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God and the Ivory Tower

What we don't understand about religion just might kill us.

SCOTT ATRAN, 08/06/12

The era of world struggle between the great secular ideological -isms that began with the French Revolution and lasted through the Cold War (republicanism, anarchism, socialism, fascism, communism, liberalism) is passing on to a religious stage. Across the Middle East and North Africa, religious movements are gaining social and political ground, with election victories by avowedly Islamic parties in Turkey, Palestine, Egypt, Tunisia, and Morocco. As Israel's National Security Council chief, Gen. Yaakov Amidror (a religious man himself), told me on the eve of Tunisia's elections last October, "We expect Islamist parties to soon dominate all governments in the region, from Afghanistan to Morocco, except for Israel."

On a global scale, Protestant evangelical churches (together with Pentacostalists) continue to proliferate, especially in Latin America, but also keep pace with the expansion of fundamentalist Islam in southern Africa and eastern and southern Asia. In Russia, a clear majority of the population remains religious despite decades of forcibly imposed atheism. Even in China, where the government's commission on atheism has the Sisyphean job of making that country religion-free, religious agitation is on the rise. And in the United States, a majority says it wants less religion in politics, but an equal majority still will not vote for an atheist as president.

But if reams of social scientific analysis have been produced on religion's less celestial cousins -- from the nature of perception and speech to how we rationalize and shop -- faith is not a matter that rigorous science has taken seriously. To be sure, social scientists have long studied how religious practices correlate with a wide range of economic, social, and political issues. Yet, for nearly a century after Harvard University psychologist William James's 1902 masterwork, The Varieties of Religious Experience, there was little serious investigation of the psychological structure or neurological and biological underpinnings of religious belief that determine how religion actually causes behavior. And that's a problem if science aims to produce knowledge that improves the human condition, including a lessening of cultural conflict and war.

Religion molds a nation in which it thrives, sometimes producing solidarity and sacred causes so powerful that citizens are willing to kill or die for a common good (as when Judea's Jews around the time of Christ persisted in rebellion unto political annihilation in the face of the Roman Empire's overwhelmingly military might). But religion can also hinder a society's ability to work out differences with others, especially if those others don't understand what religion is all about. That's the mess we find ourselves in today, not only among different groups of Americans in the so-called culture wars, but between secular and Judeo-Christian America and many Muslim countries.

Time and again, countries go to war without understanding the transcendent drives and dreams of adversaries who see a very different world. Yet we needn't fly blindly into the storm.

Science can help us understand religion and the sacred just as it can help us understand the genome or the structure of the universe. This, in turn, can make policy better informed.

Fortunately, the last few years show progress in scientific studies of religion and the sacred, though headwinds remain strong. Across history and cultures, religion has often knit communities together under the rule of sentient, but immaterial deities -- that is, spiritual beings whose description is logically contradictory and empirically unfalsifiable. Cross-cultural studies pioneered by anthropologist Pascal Boyer show that these miraculous features -- talking bushes, horses that leap into the sky -- make lasting impressions on people and thereby increase the likelihood that they will be passed down to the next generation. Implausibility also facilitates cultural transmission in a more subtle manner -- fostering adaptability of religious beliefs by opening the door to multiple interpretations (as with metaphors or weekly sermons).

And the greater the investment in outlandishness, the better. This is because adherence to apparently absurd beliefs means incurring costs -- surviving without electricity, for example, if you are Amish -- which help identify members who are committed to the survival of a group and cannot be lured away. The ease of identifying true believers, in turn, builds trust and galvanizes group solidarity for common defense.

To test this hypothesis, anthropologist Richard Sosis and his colleagues studied 200 communes founded in the United States in the 19th century. If shared religious beliefs really did foster loyalty, they reasoned, then communes formed out of religious conviction should survive longer than those motivated by secular ideologies such as socialism. Their findings were striking: Just 6 percent of the secular communes were still functioning 20 years after their founding, compared with 39 percent of the religious communes.

It is not difficult to see why groups formed for purely rational reasons can be more vulnerable to collapse: Background conditions change, and it might make sense to abandon one group in favor of another. Interestingly, recent research echoes the findings of 14th-century historian Ibn Khaldun, who argued that long-term differences among North African Muslim dynasties with comparable military might "have their origin in religion … [and] group feeling [wherein] mutual cooperation and support flourish." The more religious societies, he argued, endured the longest.

