A secular Jesus-follower?

I often describe myself as a "cultural Christian" or a "secular Christian" as I hang out in church A Lot, even though i don't believe in God.

This recent article in the HuffPo puts a new spin on that idea.

Despite the fact I am a secular person, I find that there is something compelling and transformative about the figure of Jesus — that, indeed, this figure is someone worth following. Here are five important ways in which I continue to reshape my approach to life as part of a deepening commitment to being a secular Jesus follower.

He goes on,

Perhaps my most flagrant “transgression” in this regard is my engaging seriously with the figure of Jesus, who would seem off limits to a nonbeliever like me, who is deeply bound up with a Christendom that is not my world—but whose wisdom and way offer far too much to remain confined behind a culturally imposed boundary.

In my case, I don't think that I engage seriously with the figure of Jesus, who sometimes I admit I find annoying, but I do try to engage with his teachings. They are the teachings of MLK, of course, but Gandhi and the Dali Llama too.

The author describes them thus:

1. I have been inspired to hang out with the “wrong” people.

The poor, the marginalized, of course.  But for a scientist and an atheist, perhaps hanging out with the Christians is also the "wrong" people.  It challenges expectations and the barriers we put between us. :-)

 2. I have become cognizant of the futility of violence.

Didn't need church to see that.

3. I have been persuaded to worry less, trust more.

Yes, this has been a huge thing. But,  I ascribe it much more to the effect of being married to my beloved BP, as our relationship has had a huge influence on me and my sense of peace.  She has radically changed me, and it's not just because she drags me along to church.

4. I have come to see how Jesus can “save” us (and, no, it’s not what you think).

But I’ve come to see that the Jesus way indeed can “save” us, depending on what you mean — even if we are secular and find no motivation whatsoever in the promises and threats of a wondrous or hellish afterlife. Following Jesus, I suggest, can save us from trivial self-seeking, from consumerism and the never-satiated need for more, more, more, and from a life that misses the point. Jesus, I have found, can save us from the hell of a life lived only for ourselves.

Yeah, I don't buy this part.  I don't think you have to hang out around Jesus followers to learn to avoid consumerism and self-seeking.  I know a lot of engaged and thoughtful atheists who aren't part of that world.  There are a lot of non-believers who are social activists making a real difference in social justice and environmentalism.  This smacks to me of self-satisfaction and "us vs them"-ism.

5. The Jesus way has got me to see that we cannot cast off responsibility for the plights and problems of “other people.”

Again, I don't think that Christianity owns this.  See answer to 4.

This yearning for justice — justice for all — is something Jesus promoted and practiced. The Jesus way has got me to see that if we are going to live meaningful and ethical lives, we must reject the notion that we have to look out only for ourselves and our kind. Jesus taught that everyone counts, that the only “group” we’re part of is the human group, and that if one segment of our global neighborhood bears the weight of suffering and injustice, so do we all.

I suppose you can credit Christianity generally with some of this, just as a cultural force in what is a predominantly Christian culture.  Yet, you will find similar concepts in Judaism and Islam and Buddhism, and there are plenty of atheists who get this, so I think it's a straw man to claim this for Christ.

In sum, I find this author much more Christian than I am.  He may not "buy" son of God and Resurrection, but I think he is more than culturally attracted to the community, and definitely much more of a disciple than I am. I don't think you need to be a Christ-follower to practice these rules, at all.   But it's good if you are, too.  :-)

Atheist Lent?

Aligning with our long discussion about secular Christians (of which I am one), there's an article on Religion Dispatches by an avowed atheist who practises Lent.  Well, insofar he's giving something up.  I like to think of Lent as more about self-examination, than self-denial, but that's me.  He writes,  that this is not disrespectful, but rather a shared connection. 

In Denmark, fewer than a third of Catholics actually believe in God, but the traditions and practices keep them together. I think this is more or less the future of both religion and atheism in America. I don’t think the future of atheism will look much like a Richard Dawkins book signing, but neither will Christianity look much like a bible study. Like secular Jews practicing Shabbat and atheists practicing Lent, we’ll meet at the crossroads of our cultures

Will we?  Only if we are open to the possible value of different journeys.

As I've quoted many times, this comment from Karen Armstrong really resonates with me.

The myths and laws of religion are not true because they they conform to some metaphysical, scientific or historical reality but because they are life enhancing. They tell you how human nature functions, but you will not discover their truth unless you apply these myths and doctrines to your own life and put them into practice.” The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness

Allies and assumptions: I'm not, but....

The rise of rights for LGBT including the right to marry, and in some places, non-discrimination protections, has depended upon two important phenomena:  first, the willingness of LGBT people to come out and identify themselves (often at great risk), and second, the willingness of straight allies to stand up for the gay minority.

Indeed, those non-gay allies, the people who are members of the majority, are an important and vital voice for the community. A gay person advocating for their rights is different than a  straight person  arguing for  gay rights. The straight person is assuming not to have a dog in the fight, so to speak:  it's as though they are legitimized because of their dis-interest.

