prayer rope is enough. God does not need words to understand the heart: ‘You understand my thoughts from afar’ (Ps 138:2). In such moments, the mere act of remaining in God’s presence is true prayer.
The second part of the maxim allows us to see the limited energy that often accompanies neurodivergence in a new light. It is not ‘laziness’ (acedia) but rather the ‘widow’s mite’ (see Luke 21:1–4). Just as Christ praised the widow who gave all she had, so he accepts the prayer capacity available to us in the present moment. If your social and sensory battery is drained by the demands of navigating a neurotypical world, a five-minute prayer rule might cost you as much effort as an hour-long rule costs someone else.
As Fr. Thomas Hopko often pointed out, God is not a ‘legalist’ checking boxes, but a physician looking for a contrite heart. He wants you to come to him as you are, not hiding behind a neurotypical performance. So, adapting your prayer to your needs – using short prayers, pacing or rocking or otherwise stimming, using noise-cancelling headphones to create a quiet sanctuary – is not ‘cheating’; it is the wise application of economy to your specific situation.
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