I am not a specialist in neurodiversity. I write as a mother who walks this journey every day and as a catechist who hopes our faith communities can become places where every child encounters the love of Christ.
During a recent seminar on Evangelising Catechists, I found myself reflecting on what it truly means to evangelise. As catechists, we are called not only to teach the faith but also to lead others into a deeper encounter with Jesus Christ. For me, that reflection became deeply personal. As the parent of a neurodivergent child, I have come to realise that an evangelising catechist does more than teach about Jesus; he or she reveals Jesus through patience, compassion, and a willingness to accompany neurodivergent children on their unique journey of faith.
My daughter has taught me lessons that no textbook, seminar, or training programme could ever teach. Raising a neurodivergent child has brought moments of joy, growth, frustration, exhaustion, and grace. It has challenged my assumptions, stretched my patience, and deepened my understanding of unconditional love. More importantly, it has transformed the way I see children, both as a mother and as a catechist.
There was a time when I found myself watching not the lesson, but the faces around my child. Parents of neurodivergent children often become experts at reading expressions. We notice the curious looks, the impatience, the misunderstanding, and occasionally, the kindness. Sometimes, before our child is welcomed into a community, we are silently asking ourselves whether there is room for us there too. We wonder whether our child will be accepted, whether others will see beyond the behaviour, and whether we will once again need to explain what others do not understand.
Many catechists enter the classroom with generous hearts and a sincere desire to share the Good News. Yet catechism classes are often structured around expectations that children will sit quietly, listen attentively, follow instructions, and participate in a particular way. Neurodivergent children may experience these expectations differently. Some may struggle to remain seated for long periods, process verbal instructions, cope with sensory stimulation, or communicate their needs effectively. What may appear to be disobedience, inattentiveness, or lack of interest may in fact be a child communicating distress, confusion, anxiety, or sensory overload.
Raising my daughter has taught me that behaviour is often communication. Behind every outburst, refusal, shutdown, or meltdown is usually a child trying to express something they do not yet have the words to say. This lesson has shaped not only my parenting but also my ministry as a catechist. It has challenged me to move beyond asking, “Why is this child behaving this way?” and instead ask, “What is this child trying to tell me?”
As catechists, we are invited to do the same. Sacred Scripture reminds us that while people look at outward appearances, God looks at the heart (1 Samuel 16:7). Every child who enters our classroom is first and foremost a beloved child of God. Before we notice a diagnosis, a challenge, or a difference, we are called to recognise the dignity and worth that God has already placed within that child.
This understanding is echoed in the teaching of the Church. Pope Francis has often reminded us that the Church is called to be a place of accompaniment, mercy, and welcome, especially for those who may feel excluded or overlooked. Pope Leo XIV continues to emphasise the dignity of every human person and the importance of recognising the gifts that each individual brings to the community. Together, these reminders point us back to a simple but profound truth, every child is valued not because of what they can achieve or how well they fit our expectations, but because they are created in the image and likeness of God.
This truth applies equally to neurodivergent children. Their dignity does not depend on their ability to sit quietly, follow instructions perfectly, or learn in the same way as others. Their dignity comes from God.
I sometimes wonder how Jesus would respond to a child who could not sit still during class, who interrupted frequently, who became overwhelmed by noise, or who struggled to follow instructions. The Gospels give us the answer. Jesus never turned away those whom society found difficult, inconvenient, misunderstood, or different. Instead, He drew them closer. He saw beyond labels and expectations. He saw the person.
When the disciples tried to prevent children from approaching Him, Jesus responded with words that continue to challenge the Church today, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14).
As catechists, this Gospel invitation deserves our reflection. Are we helping children come to Jesus, or are there times when our expectations, assumptions, or lack of understanding become obstacles in their path? Evangelisation begins when we remove those obstacles and create spaces where every child feels welcomed, understood, and loved.
Before a child can fully receive a lesson, the child must first feel safe, accepted, and valued. A warm smile, a gentle word of encouragement, remembering a child’s name, or showing patience during a difficult moment can communicate Christ’s love more powerfully than the most carefully prepared lesson. Children may not remember every activity, worksheet, or lesson plan, but they often remember how they were treated.
An evangelising catechist seeks not only to teach lessons but also to create conditions in which children can encounter Christ. This may involve using clear and simple instructions, maintaining consistent routines, providing visual supports, allowing appropriate movement when needed, and communicating openly with parents. It also means exercising patience, avoiding public criticism, celebrating small successes, and recognising that every child learns and expresses faith differently.
These adaptations do not lower expectations. Rather, they create opportunities for children to encounter Christ according to their individual strengths, needs, and abilities. What may seem like a small act of understanding can become a powerful moment of evangelisation when a child experiences acceptance, belonging, and the love of Christ through the actions of a catechist.
At the same time, neurodivergent children have much to teach the Church. Too often, conversations focus only on what they need from us. Perhaps we should also consider what we can learn from them. Many neurodivergent children demonstrate remarkable honesty, perseverance, creativity, authenticity, and resilience. They remind us that growth does not always follow a predictable path and that God’s grace is not measured by outward performance. Their presence challenges us to become more patient, more compassionate, and more attentive to the many ways God works in human lives.
An inclusive catechetical community is not built merely through programmes or policies. It is built through relationships rooted in the love of Christ. When catechists, parents, parish leaders, and faith communities work together, children experience the Church as a place where they truly belong. They learn that they are valued not because they fit a particular mould, but because they are loved by God.
Pope Francis often reminds us that the Church is called to accompany people on their journey of faith. Neurodivergent children and their families need that accompaniment too. They need communities that walk alongside them with patience, understanding, and hope. They need catechists who are willing to see beyond challenges and recognise the gifts that each child brings to the Body of Christ, gifts that enrich the whole Church.
An evangelising catechist does more than teach about Jesus; he or she reveals Jesus through patience, compassion, and a willingness to accompany neurodivergent children on their unique journey of faith. When every child feels welcomed, understood, and loved, catechesis becomes more than instruction. It becomes an encounter with Christ Himself.
As catechists, parents, and faith communities, may we continue to ask ourselves, “Are we helping children come to Jesus, or are there obstacles we still need to remove?”. For when every child is welcomed with the love of Christ, the Gospel is not only taught. It is lived.