For this reason, even ostensibly secular countries and transnational movements usually contain important quasi-religious rituals and beliefs. Think of sacred songs and ceremonies, or postulations that "providence" or "nature" bestows equality and inalienable rights (though, for about 99.9 percent of our species' existence, slavery, and oppression of minorities were more standard fare). These sacred values act as moral imperatives that inspire non-rational sacrifices in cooperative endeavors such as war.

Insurgents, revolutionaries, and terrorists all make use of this logic, generating outsized commitment that allows them to resist and often prevail against materially stronger foes. Consider the American revolutionaries who defied the greatest empire of their age by pledging "our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor" for the cause of "liberty or death." Surely they were aware of how unlikely they were to succeed, given the vast disparities in material resources, manpower, and training. As Osama Hamdan, the ranking Hamas politburo member for external affairs, put it to me in Damascus, Syria, "George Washington was fighting the strongest military in the world, beyond all reason. That's what we're doing. Exactly."

But the same logic that makes religious and sacred beliefs more likely to endure can make them impervious to compromise. Based on interviews, experiments, and surveys with Palestinians, Israelis, Indonesians, Indians, Afghans, and Iranians, my research with psychologists Jeremy Ginges, Douglas Medin, and others demonstrates that offering people material incentives (large amounts of money, guarantees for a life free of political violence) to compromise sacred values can backfire, increasing stated willingness to use violence. Such backfire effects occur both for convictions with clear religious investment (Jerusalem, sharia law) and for those that are at least initially nonreligious (Iran's right to a nuclear capability, Palestinian refugees' right of return).

According to a 2010 study, for example, most Iranians think there is nothing sacred about their government's nuclear program. But for a sizable minority -- 13 percent of the population -- the quest for a nuclear capability (more focused on energy than weapons) had, through religious rhetoric, become a sacred subject. This group, which tends to be close to the regime, now believes a nuclear program is bound up with national identity and with Islam itself. As a result, offering material rewards or punishments to abandon the program only increases anger and support for it.

Although this sacralization of initially secular issues confounds standard "business-like" negotiation tactics, my work with political scientist Robert Axelrod interviewing political leaders in the Middle East and elsewhere indicates that strong symbolic gestures (sincere apologies, demonstrating respect for the other's values) generate surprising flexibility, even among militants, and may enable subsequent material negotiations. Thus, we find that Palestinian leaders and their supporting populations are generally willing to accept Israeli offers of economic improvement only after issues of recognition are addressed. Even purely symbolic statements accompanied by no material action, such as "we recognize your suffering" or "we respect your rights in Jerusalem," diminish support for violence, including suicide terrorism. This is particularly promising because symbolic gestures tied to religious notions that are open to interpretation might potentially be reframed without compromising their absolute "truth." For example, Jerusalem might be reconceived less as a place than portal to heaven, where earthly access to the portal suffices.

If these things are worth knowing, why do scientists still shun religion?

Part of the reason is that most scientists are staunchly nonreligious. If you look at the prestigious U.S. National Academy of Sciences or Britain's Royal Society, well over 90 percent of members are non-religious. That may help explain why some of the bestselling books by scientists about religion aren't about the science of religion as much as the reasons that it's no longer necessary to believe. "New Atheists" have aggressively sought to discredit religion as the chief cause of much human misery, militating for its demise. They contend that science has now answered questions about humans' origins and place in the world that only religion sought to answer in the days before evolutionary science, and that humankind no longer needs the broken crutch of faith.

But the idea that we can simply argue away religion has little factual support. Although a recent study by psychologists Will Gervais and Ara Norenzayan indicates that people are less prone to think religiously when they think analytically, other studies suggest that seemingly contrary evidence rarely undermines religious belief, especially among groups welded by ritualized sacrifice in the face of outside threats. Norenzayan and others also find that belief in gods and miracles intensifies when people are primed with awareness of death or when facing danger, as in wartime.

Moreover, the chief complaint against religion -- that it is history's prime instigator of intergroup conflict -- does not withstand scrutiny. Religious issues motivate only a small minority of recorded wars. The Encyclopedia of Wars surveyed 1,763 violent conflicts across history; only 123 (7 percent) were religious. A BBC-sponsored "God and War" audit, which evaluated major conflicts over 3,500 years and rated them on a 0-to-5 scale for religious motivation (Punic Wars = 0, Crusades = 5), found that more than 60 percent had no religious motivation. Less than 7 percent earned a rating greater than 3. There was little religious motivation for the internecine Russian and Chinese conflicts or the world wars responsible for history's most lethal century of international bloodshed.