Still, there's a difference between people who can say "I'm not gay, but I support the community", and allowing someone to assume you are gay yourself, even if you aren't.  It's joining the marginalized where they are.  Less effective in some ways, more effective in others.  It's also what happened with the twitter tag earlier this year, #jesuischarliehebdo.

As many of you know, I'm a non-believer who regularly attends an Episcopal church;  a secular Christian, as I call myself.  I'm active in many ways in our church and I am not in the closet about my lack of belief.  Outside of that community,  I'm gay, an academic and a scientist,  identities that are  widely assumed to be non-religious, if not actively hostile.

Recently, I have had several instances of identifying myself in my professional community as church-friendly, and I have decided to let those people assume that I am a practicing Christian.  It shakes them up:  it breaks the mold about me and challenges easy assumptions both about religion and who believes. 

These are little things.  I asked vendors at a local convention exhibition for donations of spare t-shirts for the homeless program run by our church (the vendors, who are generally not scientists, were quite friendly about it.)  This amused my wife, who  had wondered if I would bring church into the request.  

More strikingly, though, was pointing out to my university that a major committee meeting currently slated for Good Friday and Holy Saturday was occurring on a significant religious holiday and personally quite inconvenient to me, which seems to have left them nonplussed.  

Here's the thing:  I am fairly confident  that they would never schedule a meeting on, say, Rosh Hashanah.  It seems odd to me  that they would not have the same awareness of Easter as one of the two major annual Christian holidays in the country, thus making the assumption that none of us on the committee would be celebrating.

I will be interested to see whether the assumption that I am a Christian has any further consequences.   However, I should add that I was careful to identify myself as participating in the Episcopal church.  The fundamentalists can find their own advocate!

And all this is turning around in my head as I look at the dangerous rhetoric surrounding Muslims in this country.  

What is the most effective way to be allies to our Muslim brothers and sister? Is it to use our position of privilege as non-Muslims to speak out?  Or is it to allow the assumption to be made that we are ourselves Muslim?  I think in particular of the Christian professor at evangelical Christian Wheaton College who was suspended for donning hijab in solidarity with the Islamic community  (though they now  claim it's because she said God is the same God for Muslims and Christians.  But so much for tenure....).

How do we most effectively advocate for justice? 

David Brooks doesn't get it.

New York Times columnist David Brooks thinks secularists are disadvantaged compared to Christian and Jewish believers. Consider the tasks a person would have to perform to live secularism well:

Secular individuals have to build their own moral philosophies. Religious people inherit creeds that have evolved over centuries. Autonomous secular people are called upon to settle on their own individual sacred convictions.

Secular individuals have to build their own communities. Religions come equipped with covenantal rituals that bind people together, sacred practices that are beyond individual choice. Secular people have to choose their own communities and come up with their own practices to make them meaningful.

Secular individuals have to build their own Sabbaths. Religious people are commanded to drop worldly concerns. Secular people have to create their own set times for when to pull back and reflect on spiritual matters.

Secular people have to fashion their own moral motivation. It’s not enough to want to be a decent person. You have to be powerfully motivated to behave well. Religious people are motivated by their love for God and their fervent desire to please Him. Secularists have to come up with their own powerful drive that will compel sacrifice and service.

This is nonsense. First of all, there is a deep history of understanding justice and morality that is not connected to Judeo-Christian practice -- all ancient cultures had a set of rules and the commonality of those rules indicates that they speak to something clearly deeply human. He goes on,

The point is not that secular people should become religious. You either believe in God or you don’t. Neither is the point that religious people are better than secular people. That defies social science evidence and common observation. The point is that an age of mass secularization is an age in which millions of people have put unprecedented moral burdens upon themselves. People who don’t know how to take up these burdens don’t turn bad, but they drift. They suffer from a loss of meaning and an unconscious boredom with their own lives.

What complete rubbish. People who don't know how to take up burdens...as if we have to re-invent a moral and ethical framework from scratch?  That's clearly wrong.

 Daniel Maguire also takes him on, arguing in a twist that Christian ethics don't require a belief in God--rather, they can be viewed as a cultural inheritance that many of us share.

That epic moral vision that was birthed in ancient Israel and echoed into Christianity doesn’t require deity or afterlife beliefs

Indeed many professing Christians might be dogmatically orthodox moral heretics. They take the dogmatic legends literally and fervidly but are less enthused about the moral demands of the tradition. Thus they would smite you for not taking literally such metaphors as Exodus, Virgin Birth, and Resurrection but will not join Isaiah in saying that the only route to peace is through the absolute elimination of poverty. (Isaiah 32;17). Nor are they, as was Jesus, “good news for the poor” or “peacemakers.” (Luke 4:18: Matt. 5:9)

In a splendid irony, secularists who walk the walk on these ideals might be more “Christian” than the “dogmatically” pure.

For Brooks, to be religious you have to believe in “God,” which is way off the mark. Religion is a response to the sacred—whether the sacred is understood theistically or not.

Paul Kowalewski at the Desert Retreat House disagrees with Brooks as well, particularly over his binary of "you believe in God or you don't":

From my perspective, "God" is essentially a Great Riddle, an unknowable mystery, an Abiding Presence at the core of everting that is. From time to time, in the thin places of life, I experience that Holy Presence, but I can never explain it and I never think of God as some sort of separated superior super person. In that sense atheists and I both don't believe in the same imaginary being.

