St Sergius of Radonezh: A memory not made for war

St Sergius of Radonezh, whose feast day it is today, was one of the great monastic figures of the Christian East: a man of prayer, humility, hospitality, reconciliation, and patient spiritual renewal. He lived in Rus’ in the fourteenth century, a time of division, violence, and oppression. And the tradition remembers him as an ascetic who sought peace, rebuilt common life around prayer and labour, and called people towards unity rooted in love.

Sadly, today the real Sergius is in danger of being supplanted by a Sergius reinvented to serve the purposes of the Russian state. The famous saying attributed to him, ‘By love and unity we shall be saved’, which invokes our union in the body of Christ relativizing all ethnic differences, has been weaponized to justify the forced reunion of Ukraine with Russia (or perhaps we should think of it as Moskovia). The later story of Sergius’s blessing of Dmitry Donskoy before the Battle of Kulikovo has been transformed from a blessing on a defensive campaign after all avenues of peace had been exhausted into a precedent for a war of aggression against Ukraine. 

To invoke Sergius should mean recalling the spiritual discipline required to resist hatred, falsehood, and the intoxication of power. It should mean praying for all who suffer in this war: for the Ukrainians living under attack and occupation, for displaced families, for the Russians drawn into violence or silenced when they speak truth, and for the bereaved on both sides. It should mean refusing the suggestion that any nation possesses a divine mandate to dominate another. Contrary to the poisonous ideology of Russkii mir, a shared Orthodox inheritance, language, or historical memory does not give one people the right to subsume another. Christian communion is not empire. Rather, it is freely received fellowship in Christ. 

May the memory of St Sergius call Christians not to the consecration of war, but to the difficult work of peace: truthful remembrance, solidarity with the vulnerable, repentance where the Church has blessed injustice, and unity formed by love rather than force.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (37)

Hopko’s 37th maxim is ‘Flee imagination, fantasy, analysis, figuring things out’. For autistic Orthodox Christians, this is not a command to stop thinking, drop theology, or shut down your rich inner world. Rather, it is a warning about a specific pattern: when imagination, analysis, and fantasy stop serving love and start spiralling into anxiety, scrupulosity, daydreams, escapism, or endless ‘what‑if’ scenarios that keep you from praying, acting, or resting. Many autistic people know this pattern very well: replaying conversations for hours, mentally running every possible outcome of a simple task, building elaborate fantasy scenarios to escape overwhelming reality, or over‑analysing every feeling until you are paralysed. Fleeing, here, means gently stepping out of that loop – not rejecting your mind itself, but refusing to let the loop rule you. 

Because autistic cognition naturally tends toward depth, pattern‑spotting, and detailed internal simulation, this maxim needs to be applied with nuance. Some imagination and analysis are gifts: they help you understand Scripture, theology, other people, and your own sensory world; they fuel creative work and problem‑solving. You can keep those gifts by asking concrete questions like: ‘Is this helping me love God and neighbour right now, or is it only feeding fear, pride, anger, or avoidance?’; ‘Have I thought about this enough to choose a next step?’ When the answer is ‘No’ in the first case or ‘Yes’ in the second, fleeing the loop might look like: returning to a short prayer instead of running the scenario again; moving your body; doing a small task in the real world; or shifting to a grounded, creative use of your mind (writing, art, study, etc.) instead of unstructured rumination.

Practically, you might:

• Set time limits for analysis and problem‑solving, then deliberately hand unresolved pieces to Christ at the end of that time.
• Notice specific triggers – doomscrolling, certain kinds of theological argument, some fantasy worlds – that reliably send you into loops, and limit or reshape your engagement with them.
• When you catch yourself scripting a conversation for the tenth time, say, ‘I’ve done enough figuring out’, and choose one concrete action (send the email, ask for clarification, or consciously postpone the topic).

Lived this way, ‘Flee imagination, fantasy, analysis, figuring things out’ does not forbid you to be an intensely thinking, imaginative autistic person. Rather, it invites your mental powers to come back from the places where they trap you – catastrophic fantasy, endless self‑interrogation, escapist daydreams – and to stand, as you are, in the small, real moment where Christ is actually present and where even one simple act of trust or love is worth more than hours of brilliant but fruitless spinning.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (36)

Hopko’s 36th maxim, ‘Speak simply, clearly, firmly, directly’, fits many autistic communication strengths when it is understood rightly. For autistic Orthodox Christians, it means letting your words be truthful, minimally complicated, and as free as possible from passive–aggressive hints, double meanings, or performative piety. It is often more loving to say, ‘I’m tired and need quiet now’, ‘I can’t take on that task’, or ‘That noise hurts me’, than to hint, endure, resent, and then melt down later. 

