Religion is a communal way of reimagining and remaking the self and the world. It is what we are to live by and what we are to live for. … We need religion as much as ever. We need it as human, value-creating activity.
Now, personally, I don’t really get the “tell me you love me or I’ll send you to hell” message such preaching promotes.
Sometimes, it’s hard to believe we live in the 21st century. With technological advancements, global communications networks, the ability to watch the history of stars unfold in real time, and information accessibility continuing to expand, you’d think we’d have evolved beyond tribal fears and the violence associated with them. But we haven’t and all you have to do to convince yourself of that frightening fact is spend a little time in church.
Not just any church, of course. There are a lot of nice churches out there. I mean a fundamentalist church. Or, for that matter, a fundamentalist synagogue or mosque – anywhere people gather to have archaic ideas and the prejudices trapped within them traded for contemporary knowledge and understanding. As for the nice churches and synagogues and mosques, well, their messages – lovely though they may be – reinforce a divine hand in the documents that underpin hateful, fundamentalist beliefs. They’re guilty, too. I should know. I spent thirty years being a minister in one of those churches.
Sort of.
The congregation I served for twenty-five of those years belongs to The United Church of Canada, probably the most progressive Christian denomination in the world. The UCC ordained women its first female minister in 1936 and has been ordaining openly LGBTQ leaders for decades. But theologically, it remains in the closet about the human construction of religion and all its trapping. I refused to stay in that closet.
I came out to the congregation as an atheist in 2001. Well, didn’t actually tell them I was one, but I spontaneously preached a sermon in which I completely deconstructed the idea of a god named God. The label came later. Rather than fire me, the congregation chose to step out on an unmarked path. With them, I laboured, lamented, lost, and loved. It was hard road but a worthy one and I cherish both the early adopters and the challengers who journeyed with me.
The United Church of Canada, into which I was ordained, had been shaped by the wisdom and insight of its founders and had never previously required assent to any particular statement of doctrine. In 1925, it was formed solely because it acknowledged the breadth of belief held by clergy coming into the newly forming denomination, stating clearly that clergy need only be in “essential agreement” with the official statement of faith. That radical perspective allowed a variety of interpretations of belief to thrive across the breadth of Canada. Indeed, the UCC has always considered itself a non-creedal church.
I changed all that.
In May, 2015, as Bangladeshi authors were being slaughtered in the streets because they identified as atheists, I believed it was time for me to publicly assuming the label “atheist” in order to express support for them. It did not go over well. Two members of the administration grabbed the denomination’s wheel and yanked it hard to the right. Rather than abide by the UCC’s longstanding diversity of belief, they demanded that all clergy believe, literally, in God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And, because they knew I didn’t, they called for what a trial under the denomination’s disciplinary rules, claiming unsuitability for ministry. It was the UCC’s first, and very likely last, heresy trial.
Almost four years later, and having been found me unsuitable for ministry, the process ended. Oddly, I was allowed to remain in ministry leadership at West Hill United Church and the story the congregation had woven into the annals of church history continues, still, to unfold.
West Hill shifted to theologically non-exclusive language as a way of welcoming those who no longer wished to find inspiration through the archaic words of our tradition. By doing so, it reached a broad audience of believers, non- and no-longer believers, all of them sharing the crucial values they uplift through their everyday living. Their mission statement set out what they believe human community is capable of and responsible for: “Moved by a reverence for life to pursue justice for all, we inspire one another to seek truth, live fully, care deeply, and make a difference.” They believe that living up to their mission statement calls them to the rich and deep work of being human.
Engage with West Hill, a community that carries the most important element of church well beyond the barriers of doctrinal belief and draws participants from North America, the UK, and Africa. You can find them here on Zoom, Sunday’s at 10:30 ET or EDT, depending on the date. In person, visit them in the Boys and Girls Club building. Here’s a google map on how to get there: West Hill United Church
I’m now focusing on the very important work that we have to do in a world that is more and more disconnected by writing at A Whole Lot of Broken, on Substack. That work is about preserving the social capital that congregations have poured into the neighbourhoods and communities around them and helping us find one another so that we can support and en-coeur-age one another on this wild journey we call “life”. Please join me there. You can find the links to my posts on the page A Whole Lot of Broken, here on my site, as well.
If you’re interested in reading more about me, check out my “a little bit about me” page and my media page. I am no longer accepting speaking invitations. That said, if you’ve something you’re planning in which you think I might be interested in participating, reach out. If you’ve a group exploring one of my books, I’d be happy to engage in a virtual conversation during a session with your group.
Thanks for your interest in my work. May the conversation be rich and the work continue.
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