NeuroDivine

A reflection from an Irish Anglican autistic perspective on love, memory, and belonging

“Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”

We sang it every week in Sunday School, small voices piping through the church hall, surrounded by crayons, juice cartons, and the gentle chaos of kindergarten faith. I don’t remember the crafts or the stories in detail—but I remember that line. And if that’s all we carried forward, it’s enough. Because it’s true. And it’s radical.

Jesus loves me.

Not just the polished version of me. Not just the socially fluent, pain-free, neurotypical, heteronormative ideal. Jesus loves me. Autistic, awkward, sometimes overwhelmed. Jesus loves you. Whether you’re straight or gay, partnered or single, thriving or barely holding on. The God we meet in Christ is not a gatekeeper of perfection but the source of love itself.

As an autistic person, I often experience the world differently—through patterns, textures, and deep noticing. I find grace in the rhythm of bramble-clearing, in the silence after pain, in the way light hits the organ pipes on a Sunday morning. These are not distractions from faith; they are faith. They are how I know Jesus loves me. They are how I remember.

And memory matters. In a church that sometimes forgets its own radical roots, we need to remember that love is not optional. It’s not a footnote to doctrine. It’s the whole thing. “God is love,” says 1 John. Not “God is rules,” or “God is hierarchy,” or “God is tradition.” Love is the beginning and the end.

So when we talk about relationships—straight, gay, or otherwise—we must start from love. Not tolerance. Not debate. Love. Because without love, our faith is just noise. And autistic people know a thing or two about noise.

Let our churches be places where the hymn’s simplicity is honoured. Where “Jesus loves me” is not just a children’s song but a theological declaration. Where every person—neurodivergent, queer, questioning, weary—is met with the truth that they are beloved.

Jesus loves me. This I know.

And that changes everything.