Because autistic communication is frequently misread – ’too direct’, ‘too intense’, ‘too detailed’ – this maxim is best lived with a few gentle adjustments. You might aim for:

• Simple words and short sentences, especially when discussing conflicts or needs.
• Clear structure: say what happened, how it affected you, and what you are asking for, instead of circling the point.
• Firmness without hostility: using calm, declarative statements (‘I will need to leave by 9 p.m’.) rather than apologies for existing (‘Sorry, I’m difficult, but maybe I should go early?’).

Practically, you can prepare brief scripts for recurring situations – at church, at work, with family – so that in moments of overload you have simple, pre‑chosen phrases ready. Written or text communication can often help you keep things simple and clear when speech is hard; this still fulfils the maxim. Over time, ‘speak simply, clearly, firmly, directly’ becomes less about trying to sound like everyone else and more about allowing your God‑given autistic directness to be shaped by charity: words that are honest but not weaponized, straightforward but not contemptuous, so that those around you can actually understand you, and you can live in less confusion and resentment before God and neighbour.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (35)

Hopko’s 35th maxim, ‘Think and talk about things no more than necessary’, can sound impossible if your autistic brain naturally loops, analyses, and infodumps. But this maxim is not about the impossible task of switching off your thoughts or silencing your interests. rather, it is about noticing when thinking or talking has stopped serving love and has become rumination, anxiety, or self‑stimulation that wears you out. ‘No more than necessary’ might mean: enough thought to understand a situation and choose a next action; enough speech to be clear and truthful. After that point, the extra hours of rehashing conversations, rechecking decisions, or particularly arguing online usually do not add wisdom; they drain your energy and peace. 

Because autistic cognition often runs in detailed, repetitive tracks, you will probably need to develop concrete habits rather than be satisfied with vague intentions. You might:

• Set time limits for analysing a problem, using a timer, and then handing it to God in a brief prayer when the time ends.
• Agree with yourself or your confessor on ‘parking places’ for thoughts – writing them in a notebook to revisit at a set time, instead of carrying them all day.
• Before launching into a long explanation, ask, ‘What is actually necessary here?’ and offer the short version first, adding detail only if the other person asks.
• Notice triggers (certain topics, online spaces, theological disputes) where ‘talking more’ almost never helps, and gently avoid or limit them for the sake of your well-being.

This maxim also has a compassionate side for your special interests and emotions. You don’t need to be afraid of thinking or speaking; God often works through your focused attention and deep passions. The point is to let that attention be ordered – into prayer, study, creative work, concrete action – rather than letting it spin endlessly without fruit. When you realize you’re rehearsing the same argument for the tenth time, or explaining again to someone who clearly does not want to understand, you can say, ‘I’ve reached “no longer necessary”,’ stop, and turn to something life‑giving, e.g. a psalm, a walk, a photograph, a small task. Lived this way, ‘Think and talk about things no more than necessary’ does not demand a neurotypical brain; it gently trains your vivid autistic mind so that its strength is spent on what truly builds up you and your neighbour in Christ.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (34)

Hopko’s 34th maxim, ‘Be awake and attentive, fully present where you are’, is not a demand for constant hyper‑focus or sensory openness. For autistic Orthodox Christians, being ‘awake and attentive’ often begins with acknowledging how easily your attention is pulled away – by sensory overload, intrusive thoughts, special interests, or social anxiety – and then choosing one thing, one person, or one task to be with at a time. Fully present may mean focusing on the prayers during Liturgy (perhaps with your eyes shut if you find movement around you distracting); listening as best you can during a conversation; actually tasting what you are eating rather than ruminating over the past or speculating about the future.

Because autistic nervous systems are fragile and easily overwhelmed, this maxim should be kept together with the earlier ones about food, rest, exercise, and managing intrusive thoughts. You are more able to be present after you have eaten, taken a movement break, reduced painful stimuli, or allowed yourself some ‘special interest’ time, than when your body is in constant alarm. Concrete helps might include setting aside tech‑free periods during the day; using simple mindfulness exercises before prayer; giving yourself permission to stim quietly so your brain can stay online; or shrinking ‘fully present’ to short, manageable segments (five attentive minutes of prayer, ten attentive minutes with a person, one task done without multitasking). Lived this way, ‘Be awake and attentive’ becomes not another impossible standard, but a gentle training of your vivid, detail‑rich autistic mind to meet Christ and neighbour here, in this limited moment, rather than only in memory, fantasy, or fear.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (33)

