Autistic people typically have intense, focused interests in specific topics. We don't just like things; we dive deep, learning everything possible, finding endless fascination in details others overlook. These special interests are often pathologized—called obsessions, fixations, or unhealthy preoccupations that need to be redirected toward more "normal" interests.

But what if special interests aren't pathology at all? What if they're actually a neurotype-specific way of encountering God's creation and worshiping the Creator?

When I study Mars geology, I'm not just accumulating facts about a distant planet. I'm exploring the intricate beauty of how God shaped another world. Each mineral formation, each ancient riverbed, each layered outcrop tells a story of divine creativity. My ability to focus intensely on these details isn't disorder; it's a gift that allows me to see God's handiwork with unusual clarity.

When I deep-dive into quantum mechanics, I'm not escaping into abstraction. I'm contemplating the elegant mathematical structure underlying physical reality. The wave-particle duality, the uncertainty principle, the quantum entanglement—these reveal a universe far stranger and more wonderful than common-sense materialism imagines. My special interest becomes a form of sustained meditation on the mystery and rationality of God's creation.

Scripture celebrates this kind of focused attention on creation as a pathway to knowing God. "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork" (Psalm 19:1). The natural world reveals God's attributes, and studying it carefully is a form of worship. Paul writes that God's "invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made" (Romans 1:20).

The autistic capacity for sustained, detailed attention to specific aspects of creation allows us to perceive God's attributes with particular depth. Where neurotypical people might glance at a flower and note its general beauty, an autistic person might study its fractal patterns, its mathematical symmetry, its evolutionary adaptations, its chemical compounds—and in all these details, encounter the infinite creativity of God.

This isn't to say all special interests are equally edifying. Some can become genuinely unhealthy, especially if they completely crowd out relationships, responsibilities, or spiritual growth. The key is discernment, not blanket dismissal.

Healthy special interests have certain characteristics:

  • They expand our understanding of God's creation
  • They produce gratitude and wonder, not just acquisition of facts
  • They can be shared with others, even if imperfectly
  • They make us better stewards of some aspect of reality
  • They ultimately point beyond themselves to the Creator

When my special interest meets these criteria, it becomes a form of worship. I'm exercising the capacities God gave me to explore the world He made. I'm using my autistic neurology—which He designed—to see aspects of creation that require sustained, detailed attention to appreciate fully.

There's also biblical precedent for this kind of intense, focused study. The scholars who compiled the Talmud spent lifetimes parsing minute details of Scripture and law. The medieval monks who illuminated manuscripts devoted painstaking attention to every decorative element. The naturalist theologians who catalogued creation's diversity saw their work as worship. These weren't neurotypical pursuits; they were sustained, detailed, obsessive in the best sense.

Moreover, expertise requires the kind of focused attention that comes naturally to autistic special interests. You can't become a world-class expert without thousands of hours of sustained focus on narrow topics. The neurotypical brain tends to get bored and move on. The autistic brain can maintain focus indefinitely, finding endless novelty in apparent repetition.

This suggests that God designed autistic neurology partly to produce depth of knowledge in specific domains. While neurotypical people provide breadth—connecting across many domains, seeing big pictures—autistic people provide depth, mastering specific areas with unusual thoroughness. Both are needed. The Body of Christ requires both kinds of minds.

I've learned to embrace my special interests as gifts rather than apologizing for them. When someone asks about my latest deep dive into propellant chemistry for rocket engines, I don't deflect or minimize. I share enthusiastically, and I explicitly connect it to faith: "Look at the incredible precision required to make this work—it reflects the mind of a God who works with similar precision in creation."

Sometimes this connects with people; sometimes it doesn't. But I'm not performing normalcy anymore. I'm being authentically autistic, which includes having special interests that non-autistic people might find excessive or incomprehensible.

The Psalms repeatedly call us to meditate on God's works day and night, to study them carefully, to delight in their details. "I will meditate on your precepts and fix my eyes on your ways" (Psalm 119:15). This is exactly what autistic special interests do—we fix our eyes on particular aspects of God's creation or revelation and meditate on them extensively.

When neurotypical worship emphasizes emotional intensity and relational connection, autistic worship through special interests emphasizes cognitive depth and careful attention to detail. Both are valid. Both honor God. Both reveal aspects of His nature—His relationality and His intricate craftsmanship.

The Church is poorer when it dismisses or tries to redirect autistic special interests toward more "normal" or "social" pursuits. We need people who can spend hundreds of hours mastering biblical languages, tracing theological themes through Scripture, understanding complex scientific discoveries, or comprehending technological systems. These pursuits require exactly the sustained focus that comes naturally to autistic special interests.

So no, I'm not going to apologize for my intense interest in Mars colonization, quantum physics, or information theory. These aren't distractions from worship. When pursued rightly, they are worship—sustained, detailed, cognitive worship that uses the particular gifts God gave my autistic brain to explore the particular marvels He embedded in creation.

"Great are the works of the LORD, studied by all who delight in them" (Psalm 111:2). Some of us are wired to study them with unusual intensity and focus. That's not pathology. That's design.