When it comes to religion, I find great value in being connected with my ancestors in a tradition of faith carried on over the ages. I also believe that being in relationship with other persons of faith strengthens me. ....

And yes, I do love the stories in the Bible and yes I think they are mostly legends and myths filled with metaphor and poetry - but that's the kind of language that is always used whenever we try to talk about great mysteries. So, while my beliefs may appear to be paradoxical, I do not at all think that they contradict one another- that's what "both-and" thinking is all about.

And finally, I like this quote from Karen Armstrong:

Religion is not about accepting twenty impossible propositions before breakfast, but about doing things that change you. It is a moral aesthetic, an ethical alchemy. If you behave in a certain way, you will be transformed. The myths and laws of religion are not true because they they conform to some metaphysical, scientific or historical reality but because they are life enhancing. They tell you how human nature functions, but you will not discover their truth unless you apply these myths and doctrines to your own life and put them into practice.”   The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness 

The idea of the value of religion being less about faith per se and more about a shared cultural community of myth and meaning resonates with me, as I continue my own journey. 

 

Welcoming non-believers to church

An Episcopal priest writing in the HuffPo catches on that there are people in the pews who are not believers. He is struck by

the astonishing notion that non-believers can actually enjoy and appreciate being part of a congregation. That they can take pleasure in participating in a family of faith, even without the faith.

I guess he's not read the discussion here at FoJ, where I have nattered on at length on being a "secular Christian" and a church-going atheist.   I was even quoted by Andrew Sullivan.  There are a lot of us who identify as culturally Christian but of course not all of us find a place where we are welcomed.

He goes on,

I believe there is something about experiencing the ancient liturgy that can take us to another part of our being, deep into our spiritual selves -- whether one can recite the Nicene Creed in good conscience or not. Participating in the taking, breaking, blessing, and giving of the bread and wine of the Eucharist can move us into an invigorating place in the spiritual stream of human history from the early church on.

Yesssss.... the rhythm of the liturgy is an important part of it, so deeply ingrained by my Catholic childhood that it is almost atavistic. Although for myself, I don't recite the Creed, and I do not partake of Communion.  Since I am not a believer, that (to me) would be disrespectful of those who are, those for whom there is true meaning (even substance!) in the host.  Although I'm technically "legal" having been baptised and confirmed in the Roman Catholic church.  (I've argued before that my example makes a good case for open table--why should I, a non-believer, be welcomed to partake of something that means nothing to me, when a newcomer for whom it feels life-giving may be denied?)

There's also this:

Worship services provide a place not only to experience sublime peace, but to be challenged to serve. Getting involved in an active community of faith, even without faith, can help us build mutually beneficial relationships, and can also offer opportunities to meet the needs around us --to get out of ourselves and our own concerns, see the hurting world around us, and do something constructive and meaningful about it together.

YES! A big part of the attraction to me is the community. It helps enormously that the community is educated, thoughtful, and active.  Since moving to the Episcopal Church, my wife BP and I have realized that nearly all our friends are fellow Episcopalians.

But the concept of church-going atheists is clearly new to the writer.

This is a phenomenon I'm not sure many church leaders and members are even aware is happening, or can happen. Perhaps we should find a way to open our doors wider to welcome more of these folks who may be "religious but not spiritual" -- the "Friendly Non-theists" -- without seeking to convince or coerce or convert them into belief. That is a matter between them and God, after all, whether the God they don't believe in exists or not.

Well, actually, you already are. We're here.   Because, as the saying goes, you don't have to check your brain at the red door.  We get this:

The Episcopal Church is among those denominations considered to be more open to doubt, questioning, and unsettledness regarding aspects of faith than some other traditions. That sort of faith seems stronger and more authentic to me than an unquestioning, doubt-free faith. It requires work and thought and struggle and prayer. Work that I and many others find pays off in deep meaning and purpose in life. 

So there is room in the church for doubters. Is there room in the church for non-believers?

Depends on the church.  Certainly I'm "out" as an atheist, and in our very educated community, it's not a problem.  I am technically a member, even though I don't identify as Christian:  I was baptised.  I give time and treasure to the church.  I serve in various capacities. I attend services regularly.   Indeed, I'm married to a verger, comment on church politics, maintain an extensive collection of classical polyphony  recordings, and almost certainly qualify as a "church geek".

The Episcopal church welcomes me.  How radical is that?

Update:
Some of my previous musings on the subject:
Living with Church
Secular Christians
Secular Christians:  who is welcome? 

A "God-believing atheist"?

Frank Shaeffer has a new book out, called "The God Believing Atheist".  Well, he's not an atheist--but he argues for a more pantheist view. In an interview, he wrestles with the concept of faith in this way:

I do not always believe, let alone know, if God exists. I do not always know he, she, or it does not exist either, though there are long patches in my life when it seems God never did exist. What I know is that I see the Creator in Jesus or nowhere. What I know is that I see Jesus in my children and grandchildren’s love. What I know is that I rediscover hope again and again through my wife Genie’s love. What I know is that Mother Maria loved unto death. What I know is that sometimes something too good to be true, is true.