Hopko’s 33rd maxim, ‘Listen when people talk to you’, can be hard when you are autistic – not because you do not care, but because auditory processing, sensory overload, and anxiety make listening costly. It is worth noting that this maxim does not require autistic Orthodox Christians to satisfy neurotypical expectations: it is not about making perfect eye contact, responding instantly, or decoding every social nuance. Rather, it is about doing what love makes possible so that, when someone speaks to you, you offer as much genuine attention as you can cope with at that time. Listening can become an ascetical act: you receive the other person as an icon of Christ, within your limits, instead of vanishing into your inner world or your special interest whenever interaction becomes uncomfortable.

Because your ability to listen changes with context, this maxim needs practical supports and honest communication. You might:

• Tell friends, ‘I listen better if I’m not looking at your face’, and allow yourself to look away or stim while they speak.
• Ask for one-to-one conversations in quieter places when something important is being discussed, rather than trying to follow talk in loud cafés or busy spaces.
• Use clarifying scripts: ‘I heard X; is that what you meant?’ ‘Can you repeat that more slowly?’ or ‘I’ve hit my listening limit; can we continue later, or can you put this in writing?’

Listening also includes noticing when your brain has already jumped ahead – to planning your reply, connecting the topic to a special interest, or defending yourself – and gently returning to what the other person is actually saying.

Beware of letting this maxim be weaponized to keep you in situations that are abusive, shaming, or sensory‑unsafe. You are not obliged to keep listening when someone is attacking you, denying your humanity, or ignoring clear boundaries. Sometimes the most truthful way to ‘listen’ to such behaviour is to recognize it as harmful and leave, or to say, ‘I can’t continue this conversation’. However, within healthy relationships, this maxim can shape small, realistic goals: letting the other person finish what they are saying without interrupting; staying with a friend’s story even when it is not your topic; listening carefully in confession or spiritual direction and asking for clearer, concrete guidance when you do not understand. Lived this way, ‘Listen when people talk to you’ becomes less a demand to perform neurotypical social skills and more a call to let your focused, detail‑attentive mind become a gift: offering others the rare experience of being truly heard, within the honest contours of your autistic life.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (32)

Hopko’s 32nd maxim, ‘Never bring attention to yourself’, does not mean ‘never speak of your needs’ or ‘always hide your autism’. It is about not seeking the spotlight – praise, drama, special status – rather than about disappearing. You are free, and sometimes obliged, to say ‘I’m autistic’, ‘I need less noise’, or ‘I can’t do that role’. What the maxim warns against is arranging conversations, piety, or suffering so that you are the centre of the story. For autistic Christians in church, it means seeking only those accommodations that are necessary with as little fuss as possible.

Because autistic people are often either ignored or singled out, this maxim can be painful if misunderstood. Living it well may look like explaining your needs once, clearly, and then letting people respond, rather than repeatedly restating them to force a particular reaction; sharing your gifts in ways that serve the community rather than showcase your brilliance; and noticing when you are tempted to turn every conversation back to your own experiences, and instead gently asking others about theirs. At the same time, you are not called to accept invisibility; you may need to insist, sometimes firmly, on basic respect and access. The inner question is, ‘Am I doing this to love God and neighbour, or mainly to be seen, praised, pitied, or declared special?’

Practically, you might apply this maxim by:

• Letting some good deeds and sacrifices stay wholly unmentioned, even online.
• Resisting the urge to post every spiritual thought, meltdown, or injustice for immediate public reaction.
• Choosing, when possible, to dress and behave in church in ways that do not add unnecessary sensory or visual noise for others, while still honouring your own sensory needs.

Lived this way, ‘Never bring attention to yourself’ becomes a protection, not an erasure. It guards you from the exhaustion of constantly managing how others see you, and it frees you to pay attention to Christ and the people and creatures he has given you to love.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (31)

Hopko’s 31st maxim, ‘Be simple, hidden, quiet, and small’, does not imply that you must erase your autistic personality; rather, it is a way of following Christ who ‘made Himself of no reputation’. For autistic Orthodox Christians, simplicity can mean reducing needless internal and external complication: fewer competing obligations, fewer social roles you can’t sustain, clear routines instead of constant reinvention. ‘Hidden, quiet, and small’ does not mean ashamed or invisible; it means letting most of your life be lived before God rather than the crowd – less driven by social media, arguments, or proving yourself; more anchored in prayer, ordinary work, and loving the few people actually given to you. 

