A Personal Reflection on Autism and Hope
In the midst of fear and misinformation, a BioLogos community member finds hope in their faith that God’s promises are already reshaping us.
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Editorial Note: A member of the BioLogos community spoke recently about holding on to hope amid the current public conversations surrounding autism. In this moment of fear and misinformation, we felt compelled to share their thoughtful reflection with you.
The past few weeks have been distressing ones for the autism community.
Back in September, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration began informing doctors that using Tylenol during pregnancy is linked to a significantly increased risk of autism. It did so despite credible scientific sources, including the World Health Organization, disputing the notion that a causal relationship between acetaminophen and autism has been proven conclusively.
This is not an isolated incident. Earlier this year, the Department of Health and Human Services expressed interest in creating a “registry” to track autistic Americans. HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. also referred to autism as an “epidemic” that “destroys families.”
These developments are not abstract. My husband is autistic, and together we have felt the sting of every new headline and announcement. The language we have been hearing, particularly words like registry and epidemic, is more than inaccurate. It is frightening.
When autism is described as an “epidemic”—a term usually reserved for contagious diseases—it raises serious concerns about how such language deepens stigma toward a community that is already so misunderstood and misrepresented. We also worry that this framing, especially if it drives efforts to find a single “cause,” could divert vital resources away from evidence-based supports and interventions that truly help autistic people.
Scripture reminds us that every person is created in the image of God. Each life reflects divine beauty and worth. These truths must remain at the center of how we speak and act.
Likewise, any discussion of an “autism registry” carries an unsettling historical resonance. It recalls troubling times when governments sought to track and control certain populations under the guise of public good.
Such language risks overlooking the full humanity and inherent dignity of autistic individuals. Scripture reminds us that every person is created in the image of God. Each life reflects divine beauty and worth. These truths must remain at the center of how we speak and act.
With all of this in mind, what are we to do? How should we react?
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I have struggled to find comfort in phrases like “God is in control” or “God has a plan” over these past few months. I believe in God’s sovereignty, but I also find it difficult to rid myself of the unrest and disquiet I feel in the face of our current turmoil—especially given what is at stake.
Now more than ever, doubt wrestles hope in that liminal space between our present-day realities and the inevitability of God’s Kingdom.
In these trying times, I am reminded of what theologian Jürgen Moltmann says in Theology of Hope:
“If we had before our eyes only what we see, then we should cheerfully or reluctantly reconcile ourselves with things as they happen to be. That we do not reconcile ourselves, that there is no pleasant harmony between us and reality, is due to our unquenchable hope. This hope keeps man unreconciled until the great day of the fulfillment of all the promises of God[…] This hope makes the Christian church a constant disturbance in human society[…] It makes the church the source of continual new impulses towards the realization of righteousness, freedom, and humanity here in the light of the promised future that is to come.”
These words remind me that in difficult moments, hope lives in us when we decline to accept unjust things as they are.
This is the hope that I hold. Not a passive waiting, but a stubborn belief that God’s promises are not only for some far-off future, but are already at work here and now. They are reshaping how we live, how we see one another, how we advocate for those the world misunderstands.
The Kingdom is coming—and still, it breaks in, quietly but surely—wherever we refuse to make peace with injustice, wherever we insist on recognizing the image of God in every person.
The Kingdom is coming—and still, it breaks in, quietly but surely—wherever we refuse to make peace with injustice, wherever we insist on recognizing the image of God in every person.
I close with a prayer that I hope you will say with me:
Holy One, who calls us beyond our present reality,
You have given us a hope that will not settle—
a hope that refuses to make peace with injustice.
Open our eyes not just to what is,
but to what You have promised.
Let Your Church be a holy disturbance,
a witness to freedom, righteousness, and new life
in the light of Your coming Kingdom.
Keep us restless, courageous, and faithful
until Your promises are fulfilled.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Amen.
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