He goes on,

Maybe we need a new category other than theism, atheism, or agnosticism that takes paradox and unknowing into account. I believe that life evolved by natural selection. I believe that evolutionary psychology explains away altruism and debunks love and that brain chemistry undermines my illusion of free will and personhood. I also believe that the spiritual reality hovering over, in, and through me calls me to love, trust, and hear the voice of my Creator. It seems to me that there is an off-stage and an on-stage quality to my existence. I live on-stage, but I sense another crew working off stage. Sometimes I hear their voices singing in a way that’s as eerily beautiful as the off-stage chorus in an opera.....

The interview ends like this:

So what are we left with? “It all comes back to stories,” says Schaeffer. “We are living a story."

Church going Atheists

 Andrew Sullivan is doing a thing about not-angry (or as he calls, us, apathetic) atheists.  He quotes from some of his readers.  Hmmmm...Does this sound familiar? 

A reader speaks up for “church-going atheists”:

We are many. Just not all of us are open about it! I don’t like the term “atheist” (being freighted with Dawkins anti-theism); I prefer the term “non-believer”. I passed through my ex-Catholic/angry-atheist phase to a post-religion phase where I value what we have in common more than I care about what separates us. I go to church because 1) I married a woman of deep faith, and 2) because we found our way to a community that welcomes both of us, when she was effectively driven out of her cradle Catholicism by the horrors of California’s Prop8. In fact, I was lobbying her to become Episcopalian for years, as that seems the logical place for a Vatican II-style Catholic with progressive views of church and justice.  

Mutual respect makes our inter-faith relationship work. My wife’s service in church (she’s now the Head Verger of an Episcopal cathedral) is a major part of her life, and I love her completely, so of course I support her wholeheartedly. And she respects who and where I am as well. I too was raised Catholic, so the ancient rhythm of the liturgy is familiar, and the music is simply amazing (thankfully she went “nosebleed high” when she swam the Thames). I guess I am essentially a cultural Trinitarian sacramentalist Christian, even if I don’t believe per se. So I’ll do gladly do Episcopal calisthenics on a Sunday, though I don’t pray, sing, or take communion, because that would be disrespectful of the community. 

As the members of my church say, “Whoever you are, wherever you are on the journey of faith, you are welcome here.” Kinda restores my faith in Christianity.

Christian aesthetics

Recently, Bruce Springsteen said that he had an appreciation for the language and music he learned growing up Catholic, even if he doesn't agree with the theology and doctrine

And it was a wonderful source of metaphor when you went to write about the world and about your inner life and it served me. I suppose looking back on it, I would like to change some things but I wouldn’t have had that any other way in that it’s served me very, very well and continues to do so. 

Writer TJ Holland points out that über atheist Richard Dawkins also expressed a fondness for the aesthetic aspects of Anglicanism. He writes,

What should Christians make of such (unexpected?) appreciation for the aesthetics, sensibilities, and cultural contributions of our faith, while the substance behind those contributions is largely or wholly dismissed? Is this good, to an extent? Or is it entirely bad, with the dismissal of the substance canceling out any possible value in the appreciation for the aesthetic? 

I have two hands, so I’ll make a point for each and leave it at that. 

On the one hand, appreciating the aesthetic beauty of Christianity—awe-inspiring architecture or gospel music or liturgy or what have you—is certainly not the same thing as embracing Christianity itself. (Many of us, from various Christian traditions, would do well to be reminded of that from time to time.) 

On the other hand, could it be that for some, the Spirit uses aesthetics to woo even those who for various reasons have found certain claims and/or norms of the faith to be stumbling blocks?

Hmmmm.....

Christmas traditions and going to church

A new poll looks at Christmas traditions, and finds that Americans enjoy the "cultural" aspect (trees, gifts, Santas), and their practice really depends on what THEY experienced as a child.  But an ever-shrinking number sees the holiday as religious.  From Al Jazeera: 

Whereas 90 percent of Americans of all creeds will celebrate Christmas in 2013 — including 80 percent of non-Christians — Pew found that only about half view Christmas mostly as a religious holiday, and a full third of the population considers it to be primarily a cultural event. 

The gradual erosion of religion’s role from American celebrations of Christmas .... is especially pronounced among 18- to 29-year-olds, who are less likely than older Americans to attend Christmas religious services or to believe in the biblical miracle Christmas is said to celebrate: that Jesus was born of a virgin. 

Even so, churches will burst this Christmas with the once-a-year attendees.  I know our church, which has a robust ASA as it is, will be close to standing room only for the Christmas Eve family service and for midnight mass.   Many will be there for the cultural connection, rather than an overt belief. And many will be young.

Writing in the National Catholic Reporter, a young columnist reflects on the role of church in this context:

One of the worst-kept secrets, particularly among members of my generation, is that secular people go to church. They may not go weekly, and they may not participate in the life of a parish, but they do find certain expressions of their spirituality in the back few pews. 