Because the autistic life is already socially marginalized, this maxim must not be twisted into ‘accept neglect or abuse’ or ‘never ask for accommodations’. It does not forbid explaining your needs, advocating for accessibility, or seeking recognition where justice demands it. Instead, it speaks to the temptation – especially when you have been misunderstood – to build a large, defensive identity around being ‘the autistic one’, ‘the wounded one’, or ‘the genius’, and to measure everything by how much attention you receive. To be simple and small here might look like choosing depth with a few people instead of chasing every conversation; allowing whatever you do to be good and careful without obsessing over any audience; letting your special interests be real joys without needing everyone else to share them.

Practically, you could live this maxim by making your prayer corner, not your online presence, the centre of your day; by deliberately stepping back from some debates you could win; by leaving some good deeds entirely unmentioned; and by accepting that much of your faithfulness – managing sensory load to avoid hurting others, quietly enduring loneliness, showing up at Liturgy despite anxiety – will be known only to God. ‘Quiet’ may mean creating a little silence in your daily routine, not silencing your voice when it is needed; ‘small’ may mean taking on work that does not look impressive but is genuinely within your energy and gifts. Lived this way, ‘Be simple, hidden, quiet, and small’ becomes a deliberate choice to let your autistic life unfold on a human scale, where you can actually breathe and pray, instead of striving to meet what you imagine to be others’ expectations of you.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (30)

Hopko’s 30th maxim advises us to ‘Be cheerful’. But this does not imply appearing permanently happy or imitating a neurotypical social vibe. For autistic Orthodox Christians, cheerfulness may be closer to quiet trust than to visible exuberance: a small, steady ‘yes’ to God that can coexist with anxiety, shutdown, or low mood. It may look like a gentle tone rather than a sharp one; a small smile or nod when you greet someone; a willingness to notice and name good things; or simply refusing to let bitterness become your default inner narrative. You can pray for this kind of cheerfulness as a grace – ‘Lord, give me a kind and uncomplaining spirit’ – rather than trying to manufacture it as a performance. 

Because autistic communication and affect are often misread (‘flat’, ‘rude’, ‘too much’), this maxim should not be equated with masking or pretending to be fine. Real autistic cheerfulness might look like: keeping a short list of things that genuinely delight you (light, trees, certain colours, a favourite hymn, a science fiction series, photography) and deliberately giving thanks for one or two of them each day; choosing not to narrate every situation in catastrophizing language, even when anxious; or learning one or two simple, repeatable phrases of encouragement you can offer others without draining your social battery. On very hard days, ‘being cheerful’ may shrink to one or two small refusals: not snapping at someone when you easily could, not posting that angry comment, or quietly telling Christ, ‘I feel awful, but I still belong to You’.

This maxim becomes most healing when it is anchored in the previous ones: facing reality, being grateful, being faithful in little things. For an autistic person, that might mean accepting that you may never look outwardly ‘bubbly’ and that your version of cheerfulness may be calm, slightly awkward, gently humorous, or very low‑key – and that this is entirely acceptable to God. It can also mean allowing yourself to receive cheerfulness from others and from the Church’s worship: the brightness of feast days, the joy in Paschal hymns, the relief of a friend who understands your special interest. Lived this way, ‘Be cheerful’ is not a demand to overwrite your real emotions; it is an invitation to let a quiet, stubborn hope in Christ colour even an overstimulating, confusing day with a small but real light.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (29)

Hopko’s 29th maxim, ‘Be grateful in all things’, does not mean pretending everything feels good, or thanking God for abuse, injustice, or sensory agony. For autistic Orthodox Christians, it means daring to look for God’s gifts within a life that includes overload, shutdown, social misunderstanding, and executive dysfunction. Gratitude can be very concrete and very small: ‘Thank You for noise‑cancelling headphones; for this cup of tea; for the friend who texts clearly; for the priest who believes me; for the beauty of trees and light that my brain notices in detail’. It is less about a mood and more about a chosen habit of naming good things in the middle of mixed days, so that your attention is not swallowed entirely by what hurts. 

Because autistic perception often highlights what is intense, wrong, or out of place, this maxim is best practised as a gentle, structured exercise rather than a vague command to ‘feel thankful’. You might keep a short gratitude list, add one line of thanks to your rule of prayer (‘Glory to You for…’), or link gratitude to sensory grounding (‘I feel my feet on the floor; I thank You that I can stand’). On very bad days, ‘in all things’ may shrink to ‘in this breath’, ‘in this icon’, ‘in this safe corner of my room’. Gratitude here does not erase the need to lament or to seek justice; it simply insists that suffering does not have the final word about your reality.

