The meal had not even been served and my blood was already boiling. It was a dinner  party at an affluent parishioner’s home. The precious few “young adults” from the local Anglican  Church in North America parish were the honored guests. The host couple had evoked a lovely,  autumnal atmosphere. A fire crackled in the hearth, and we chatted awkwardly while admiring  the sun’s descent over a spectacular lake view.  

I had always been an outlier in the congregation, despite trying and failing to blend in. I  wasn’t just an “unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort” (in the words of novelist E. M. Forster), I  was also Autistic.  

Historically, I have masked both my sexuality and neurodivergence well. Hiding in plain  sight was a necessary skill in conservative church settings. After all, the ACNA splintered from  the Episcopal Church in the early 2000’s due to the consecration of the first gay bishop.  

Clearly there were safer places to worship. After all, why attend a church in which I  would always be a second-class citizen? YouTube and Evangelical culture had taught me, as a  “true believer” to steer away from the “liberal” Mainline churches.  

I love Jesus. I love studying Scripture. I adore the Book of Common Prayer’s ancient,  beautiful liturgy. So, I endured a place where I wasn’t welcome, believing the Spirit was  working. I expected to find Jesus at my conservative Anglican parish. I encountered  discrimination instead.  

I reached a breaking point at that idyllic dinner party. Mid-conversation a young man  characterized something he considered stupid as a “pretty autistic thing to do.” I was was sitting 

just two chairs away. The party guest had spoken in ignorance, of course. I was shocked,  however, when our rector laughed along with the young man. When I pointed out the incident to  the priest in private, he shrugged dismissively. The casual remark didn’t matter. I didn’t matter.  

Sometimes justice looks like voting with our feet—and I did just that. I never returned to  that “church”.  

The rumors of the godless, declining Mainline are highly exaggerated. I now attend an  Episcopal Church parish near my home. Here I am not only welcomed but celebrated, as part of  God’s good creation. Reading at Sunday Eucharist and teaching Bible studies, I am a full-fledged  member of my faith community. At my beautiful, diverse parish, all are welcome—no  exceptions!