Often, these times and places are well-known and shared: a weekly vespers service here, a Taize service there. The promise of beautiful music, of a place of quiet, of a safe space for one's thoughts, is enough to bring many people through the door. A tremendous sense of both peace and reverence can be taken away from hours like these. Like the Magi, there's a sense that something powerful and meaningful goes on here and that such power and meaning must be taken in. 

I've certainly written enough about this, about connecting with the space and place, even if not a "believer".  I know I am not the only nonbeliever in the church we attend.  (I'm just the most open about it.)  And if the slogan is, "whoever you are, wherever you are on the journey of faith", then welcoming people without belief, and being content just to have them there if that's what they want, is part of it.  That's radical inclusion.

And another part of it is to let them come and go.

Older parish members often express great interest in this seemingly elusive population of young people. On their minds: How do we convince young people to stay here, to join us every week? How do we bring them into the regular work of this community? What are we doing wrong that they don't find us attractive or meaningful? 

Though extraordinarily well-intentioned, I've come to believe these questions are the wrong ones. They express a desire to serve the spiritual needs of young adults on terms other than their own. They conflate offering hospitality, which is essential to any church, with someone taking us up on that offer. They represent a kind of focus on results, on numbers, which isn't an appropriate measure of the richness of a spiritual life. 

You know the thing, because you've seen it:  middle-aged folks trying to be more "hip" for the youth (and too often, turning off their older members).   Sure, we'd all like them to come back.  But the author suggests that maybe this is what church is for.

No one truly knows today which churches will sustain social prominence for the next 50 or 100 years. As times get tough, we may need to let go of schools, offices and buildings that are part of our cherished history. But the primary spiritual obligation of the Christian -- an open door to our neighbor -- costs relatively little. The church that loses formal members and tithing but provides a service to its community, provides the mystical body of Christ in its neighborliness, may not be a failure. It may instead be returning to the church's roots.

This is the "if you build it they will come".  Because, they are coming.  They are coming for the deeply spiritual experience, the music, the quiet space, the ancient liturgical rhythms.  They are coming for the traditions even if they only come once a year.

So, when your church burgeons to overflowing at Christmas, don't get annoyed at the people who don't know when to stand or who are sitting in your favorite pew.  Direct a welcoming smile at the new faces. Make them want to come back,even it it won't be till next Christmas.

More musings from church-going atheists

These from an atheist Quaker:

If you are really going to be part of a community, just showing up for the main meal is not enough: you need to help cook and clean up. So it has been with me and the Quakers: I’m concerned with how my community works, and so I’ve served on committees (Quakerism is all about committees). There’s pastoral care to accomplish, a building to maintain, First-Day School (Quakerese for Sunday School) to organise. And there’s the matter of how we as a religious community will bring our witness into the world. Perhaps this language sounds odd coming from a non-theist, but as I hope I’ve shown, I’m not a non-theist first. I’ve been involved in prison visiting, and have been struck at the variety of religious attitudes among volunteers: some for whom the visiting is in itself ministry, and others for whom it’s simply social action towards justice (the programme grew out of visiting conscientious objectors in the Vietnam era). The point is: theological differences are not necessarily an issue when there’s work to be done.

This goes back to our recurring theme on this blog of the place of the non-believers amongst those who believe.

The writer goes on,

I love facts and theories, the stuff of the world.....We don’t need to tell lies about the real world in order to make it magical. But we do still need impossible magic for our own irrational selves. At any rate, I do. 

Because I don’t feel stuff-and-logic-based explanations deep down in my toes. There are no miracle stories of flying children there, or brothers reborn into the land where the sagas come from. The language of ‘stuff is all there is’ tells me that I can — even ought to — be rational and sensible, but it doesn’t make me want to be. ‘Atheism’ tells me what I am not, and I yearn to know what I am. .... 

Maybe there is no god but God... or maybe there just is no God. And maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe we just tell stories that ring true to us and say up-front that we know they are fiction. We can let people love these stories or hate them. Maybe imagining impossible things — such as flying, the land where sagas come from, God — is what is needed. Maybe we don’t need the gods to be real. Maybe all we need is to trust more leaps of the imagination.

Musings of the friendly atheist: it's the community

People of late seem to find me interesting, how I can be an avowed non-believer and yet be a willing participant in the life of the church.

My mother doesn’t get it. “You’ll be announcing any day now that you are officially Episcopalian,” she accuses. (Mom is probably at best vaguely deist at this point, having grown up Episcopalian, converting to Roman Catholic when she married, and drifting away from any church ever since. She definitely is not an organized religion person.) I point out that I’ve always liked classical polyphony even in my most angry-atheist phase; and what student of art or music could fail to notice that religion inspired many of the most significant pieces in history? And the level of performance of both music and liturgy at a Cathedral is certainly appealing to a theatrical buff like me. She “gets” that intellectual component, much more than my sense of community being fulfilled.

Friends don’t get it. “I just don’t understand why YOU go to church,” said a new neighbor, who is trying to wrap her head around it. “When they start talking Jesus this and Jesus that….” I explain that with a degree in literature, I’m perfectly comfortable dealing with metaphor and similar devices. Mythos, you might say. And the rhythm of the liturgy has an odd comfort to it, because those words were ingrained in me as a child growing up Roman Catholic.