This maxim becomes particularly healing when turned directed at your own autistic life. You can begin to thank God, cautiously at first, for some of the things you once saw only as defects: for your ability to focus deeply, to notice patterns in theology or creation, to be loyal, to care passionately about truth, etc. You do not have to be grateful for every meltdown or exclusion, but you can thank God for sustaining you through them, for the people and practices that help you recover, and for the ways they have made you gentler to others who struggle. Lived this way, ‘Be grateful in all things’ is not a demand to overwrite your pain with pious language; it is an invitation to let your intensely observant mind also become intensely observant of grace, so that even in an overstimulating, confusing world, you regularly glimpse the quiet, particular ways God is already with you.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (28)

Hopko’s 28th maxim, ‘Face reality’, is not a command to ‘toughen up’ or ignore your autistic limits; it is an invitation to acknowledge before God how things really are, not how you wish or fear they might be. For autistic Orthodox Christians, reality includes at least three layers: who God is (merciful, present, not your intrusive inner critic), who you are (an autistic human being with particular strengths and vulnerabilities), and what your concrete circumstances are today (your energy, sensory load, finances, relationships, sins, traumas, responsibilities). Facing reality means rejecting both denial (‘I can do everything; I’m fine’) and catastrophic fantasy (‘I will never cope; everything is ruined’), and instead saying, as precisely as you can, ‘This is my situation before God, here and now’. 

Because autistic minds lean easily into detailed imagination, analysis, and what‑if scenarios, ‘face reality’ will often mean gently distinguishing facts from stories. Helpful questions include: ‘What actually happened?’ ‘What do I know versus what I am guessing?’ ‘What is my nervous system doing right now?’ You might try writing a short, factual description of a conflict or problem before interpreting it, check your impressions with a trusted person, or ask your priest or therapist to help you separate sin from disability and trauma. Facing reality also includes recognizing when something is genuinely unjust or harmful. For example, if a church environment, job, or relationship consistently ignores your needs or exposes you to abuse, facing reality does not mean simply praying more or trying to be ‘less autistic’; rather, it means recognizing that this situation may need to change, and that getting help is part of living in truth.

Spiritually, this maxim pairs with Hopko’s later counsel to be totally honest with yourself, to be merciful with yourself, and to get help without shame. For autistic Christians, that means accepting that autism is a lifelong condition; that meltdowns, shutdowns, and executive‑function crashes may still happen even when you are doing everything ‘right’; but that God will meet you there, not in some imagined neurotypical version of yourself. It also means recognizing the real gifts – your focused attention, pattern‑sensitivity, sense of justice, etc. – that God has entrusted to you are to be used in his service, and not suppressed as shameful quirks. Lived this way, ‘Face reality’ becomes a deeply hopeful maxim: you step out of fantasy, self‑gaslighting, and impossible ideals into the place where Christ stands with you, so that your next small act of obedience can begin from solid ground.

The wisdom of Brother Cadfael

Sometimes, important theological and spiritual truths are found in quite unexpected places. Here, for example, is Ellis Peters’s character Brother Cadfael reflecting on the pleasure he gets from tending the monastery's herb garden:

The manifold gifts of God are there to be delighted in, to fall short of joy would be ingratitude. (From St Peter’s Fair, chapter 1)

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (27)

Hopko’s 27th maxim, ‘Do the most difficult and painful things first’, can be both freeing and dangerous language for autistic Orthodox Christians. The danger lies in interpreting it as ‘ignore your sensory limits and push yourself into meltdown’, or ‘start every day with the thing you dread most, no matter what’. Rather, autistics should read it as ‘give priority to the necessary tasks you are most tempted to avoid within your real energy, sensory, and executive‑function capacity for a given day. As far as you are able, you should focus those tasks that are tied to love, repentance, or responsibility, rather than endlessly doing only easy, stimulating, or interest‑based things. For you, the ‘difficult and painful’ thing might include making a phone call, answering one email, beginning a piece of writing, taking a shower, or initiating a hard but needed conversation, rather than anything dramatic.

