Today’s piece of Thestral Theology is about self-understanding and living with the utmost authenticity.

I can’t tell you how good it feels to understand and name my autism. At long last.

It landed in my soul about two weeks ago after a year of contemplation and study. Last year some millennial kindred got their diagnoses and told me their stories, my diagnosis took its sweet time. I’m a late bloomer sometimes, this epiphany had to work through layers of resistance and fear. Calling myself an autistic queer nerd is a fresh and revitalized understanding of my soul, God-breathed and solid.

I’m autistic! Always have been. My childhood despair of “being an alien” had nothing to do with alienation, just my neurodivergence. I’m a different beast. I see things differently, I process information in unique ways, I have certain limitations in how I can conceive reality. But I don’t see it as a loss. I live in joyous accommodation.

Every day since I’ve “come out” to myself as autistic I’ve had these quaking aspen shocks of understanding of how my autism manifests. I spelled words to myself as a mantra, antidisestablishmentarianism for one, spelling was an effective stim in moments of overwhelm.

I walked in set patterns on the sidewalk as a child. Dance Dance Revolution was both stim and mantra in middle school. My audio sensory limitations had me plugging my ears during scary scenes in movies, folks just thought I was soft. (I was.) I uttered my super hot youth group leader’s name “Joe P” under my breath as a teenager like a rosary. Masking was survival and grace, I didn’t know an alternative.

My habits and patterns changed into adulthood. Two years back I had to skip a family Halloween party because of fatigue and overstimulation. Everyone knew, but none of us could say why. I got overwhelmingly exhausted one day in Tokyo and needed two hours of silent rest to recharge. Acting training and pastoral care taught me to mask to not get beat up — I now mask professionally — but I wonder if I can pare that down a bit. My autism.

Perhaps the most concrete current reality around my God-breathed, fun as hell autism is my current fandom around First Officer William Riker. Know him? He’s great. I felt an intuitive resonance towards him when I found this meme: (I’m “straight,” working towards daddy. Give me another few months at the gym.)

I was not a childhood trekkie; it was my sister Amanda’s show. I used to spend hours analyzing her trek stuff alongside the Ghibli merch in the trailer she lived in on the outskirts of our driveway. I loved the aesthetic, but we never watched the series together. I knew she loved TNG, she often talked about Picard being the best captain.

So when I found myself a Trekkie partner we were off to the races, Julian was certain I’d love the series and its philo-spiritual mythos. In our first year together he showed me the original movies: V’Ger, whales, KHANNN, camp incarnate. I was immediately such a fan!

Along the way J kept reminding me that The Next Generation was going to be my favorite. He was sure I’d resonate with the show’s ethics, the ensemble work, and the compassion woven into each episode. The man had no idea. We’re currently on season 6 of the show, savoring and analyzing. These people feel like my friends, I can hardly describe the way “Riker-ness” has impacted my life and work since becoming a Chaplain. I appreciate and resonate with Riker so deeply I have taken to shaving my beard like his. It’s such a good beard.

One of the ways my autism manifests is my intense identification with media and stories — a wildly potent way of seeing myself within my favorite media. I’ve always been hit sideways by this feeling of being seen, this divine resonance with my “stuff.” To some it may feel like over-identification, but to my neurodivergent self it’s this unbelievable feeling of rightness and being. Being a Chaplain like Riker is a first officer just feels right. The kicker though, is that I’ve always done this! When I decide something to a certain degree it will never change. Autism or Faith?

Case in point, here’s a snippet from my teenage livejournal. Even as a teenager I was absolutely sure of who I was at 16: nudism and Ranma 1/2 and Earthbound and ska and geek culture were neon sign imprinted in me. I wonder why I lied about my height, though.

I “stole” this copypasta from my first-ever queer friend Scott / MooHeimer, may he rest in peace. He was the first person I came out to, a quaking tenuous message over IRC. I think about him often. He died when we were in high school, the silent loss of an online friend shook and defined me. He would have loved the queer unicorn I’ve become.

Part of my relationship to geek culture is to honor those who have died. Part of my relationship to geek culture is to honor God’s unstoppable imagination (It’s a bit of Orson Scott Card’s Speaker for the Dead theology, a bit of a one man Pride parade. Orson is a flawed human who wrote so beautifully about eros amidst his hateful politic.)

So when I take on a new fandom, when my partner is entirely right about how much I love Star Trek, I go all in as an act of worship and faith-making. Glorious intensity is how my autism manifests. I can’t help it, and why would I? Getting to know Riker has been a defining moment for my life and career.

I aspire to be Riker. He’s gorgeous, he balances heart and mind, he’s a good leader, he flirts with everyone. (in ethical boundaried ways, the man’s a professional after all) He can step up to the Captain’s chair as needed in moments of survival-adjacent crisis. BUT! He decides, during the run of TNG, to stay a first officer out of healthy obligation. He has chosen a role and a way to serve that’s not driven by craven ambition. He knows that he’s in the right place, never seeing the world around him as a ladder to be climbed. He turns down promotions multiple times in the series so he can continue to serve his community and keep his people alive.

I aspire to live into deeper pools of Riker-ness.

I want to stay a Chaplain as long as I can, if it’s God’s dream.

Which gay Riker am I? I’m autistic queer Riker. I see myself so dazzlingly represented in this burly caretaker. My autism and my Riker-ness have both helped me understand ethical pastoral leadership. I want to get better and struggle as he does.

Riker rebukes and denounces injustice as he strives towards self-betterment. He doesn’t fall prey to the bear trap of avarice and greed, he paces himself and works in role to keep people alive.

My autism has always allowed me to be myself at all costs; choosing to become more like Riker is as close to my heart as the call to Christ. I can’t differentiate the overwhelming drive I feel for fandom and faith, it’s all the same eros and heat. (Part of my autism.)

And, lest I think I’m making this up as some sort of 2025 American Chaos Reactive Madness, here’s how I knew myself and my call to ministry as a high school junior:

I’ve always been autistic. My neurodivergence showed up in my online journal!

God blesses my autism and called me to Ministry when I was young.

With God’s help I’ll emulate Riker’s work within the blessed paradigm of campus chaplaincy.

Make it so.