Would I be going to church without my wife? No, I wouldn’t. But the woman I married has a deep and abiding faith; it’s a very important part of who she is, and a major job as a spouse is to support my wife. People ask how we can be so compatible when our beliefs are 180° opposite. It's because we respect the difference while always loving one another. Let’s remember that she’s an Episcopalian now because I laid siege to her for years, and once she officially swam across the Thames, what could I do but travel with her?

But let’s also not forget that I do get something out of it, and I don't just mean the music. I get that community of thoughtful, engaged people who are smart, and funny, and warm. And this is a community that we met together and joined together; not my friends, or her friends, but truly our friends. That also makes it special.

Secular Christians, 2: who is welcome?

The Lead picked up my essay on secular or cultural Christians, which generated some comments.

The poignant ones were from people who are cultural Episocpalians who would like to be in a community like mine, where people like me are welcome.  To which I say, such places DO exist, not just virtually (like this space) but for real.  

Some of the other ones are a bit snarky.

First, there's the "well, that just proves the Episocpal church is godless!" kind of comment.  This is the same mind-set that says "if gays marry, it's the end of the human race", that is, assuming that the result is that everyone will be gay.   Of course, the fact that there is a tiny fraction of people in the Episcopal church who do not have, shall we say, a "traditional" concept of faith, does not in any way change the fact that the majority of Episcopalians say their Nicene creed and mean it.  They may mean it non-literally, but they mean it.   Using my existence to "prove" anything about the Episcopal Church is nonsense.  

Then there was a snarky comment suggesting that people like me don't belong in the Episcopal church and should be UU or something. 

Which leads me to think that this commenter does not believe in the frequently spoken words "Whoever you are, and wherever you are on the journey of faith, you are welcome here."  What I got from this comment is that to her mind, the Episcopal church should NOT welcome me.  That I don't "belong".

So who DOES belong?  Is someone only welcome if they ALREADY believe as you do?  That's hardly evangelism and that's certainly not welcome "wherever you are on the journey of faith."  It's requiring an exam and a check-up at the red door. "Only approved Episcopalians need apply." 

And what does that exclusion cost?  If you don't let people like me in, you also prevent the possibility of conversion, denying someone a road-to-Damascus moment in which the gift of faith might be bestowed. Do you want to claim that responsibility?  

Nor does welcoming me mean you are compromising what you or the Church believes.  And let me be clear, I'm not asking you to.  I'm not asking you to change your beliefs or their expression in any way--rather, it's I who is accommodating to fit you.

Of course, for me, I consider that it's very unlikely I will ever receive the gift of faith (I just haven't got that gene, as I've told you before, despite our friend JCF's best efforts.  Of course, JCF believes that with God, all things are possible.  ;-)

But whether I think of myself as a gratheist or a Christian atheist or a cultural Christian, I'm actually a great defender of your faith.  I'm an ally. And I'm also one of your best recruiters and evangelizers (for example, here and here).  I figure if someone has got faith and a taste for liturgy, the Episcopal Church is where they should be.  How's that for irony?  Think of the church-going atheist as a translator, or a bridge between worlds.

So really, look into your heart.  If the person next to you in the pew admitted they don't believe in God, would you show them the door?  Or would you say, truthfully,  "you are welcome here"?

Secular Christians

There's a new book called "Faitheist" that argues for non-believers and people of faith to work together.  The Professional Atheists are up in arms about it because they feel it shields or defends religion, which they view as an enemy.  This is why I don't like the term "atheist" to describe myself.   Because I'm not interested in attacking religion, and I'm not just advocating getting along, like the author of the book.  No,  I'm actually part of it.  

We've talked before about "gratheists" like me (here and here, for starters, and on a more personal level, here.)  

Here's a new entry to the discussion, from an atheist's blog on Patheos, that actively advocates for a secular Christian identity that would mirror that of the secular Jewish community (Judaism is particularly welcoming of its nonbelievers).

Consider what this might be like. A secular Christian—I could be a candidate, for example—might go to church for the beautiful or traditional or inspiring music. The church building might be a draw, whether it were awe-inspiring or quaint. Sermons about finding the right path or avoiding the shallow temptations in life or even Bible stories might be edifying. Services could mark the important events in life such as births, marriages, and deaths. Whether the secular Christian went weekly or only a few times a year, the community of good people, eager to help others, would be welcoming. It might give focus to good works, providing opportunities for volunteering and direction for charitable giving. 

But—and here’s the interesting bit—secular Christians would reject the supernatural origin of Christianity, would be open about their atheism, and would be accepted within the church community. The Christian church has millions of members who are secular Christians except for the last bit. They’ve lost their faith in the supernatural claims, they’ve admitted this to themselves, but they can’t come out to their church community. The concept of a secular Christian would allow these people to keep their community, charitable, and even family connections. 

The Christian church isn’t pleased with these ex-Christians simply leaving the church, and this broadening of the church community, as is done in many Jewish communities, could provide a soft landing for many mainstream churches hurting for members. Conservatives will insist that a no-compromise position be taken, but the church is determined to evolve, and this direction seems to be a win-win. 