Because autistic nervous systems fatigue quickly and crash hard, this maxim needs to be paired with awareness of your personal ‘window’ of best functioning. For many, that will mean tackling one or two priority tasks early in the day or after a predictable regulation routine (e.g. quiet, stimming, tea, brief prayer), when your social and cognitive battery is as full as it will be. You can make a very short list each day: one ‘hard’ task, one ‘medium’ task, and one ‘easy’ task; do the hard one first if your body and brain are reasonably regulated; if not, start by regulating, then attempt the hard thing for a set time (for example, ten minutes) and stop. Tools like timers, written scripts for phone calls or emails, and breaking tasks into tiny steps (‘open document’, ‘write three sentences’, ‘send’) are not cheating; they are how you follow the maxim without harming yourself.

This maxim is also a guard against the autistic avoidance that hides behind perfectionism or spirituality: ‘I can’t start until I know the perfect system / feel exactly calm / understand everything theologically’. For you, ‘doing the most difficult thing first’ may mean beginning while still imperfectly prepared, with a simple prayer such as, ‘Lord, I will take the first step; You carry me through the rest’. It also implies a limit: once you have done that priority hard thing, you are not required to keep seeking out more pain to prove your virtue; you can turn to easier tasks, rest, or wholesome hobbies without guilt, trusting that obedience in one concrete difficult step today is precious to God. Lived this way, Maxim 27 becomes a gentle nudge against paralysis and procrastination, not a command to self‑destruct: a way of honouring your autistic limits while still moving, one small step at a time, into the works of love and responsibility that you would otherwise postpone indefinitely.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (26)

Hopko’s 26th maxim is ‘Do your work, then forget it’. For autistic Orthodox Christians, this speaks directly into the tendency to replay tasks, conversations, and projects in your head long after they are finished – editing them, catastrophizing about them, or trying to ‘perfect’ them in imagination. Doing your work means giving the task your honest attention and effort within your real limits; forgetting it means entrusting the result to Christ instead of endlessly analysing what you ‘should’ have done differently. You are called to faithfulness, not to total control of outcomes or other people’s reactions. 

Because autistic cognition often loops and replays, ‘forgetting it’ will usually need intentional rituals rather than just a mental command. You might mark the end of a task with a short prayer (‘Lord, I place this in Your hands’), physically put away the tools you used, tick the task off a list, and then shift to a clearly different activity so your brain has a cue that the work is over. If you notice yourself mentally re‑doing a completed email, report, or conversation, you can name the loop (‘I’ve left the present’), briefly check if any concrete follow‑is up actually needed and, if so, do it, then deliberately to the next small thing. Over time, this maxim can become a gentle protection against perfectionism and scrupulosity: you still care about doing good work, but you refuse to let completed tasks colonize your thoughts, so that your autistic attention can be present to God, to your body, and to the people in front of you now.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (25)

Hopko’s 25th maxim, ‘Be faithful in little things’, is especially kind to autistic Orthodox Christians, because so much of your effort is already spent on ‘small’ tasks that others do without thinking. Faithfulness here does not mean achieving spectacular projects or dramatic spiritual experiences; it means quietly doing the next right, keepable thing in front of you, repeatedly. Answering one email, washing a few dishes, saying a short prayer, going to bed at a reasonable hour – these can all be genuine acts of faithfulness when they are done with Christ in mind. Our Lord praised the servant who was faithful over a ‘few things’, and he also sees how much energy apparently ‘little’ acts can cost an autistic nervous system, even when no one else notices.

Because autistic life is often marked by executive dysfunction, fatigue, and an uneven skill profile, this maxim calls for realism and gentleness rather than comparison. You might choose a very small set of daily ‘little things’ as your base rule – praying one psalm or the Lord’s Prayer, doing one piece of housework, stepping outside once – and treat their repetition as more important than their size. Tools like checklists, timers, and visual schedules are not signs of weak faith; they are part of how you can be faithful in the tasks God has given you. When you inevitably drop some of these little things on hard days, the maxim does not invite despair; it pairs with Hopko’s later maxim, ‘When you fall, get up immediately and start over’, so that you can simply resume the small practices tomorrow without dramatic self‑judgement. In this way, being ‘faithful in little things’ becomes a path where your limited energy, your love of routine, and your attention to detail are transfigured into steady, hidden fidelity before God, rather than constant evidence that you are not doing enough.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (24)

Hopko’s 24th maxim, ‘Be totally honest, first of all with yourself’, implies that we reject lies about God and lies about who you are before him. For autistic Christians, this will mean refusing the false stories that say ‘I am less human, less capable of holiness because I am autistic’ and also the spiritualized denial that pretends your sensory limits, executive dysfunction, meltdowns, and special interests are irrelevant to your life with God. To be honest with yourself is to say plainly, ‘This is what I can do; this is what I cannot do today. This is sin. This is weakness. This is trauma. This is simply how my brain is wired.’ Such honesty is not self‑hatred but alignment with the truth in which God already holds you.