Indeed, inclusive concepts such as "humanity" arguably emerged with the rise of universal religions. Sociologist Rodney Stark reveals that early Christianity became the Roman Empire's majority religion not through conquest, but through a social process grounded in trust. Repeated acts of altruism, such as caring for non-Christians during epidemics, facilitated the expansion of social networks that were invested in the religion. Likewise, studies by behavioral economist Joseph Henrich and colleagues on contemporary foragers, farmers, and herders show that professing a world religion is correlated with greater fairness toward passing strangers. This research helps explain what's going on in sub-Saharan Africa, where Islam is spreading rapidly. In Rwanda, for example, people began converting to Islam in droves after Muslims systematically risked their lives to protect Christians and animists from genocide when few others cared.

Although surprisingly few wars are started by religions, once they start, religion -- and the values it imposes -- can play a critical role. When competing interests are framed in terms of religious and sacred values, conflict may persist for decades, even centuries. Disputes over otherwise mundane phenomena then become existential struggles, as when land becomes "Holy Land." Secular issues become sacralized and nonnegotiable, regardless of material rewards or punishments. In a multiyear study, our research group found that Palestinian adolescents who perceived strong threats to their communities and were highly involved in religious ritual were most likely to see political issues, like the right of refugees to return to homes in Israel, as absolute moral imperatives. These individuals were thus opposed to compromise, regardless of the costs. It turns out there may be a neurological component to such behavior: Our work with Gregory Berns and his neuroeconomics team suggests that such values are processed in the brain as duties rather than utilitarian calculations; neuroimaging reveals that violations of sacred values trigger emotional responses consistent with sentiments of moral outrage.

Historical and experimental studies suggest that the more antagonistic a group's neighborhood, the more tightly that group will cling to its sacred values and rituals. The result is enhanced solidarity, but also increased potential for conflict toward other groups. Investigation of 60 small-scale societies reveals that groups that experience the highest rates of conflict (warfare) endure the costliest rites (genital mutilation, scarification, etc.). Likewise, research in India, Mexico, Britain, Russia, and Indonesia indicates that greater participation in religious ritual in large-scale societies is associated with greater parochial altruism -- that is, willingness to sacrifice for one's own group, such as Muslims or Christians, but not for outsiders -- and, in relevant contexts, support for suicide attacks. This dynamic is behind the paradoxical reality that the world finds itself in today: Modern global multiculturalism is increasingly challenged by fundamentalist movements aimed at reviving group loyalty through greater ritual commitments to ideological purity.

So why does it matter that we have moved past the -isms and into an era of greater religiosity? In an age where religious and sacred causes are resurgent, there is urgent need for scientific effort to understand them. Now that humankind has acquired through science the power to destroy itself with nuclear weapons, we cannot afford to let science ignore religion and the sacred, or let scientists simply try to reason them away. Policymakers should leverage scientific understanding of what makes religion so potent a force for both cooperation and conflict, to help increase the one and lessen the other.

http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2012/08/06/god_and_the_ivory_tower?page=0,0

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從沒有信仰到牧師的生活歷程 – C. Chellew-Hodge
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Nadia Bolz-Weber on Becoming 'God's Bitch'

This pastor's spiritual memoir, out this month, is not your typical Lutheran witness.

Candace Chellew-Hodge, 09/19/13

Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Life of a Sinner & Saint

by Nadia Bolz-Weber

Jericho Books, 2013

In the straitlaced, mostly white male, buttoned-down and collared world of Lutheran clergy, Nadia Bolz-Weber stands out. From her tall, lanky, heavily-tattooed frame to eyes that bulge from her lifelong battle with Graves' disease, the ELCA pastor cuts an impressive presence.

No one seems more surprised by the turn of events that led this former hard-drinking stand-up comic into the ranks of the clergy than Bolz-Weber herself. In her new spiritual memoir, Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner & Saint, Bolz-Weber writes about going from "trying to attain a rock-and-roll early death," to becoming founding pastor of House for All Sinners and Saints, an ELCA mission church in Denver, Colorado.

In the book, she likens herself to "a Lutheran Nikita," the fictional teenaged drug addict whose death was faked by the government so she could do their dirty work. "I was allowed not to die in exchange for working for God," Bolz-Weber writes, "I'd have to become God's bitch."