I've described this as being "culturally Christian" but "secular Christian" works just as well.

So, it's an interesting question.  What defines a relationship with the Church?  Is it shared faith, or shared community?

Originally, I attended church with my wife as an expression of support during her long swim from Rome to Canterbury.  But now, I go not just for her, but for me too.   I'm a non-believing member of an Episcopal Parish.  Indeed, I'm technically "legal" as a member:  As a child, I was baptised and confirmed Roman Catholic.  I had a good religious education (Catholic school through 8th grade).  Now, as an adult, I  not only attend services but donate time and treasure to the Episcopal Church.

Probably the main difference between me and other people who might fit this description is that I'm not in the closet about my lack of belief  (although I admit I'm hesitant about telling people I don't know well, in case they take it the wrong way or think I'm being disrespectful, which I am at pains to avoid). I don't take Communion, and while I enjoy the service, generally I don't say the words or sing the hymns.

And many of our community know, and accept me for who I am.  I'm not trying to convert them, and they are not trying to convert me.  It's mutual respect.  And, I've learned I'm not the only one in the community who has a.... shall we say, non-traditional relationship with faith.

So, is there an explicit place for the culturally Christian that allows the Church to reclaim them (me) as part of the family?

Update:  A followup to this essay is here.

On Gratheism, or Christian atheism, or whatever you want to call it....

I totally "get" this!  William Deresiewicz:

Speaking to a student once—a religious young man as well as a vividly serious one—I said, “You and I understand what a lot of the people around here don’t, that books are temples of the spirit.” I meant the human spirit, he undoubtedly heard me as meaning the spirit of God, but we were taking different routes, I knew, to the same destination. 

I no longer divide the world between believers and nonbelievers. I divide it between fundamentalists of both kinds and (for lack of a better word) liberals of both kinds. Liberal Catholics, Reconstructionist Jews, various kinds of mainline Protestants: people who understand religion the way that I understand art, as a source of spiritual wisdom and moral guidance, not literal truths about the physical world. The content of my atheism hasn’t changed. What’s changed—what continues to change—is the way that I live it.

H/T Andrew Sullivan 

See previous posts ruminating about atheists and my brand of non-belief.

A Christian Atheist?

We've talked before about whether the faithful need believers (here and here) and about my own thoughts on non-belief (see summary here).

Along those lines, here's another entry. Jon Meacham reflects on the passing of William Hamilton, a notable "Christian atheist" and theologian who was interviewed for the famous TIME magazine "Is God Dead?" issue.

In his view that faith was “not a possession but a hope,” Hamilton was tapping into an ancient tradition. As the author of the New Testament Epistle to the Hebrews wrote, “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen”—in this sense, religious faith is way of interpreting experience that allows for the possibility of the redemptive.

Faith in this sense assumes that scripture and tradition are the works of human hands and hearts, efforts undertaken to explain the seemingly inexplicable. Faith in this sense is inextricably tied to doubt; it is an attempt, sometimes successful and sometimes not, to squint and struggle to “see through a glass darkly,” as Paul wrote in Corinthians. Faith without such doubt has never been part of the Christian tradition; it is telling, I think, that one of the earliest resurrection scenes in the Bible is that of Thomas demanding evidence—he wanted to see, to touch, to prove. Those who question and probe and debate are heirs of the apostles just as much as the most fervent of believers.

So, what do you think of the concept of "Christian atheist"? I'm not sure I agree it's possible. I don't think of myself as a Christian, since I think you really do have to believe at some level in God and Christ's crucification and resurrection to claim that title. The description of faith as a hope, not a possession, makes sense, but sounds more like "agnostic" than "atheist". I think my own experience would be, in that regard, hopeless: I don't have such a hope. I think it would be nice, living as I do surrounded by people of faith, to have any sense that I could share what gives them (and you) joy and comfort, but just I don't have it.

Living with Church, part 2: science

Our friend Counterlight recently had an excellent essay on atheism and in the comments we discussed the idea that losing faith, or feeling driven from it, is very different from never really having it. I think that accounts for one form of "angry atheist": those who rail against the loss. Another form, the Dawkins style of anti-theism, is a reaction to the interference of some forms of religion in science, where they really do not belong. The problem with Dawkins and the so called "new atheists" is that they really set science up as an alternative religion, fundamentalist at that. But perhaps that reflects our need to believe in something.

Neuroscientists think that our brains are wired to have a sense of belief, and this sense crosses cultures and continents to be something deeply human. I have no problem with that. As creatures of intellect, everything is perceived through our brain. Consider for example that the emotion of love is a pattern of neuronal impulses in my brain. But that I can explain it this way, doesn't in any way change the transcendent feeling I have, in loving and being loved, The biological explanation really doesn't matter to me, compared to my own experience. Thus, whether you believe God is literally all in our heads, or whether you believe God put your awareness of Him there, doesn't really matter: your brain is parsing your experience and interpreting it as belief. And I have no business telling YOU what you perceive; no more than you have any business telling ME how I experience love.

So if we are actually evolved towards belief, if it's another complex behavioral trait, perhaps it isn't surprising that some people are missing that sense-- just as some people are left handed when most are not, or some are gay where most are straight.