Autistic people are often labelled – ’lazy’, ‘rude’, ‘too intense’, ‘too sensitive’, and so on – and may internalize those judgements or, conversely, retreat into a protective story that rejects criticism. Living this maxim means carefully sifting both your own self‑understanding and others’ words in the light of Christ. You might ask, ‘Where am I excusing real sin by blaming autism? Where am I condemning my God‑given neurology as if it were sin?’; you might keep a journal where you describe your actions in simple, factual terms before adding any interpretation, perhaps checking your conclusions with a trusted person who understands autism. Honesty here includes naming when you are masking, when you are overloaded, when you are dissociating, and when you are choosing selfishness or cruelty in order to make repentance specific and merciful rather than vague, global self‑hatred.

Because many autistic people struggle with alexithymia (difficulty identifying feelings) and with black‑and‑white thinking, ‘being totally honest’ can also mean admitting, ‘I don’t actually know what I feel’, or ‘I see only one interpretation; there may be others.’ This maxim then leans into Hopko’s later counsel to ‘face reality’ and ‘endure the trial of yourself peacefully’: you can bring your confusion, your misperceptions, and your rigid thoughts into the light without pretending to understand more than you do. Practically, that might look like checking your view of a situation with someone you trust (‘Did I come across as angry?’), reviewing your day once in the evening without catastrophizing, or asking God simply: ‘Show me where I am lying to myself’. Over time, this kind of honesty becomes a place of deep safety: you no longer have to maintain a mask before God or yourself, and you discover that the One who sees you most clearly – autistic traits, sins, virtues, and all – is also the One who loves you most.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (23)

Hopko’s 23rd maxim, ‘Live a day, even a part of a day, at a time’, asks us to stay with the present moment instead of being swallowed by the past or the future. This is important for autistic Orthodox Christians because autistic minds often run in loops (replaying old conversations, rehearsing future ones, catastrophizing) and can lose contact with the concrete now. To ‘live a day, or part of a day, at a time’ can mean shrinking the time horizon to something your nervous system can bear: the next ten minutes, the next task, this service, this meal, this short walk, this decade of the Jesus Prayer. You are not asked to stop caring about long‑term issues, but to let God meet you in the small, keepable portion in front of you instead of trying to carry all possible futures at once.

Because autistic anxiety and executive dysfunction make ‘just be present’ unrealistic as a bare command, this maxim usually needs concrete supports. These might include using written schedules or visual timers to define chunks of time; pairing brief, sensory‑grounding actions (e.g. touching an icon or making the sign of the cross) with a short prayer whenever your mind gallops ahead; agreeing with your priest or therapist on when to plan so that planning does not take over every moment. When you catch yourself time‑travelling in your head – replaying an awkward conversation from years ago, imagining every way a situation could go wrong – you can quietly name it (‘I’m not in today anymore’), commend the situation to Christ, and gently return to the next small, concrete thing.

Many autistic people also live with trauma, which can make the present feel unsafe and push you either into dissociation or constant future‑scanning. In that context, living ‘a part of a day at a time’ may be all you can do: one service, one commute, one phone call, one hour between alarms. This maxim then converges with Hopko’s later maxims about having a daily schedule, being faithful in little things, and getting help without shame: therapy, medication, and practical supports can make it more possible to inhabit the present instead of only reading about it in spiritual books. Lived this way, the 23rd maxim does not tell you to stop being an intense, forward‑thinking, detail‑tracking person; it invites your mind to stand with Christ now, in this manageable slice of time, where grace is actually given.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (22)

Hopko’s 22nd maxim, ‘Exercise regularly’, is about caring for your body as a temple of the Holy Spirit, not about becoming athletic, thin, or neurotypical. For autistic Christians, it is part of our prayerful stewardship of a nervous system that is often overloaded, under‑responsive, or both at once. Regular, gentle exercise can help regulate mood, sleep, sensory processing, and anxiety, making it easier to pray, attend services, and keep the other maxims. Exercise might include walking, stretching, swimming, cycling, dancing at home, or even structured stimming and movement breaks – anything that moves your body in a way that is safe, sustainable, and does not feed shame.