I had a chance to talk with Bolz-Weber about her journey and how she now finds inspiration not just in the Bible, but in her critics who still find it hard to accept the tough-talking, tender-hearted shepherd of spiritual misfits into their orthodox fold.

Tell us how you became a Lutheran pastor.

I have a checkered past so it really felt like it was something that was thrust upon me, it wasn't something I was seeking. That's when you really know it's grace, when it's really disruptive.

If 15 or 20 years ago someone had said to me, "You'll eventually be a Lutheran pastor." I would have said, "Oh, my God, I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong girl. Clearly, I'm not."

It's strange to say that God had a purpose or God was using me in some way because it can feel like a form of spiritual self-flattery—but I do feel very much used.

Who is this book for?

I really did write it for people who have a Christian background but left the church for completely valid reasons but maybe are open to the gospel again—the gospel doesn't always have to be wrapped in the church wrapping paper they are accustomed to. I know, in my case, the gospel of Jesus Christ is simply the most true thing I've ever heard in my life and I think that, unfortunately, that message has been packaged in ways that are alienating to a lot of people. I wrote this as an attempt to say, "Here's another way to talk about what this whole thing can mean and can be."

I also definitely had my fellow alcoholics and addicts in mind. People who are in a position of having really experienced death and resurrection and having to pray and rely on God. You can be that person and still access that particular story of Jesus.

Surveys are showing that young people—those millennials—are leaving the church in droves.

Well we're thinking of starting a second site because we have so many young adults.

Do you think you've found a way to re-engage those young people?

There are generational realities and cultural realities. Most of the time if someone from a mainline church says, "We have young people who come," they're probably "old" young people who are not necessarily postmodern even though they are chronologically young. Post-modernity has created a very particular worldview and mindset and a particular set of critiques and cynicism, as well as a particular hunger. People who have all of those are drawn to the congregation that I serve.

Tell us bit about your church.

We're active participants instead of passive consumers of the religious experience. Liturgy means "work of the people," so when you walk in you'll find us totally in the round—to democratize the space—and all the music comes out of the bodies of the people that show up. There's nothing sacred performance-y about it. The liturgy is led by 15 to 18 different people who, when they walked in, took one of the reader cards off the table. It's self-selected. No one has to deem them worthy or good enough.

Just that alone makes a huge difference.

Additionally, we're very deep into the ancient practices of the church. The ancient liturgy of the church has its own integrity. For people who are prone to cynicism, to have something that's 1,300 years old, we don't feel like we have to constantly be looking behind the curtain to see if it's the Wizard of Oz or a scared little man. We don't have to be as cynical about it because it has its own integrity; it doesn't demand a particular emotional experience from us; it doesn't demand that we intellectually assent to it—it works upon us like water on a rock. I think people are drawn to that.

My congregation is a place where difficult truths are spoken out loud about ourselves and about the world. And beautiful truths about God are spoken out loud as well.

There's so much pretending out there. We have to pretend that we're not smarter than our boss. We have to pretend we love our partner more than we do. We have to pretend that everything is fine. There's just so much pretend in our lives we have to muster up, I think the church needs to be a place where that doesn't have to happen. Just for one hour during the week, they can exhale and the truth about everything can be spoken in a sacred space.

Does that emphasis on honesty stem from your background in 12-step meetings?

Yes, the honesty and transparency comes from the fact that I came of age in a 12-step program. I came of age in church basements listening to drunks tell the truth about themselves and about themselves.

That seems to be the power in it even if people don't have classic addictions like drugs or alcohol. We can all become addicted to that daily pretending that you're talking about.

The book is vulnerable, to have all these stories about myself and these truths about myself out there. It's not like the book is going to impress anyone—nobody's going to say, "Wow, Nadia Bolz-Weber is a fucking spiritual giant."

But, my hope is that rather than writing a spiritual memoir that in some way elevates me as a spiritual leader, writing a theological memoir that puts my own crap out there is a way to help shed light on the grace of God.

The Bible is full of imperfect people. Moses was a murderer. David was a philanderer...

Right. All God's favorite people are fucked up.

But, too often, churches today expect us to be perfect. To dress right and act right and not track our muddy boots into the sanctuary.

That comes from the fact that the locus of authority has shifted in our culture. Human experience has authority in a way that it never has before in human history so if I am experiencing something about myself or the world and I go to church and it's either not acknowledged or it's contradicted, why in the world would I go back? Why would the church or Christian community have anything to say to me?

Is there a chance of being too vulnerable, though?