Therefore I suggest that the non-angry atheist, the subtype that includes accommodating non-believers like me, are simply missing The God Gene. So to speak. (Aside: THis is only a term of speech; complex behaviors are far too complicated to ascribe to A Single Gene, as I have discussed at length elsewhere.)

But back to this conflict in making science religion, and religion, science. The philosopher John Gray said in an interview,

"I'm very opposed to investing science with the needs and requirements of religion. I'm equally opposed to the tendency within religion, which exists in things like creationism and intelligent design, to turn religion into a kind of pseudo-science. If you go back to St. Augustine or before, to the Jewish scholars who talk about these issues, they never regard the Genesis story as a theory. Augustine says explicitly that it should not be interpreted explicitly, that it's a way of accessing truths which can't really be formulated by the human mind in any rational way. It's a way of accessing mysterious features which will remain mysterious. So it was always seen right up to the rise of modern science—as a myth, not a theory. What these creationists are doing is retreating, they're accepting the view of religion promoted by scientific enemies of religion, and saying, no, we have got science and it's better than your science. Complete error."

I agree.

Interestingly, it's largely (though not exclusively) the conservative fundamentalists who attack science and see it as a threat, not the more intellectually grounded mainline. And it's these fundamentalists against whom the Dawkins school is reacting, by themselves going fundamentalist.

Believe it or not, most non-believers really don't care if you believe. We aren't making a religion out of our faithlessness, because we just don't get it. When people ask me if I "worship" Darwin, I am really puzzled. They are projecting their need to believe in Something, and assuming that someone who doesn't believe in God has replaced Him. But this concept is completely alien to me. Darwin was just a scientist, who like all of us got some things right, and some things wrong. I don't "worship" him or anyone else. I really don't have that wiring.

Stephen Hawking, the theoretical physicist, made news this week by saying he doesn't believe in an afterlife and called such a belief a "fairy tale." While this was rude, what got lost in the fallout was what else he said:

In the interview, Hawking rejected the notion of life beyond death and emphasised the need to fulfill our potential on Earth by making good use of our lives. In answer to a question on how we should live, he said, simply: "We should seek the greatest value of our action."

Gray went in the same direction:

"Without spurning any of the advances of science, we could be friendlier to our mortality. The transience of our lives is one of the things that makes it valuable."

We pass this way but once. Those of faith may see it as a step on a journey, those without may see it as all there is. But surely what we have in common is that we are all here. Life is transient. We need to be conscious in giving it value.

Living with church, part 1: accommodating

I go to church every Sunday with my wife. Some Sundays we go twice, to Evensong as well. My wife is now a thurifer and an acolyte, so I often am left in the pew doing Episcopal calisthenics while she's up on the chancel doing other things. (As an aside, she is so joyful and happy up there--and in church generally--that the long journey she took to TEC was really worth it. Give yourselves a pat on the back.)

I listen to the familiar rhythm of the liturgy, so similar to the Roman Catholic words with which I grew up. I listen to the full throat of the organ and the voices of the choir weaving the tapestry of classical polyphony. And generally I'm lucky enough to get a really good and thought-provoking sermon, too, as the quality of preaching is quite high. But I don't sing, I don't say anything, and I don't take Communion, because I'm a church-going non-believer.

Around and about this week, people have been discussing faith, atheism, and science. Just as there is a tendency of non-believers (and the media) to color all Christians with Jerry Falwell paint, there is a tendency of believers to pigeonhole all atheists as faith bashers.

Yet I'm not alone in being an…. accommodator. Recently, the Templeton Prize was given to astrophysicist Martin Rees, who has been described as a "Churchgoer who doesn't believe in God." He commented in an interview,

What I've said is I'm happy to attend my college chapel and things like that, because I see this as part of my culture, just like many Jews light candles on Friday night even though they don't believe anything, and my culture is the Church of England, as it were.

Similarly, my culture is clearly high church trinitarian sacramental Catholicity of one form or another. Hence the comfortable familiarity of the liturgy makes it a pleasant experience. I would have a much harder time with a more…. er, "contemporary Christian" kind of thing. There would be no cultural connection.

As the philosopher John Gray said in a recent interview,

"I'm not a believer, but I'm friendly to religion, partly because it goes with being human—it's an odd kind of humanism which is hostile to something which is so quintessentially human as religion."

Exactly. It would be foolishness to deny the impact of faith on western thought or on the people around me. To me, the issue is not whether you have faith, or not. It's whether you can accommodate me, as I can accommodate you.

So, I remain a non-believer in the pew. I don't make a point of it, because after all I'm choosing to be there. I'm sure most of the folks in church don't know or notice. Those that do, may think I'm simply "earlier on the journey" than others. (I think some people think I'm Jewish, based on the occasional question. This is a frequent assumption because I'm dark and strong-featured.)

Instead, I tend to think that I've gone much further. I've gone past being religious, through my religion-bashing phase and to some extent am post-religious. Now I can find the common ground with my socially progressive instincts and faith groups who articulate it on the ground.

Besides the music is great.

More tomorrow.

Photo: font, St Paul's Cathedral San Diego (c) author