Because many autistic people struggle with motor coordination, pain, chronic fatigue, or bad experiences of school sports, ‘exercise regularly’ needs to be adapted, not weaponized. It can mean choosing simple predictable activities; breaking movement into small chunks across the day instead of one long session; using visual schedules or timers; and/or linking movement to existing routines (walking after meals, stretching before prayers, pacing while saying the Jesus Prayer). If public gyms or team sports are overwhelming, home‑based options, quiet outdoor routes, or one‑to‑one sessions may be more realistic. When executive function crashes, you can set the bar very low – five minutes or even just standing and stretching at fixed times – so that the maxim remains keepable rather than an additional source of guilt.

It is also important to disentangle this maxim from contemporary diet culture and from the pressure some autistic people feel to ‘fix’ their bodies to be more acceptable. The point is not self‑punishment or ‘looksmaxxing’, but collaborative care with God for the body he has given you, with its sensory profile, gait, and limits. You might explicitly offer your movement as prayer (‘Lord, receive this walk as thanks for my body’) or dedicate a short walk to interceding for someone. If you have significant health issues, disability, or injury, ‘exercise’ may simply mean whatever movement you can do safely under medical guidance; using aids or going slowly is not a failure. Lived this way, ‘Exercise regularly’ can become a gentle rhythm by which your autistic body is strengthened to bear joy, stress, and worship, rather than an athletic ideal you must somehow reach to please God.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (21)

Hopko’s 21st maxim, ‘Have a healthy, wholesome hobby’, could be tailor‑made for autistic Orthodox Christians. For many autistic people, hobbies/special interests are an important way of engaging with the world. A wholesome hobby is something that lets your mind and body ‘play’ in a way that is genuinely life‑giving: it does not enslave you, drag you into shame, or isolate you from God and neighbour, but gives you joy, rest, and focus. Almost any hobby can fit this maxim provided it is received as a gift and offered back to Christ.

Unfortunately, autistic special interests can too easily tip over into burnout, compulsion, or escapism. So, it is vital to stress the ‘healthy’ part of the maxim. This may mean adding gentle structures and limits rather than trying to suppress the interest itself. One possibility is to give your hobby a defined block of time on certain days. You could agree on reasonable time boundaries with your confessor or a trusted friend, and you should certainly watch for early warning signs that it is becoming an avoidance strategy (neglecting sleep, food, prayer, relationships) rather than genuine refreshment.

If possible, it can also help to integrate your hobby into your spiritual and communal life, for example by sharing it with a few safe people or consciously thanking God before and after hobby time so that it becomes an occasion of gratitude rather than isolation. Lived this way, Hopko’s maxim baptizes autistic intensity, encouraging you to enjoy your interests in a way that strengthens your mind, honours your neurology, and quietly glorifies God.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (20)

Hopko’s 20th maxim, ‘Maintain cleanliness and order in your home’, is about creating a small, liveable corner of God’s good creation, not about perfectionism or respectability. For autistic Orthodox Christians, ‘cleanliness and order’ must be read through the realities of sensory sensitivities and overload, executive dysfunction, fatigue, and special interests. A holy home is not necessarily a minimalist, Marie Kondo approved space; it is a place where you can realistically pray, rest, and work without being constantly ambushed by chaos, smells, or visual noise. Order might mean knowing where things are, having clear paths to move safely, and keeping some areas (for example, your bed, your prayer corner, the kitchen sink) reliably usable.

Because autistic people often struggle with getting started, ordering tasks, and overwhelm, this maxim might best be kept as a series of small, repeatable habits rather than a vague demand to ‘be tidier’. Perhaps choose one or two key tasks (washing dishes once a day, clearing one surface, taking rubbish out) and attach them to events you already do (after breakfast, after work, before evening prayers), using timers or checklists if helpful. Sensory needs can guide your priorities: if certain smells, textures, or piles make you shut down, then dealing with those triggers first is part of maintaining order for the sake of prayer and peace. When your energy is low, you can practise ‘two‑minute’ tidying, accepting that some clutter will remain; the maxim calls for basic, humane order, not scrupulous scrubbing of every corner.

Many autistic people feel shame about their living spaces, especially if they have been overwhelmed for a long time or live in shared housing where others do not understand their limits. In that context, this maxim should be heard together with Hopko’s later ones: be faithful in little things, have a daily schedule, be merciful with yourself, get help when you need it. ‘Maintaining cleanliness and order’ might include asking a friend, family member, or support worker to help you declutter properly, then setting up simple systems you can actually maintain using containers, labels, or colour‑coding. Or it might involve simply keeping your prayer corner tidy, even if other areas are still a work in progress. Lived this way, 20th‑maxim order is not a weapon against executive dysfunction, but a gradual, compassionate shaping of your environment so that your autistic nervous system and your heart both have room to breathe, to pray, and to welcome Christ.