I only preach from my scars, not my wounds. I don't mind putting my stuff out there. It doesn't bother me, but if I do that with a wound and my parishioners respond by wanting to bring me bandages, so to speak, I have failed. Then it is about me.

A lot of preachers from previous generations were taught not to talk about themselves in sermons because "it's not about you." Well, nobody wants to hear about your addiction to internet pornography from the pulpit because that makes them uncomfortable in a way that's not going to illuminate the gospel, it's only going to point to you. I'm very careful about that.

If I'm going to reveal something about myself in a sermon—which I almost always do—the purpose has to be to show the people how much in need of God's grace we are. If you aren't convicted by something how are you ever driven to the foot of the cross? If nothing can convict me, if I'm great and I have all of my shit together then we just leave Jesus idling in his van on the corner.

Why did you call the book Pastrix?

Pastrix is a made-up term that unimaginative sectors of the Christian church apply to women who are clergy because they don't consider them to be actually pastors, since they're women. Some of my detractors who write shit about me will not call me pastor, they started calling me pastrix, so I just took it on. Anytime you can take an insult and make it your own, you win.

How do you deal with the critics? You have been attacked pretty hard by those who don't like you.

When I am attacked from the liberal flank it bothers me. But, when I'm attacked from the conservative side, that's just jet fuel. I feel like I can keep going for another couple of months. I have such a defiant personality that if you're going to take the time to put it out there, I'm going to take the time to convert it into jet fuel for myself. If my detractors have a problem with what I'm doing, they should shut the fuck up.

The chapter where you talk about doing chaplaincy work at a hospital was quite powerful. Tell me about that experience.

One thing I learned there is that I'm fairly comfortable in an emergency room or an ICU. I have no idea what the fuck to say to someone who just had shoulder surgery. I can't do the nice chit-chat, but I realized that I can be present during to some pretty wrenching pain and reality of life. I think that being present to that type of suffering made me a theologian of the cross in a way that nothing else could have. As a Lutheran, I confess that it is God who is hanging from the cross—not God's little boy. God is still present in the suffering we endure in this life. God is not absent. I think that having that experience forged that in me in a real way.

You met an atheist during that time.

Yes, it was this old lady with her hair stacked high and I just thought for sure she'd have some cheesy Christian prayer books that she'd want me to read from. I asked if there was anything I could do for her and she said, "Oh, no, dear, that's all nonsense. I'm an atheist." I said, "Good for you. I wish I could pull that off."

You also talk about your patron saint, Mary Magdalene. What does she mean to you?

Being raised in a Christian tradition where women were not even permitted to pray out loud in front of men, much less be an usher or a preacher, there was a process for me of sort of claiming my authority as a preacher. The more I studied the gospels the more intrigued I was by Mary Magdalene and how she seemed to always be around. I called her "the patron saint of just showing up," because she's always there.

I love that—this woman, who had been delivered from so much, is chosen by Jesus to be the first witness to the resurrection. It could have been somebody else, but Mary Magdalene was chosen to be the one to tell the men of the resurrection.

I love that text in John 20 where she doesn't recognize him. She thinks he's the gardener—which I suspect she never lived down. I'm sure her friends, for the rest of her life, when they'd be drinking, they'd be like, "Hey, Mary, remember when you thought Jesus was a gardener?" I absolutely love the fact that she didn't recognize him until he spoke her name. I relate to that. I don't think I recognized Jesus until it seemed like he was speaking my name. When that happens, we turn at the sound of the voice.

That's my story of being confused and hearing my name and turning over and over again. Not just like it happened once, this is a daily thing for me. That's the life of death and resurrection that I end up undergoing on a regular basis.

What do you see as the future of the church?

What defines church to me is where the gospel is preached and sacraments are presided over and handed out. In that way, I don't think the church is going anywhere. I think people will still gather in the name of the triune God and tell the story of Jesus and talk about the night before he died and share bread and wine. They'll still baptize in the name of that same God. What that looks like changing and I think it will continue to change.

I think, any minute now, my church will be outdated. There will be people in their teens and twenties saying, "You guys are out of it and you don't know which questions you should be asking."

http://www.religiondispatches.org/books/atheologies/7304/nadia_bolz_weber_on_becoming__god_s_bitch_/

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From Pastor to Harvard's ‘Godless Church’ Planter

Becky Garrison, 09/20/13

After coming out as an atheist at the 2012 American Atheists convention Teresa MacBain, a former Methodist minister, became a professional atheist, subsequently serving as the Public Relations Director for American Atheists and Executive Director for the Humanists of Florida.

Recently, however, she moved to the Cambridge area to become Director of the Humanist Community Project (HCP), an initiative of Harvard's Humanist Community. With a staff of six full-time and five part-time chaplains—including an African-American Southern Baptist and two fellows from the Netherlands—the HCH is far larger number than most college chaplaincies, with women constituting over half of the staff.

Humanist Chaplain Greg Epstein, executive director of HCH and author of the bestselling book Good Without God, says MacBain is the perfect person to lead this innovative new project to grow “Godless Congregations” across the US.

RD recently spoke with MacBain about her move from pastoring Christians to guiding the formation of godless communities.

For those who aren't aware of your very public journey this past year, what led you to take the podium and out yourself as an atheist at the 2012 American Atheist Convention?

I was raised in the Deep South where my dad was a Baptist pastor. I always felt my calling was to be in ministry but the Baptist church didn’t allow women pastors. As I moved through my young adulthood, my theology became more liberal leading me into the Methodist church where I became a pastor. I’d always been a thinker so when questions relating to my faith began to pop up, I ignored them at first. You see, questioning and doubts were sinful in my faith tradition.

But the questions wouldn’t remain silent. So five to eight years ago, I began doing research on these questions. My thoughts were that when people came to me with questions as a pastor, I'd have answers I could share with them about their doubts. But the answers led to more questions that led to more research. I even called myself a progressive Christian for a while, but slowly realized I couldn't hide from the answers any longer. In the summer of 2011, I knew the faith I held to for all my life was gone.

Tell me about your connection with the project for clergy who no longer “hold supernatural beliefs.”

I joined the Clergy Project soon after it first launched in 2011. At that time I used the pseudonym “Lynn,” because I was still a pastor. I was relieved to find other pastors who were in the same situation. The Clergy Project became my lifeline during the months before I came out. An opportunity presented itself for me to attend the Reason Rally and the 2012 American Atheist Convention.

In an unexpected turn of events, I was given the opportunity to speak at the conference. In the process, I came out publicly as an atheist. Once my video hit YouTube, the world knew about the Clergy Project. All these people working in ministry who no longer believed realized they were not alone, and that there was a place where they could connect with other clergy persons. Over the past 18 months, I've developed a number of relationships with people who contact me because they find themselves in a similar situation. They ask questions, I don't push. I’m simply a listening ear...someone safe for them to talk to.

What was the response to your coming out as an atheist?

An enormous number of Christians have threatened to do physical harm to me. Many others have been kind in their response. They don't understand and of course, they offer to pray for me. Some atheists have disagreed with me. I've heard comments like "I'll give you a year but this won't stick." But overall the Christian response has been much worse than the feedback I got from the "angry atheists."

How did your coming out give your son permission to come out as an atheist, and your brother to come out as a survivor of clergy sexual abuse?

I've never thought of it this way. When the first person takes the step, it seems like other people have courage to stand up. I’m very proud and supportive of both my son and my brother.

What reaction did you get when the Humanist Community at Harvard announced you would be heading to Harvard to plant godless congregations?

Since my position was announced, I have been inundated with people calling for advice and assistance. There are a huge number of secular people who are interested in this type of thing. Even before this announcement was made, I've had people from across the United States come up and tell me how they desire community. They attend conferences and are able to interact with like-minded people. But then they return home to the struggles of being closeted or out atheists.

These same people complimented me for addressing something deeper, and for talking about the need to build community within the freethought movement. Now I have the ability on a nationwide level to provide training, resources, and on-the-ground-support to help develop a successful community that fits their area and needs. Churches know how to do this very well and I've done it in my past profession, so this seems to be a perfect fit for me. I could also see the potential of the Clergy Project members who are out as atheists wanting to work with these developing communities as “coaches” or even “planting” their own community.

How do these communities avoid the trap of other Christian community building efforts like New Monasticism and Emergent Church that showed potential to be the "next big thing" but often ended up becoming yet another author/speaker show?

There's a danger that any venture can go this way. I’m going to try and avoid this by offering solid training, resources, accountability, and one-on-one leadership consultation. Through the HCP, we want to establish a plan with the communities who want to work with us that includes leadership development, training on conflict resolution, and the support from our main organization. We also want to encourage them not to get too big too fast. Then it's way too big of a monster for anyone to manage.

Our movement is currently centered on conferences with big name speakers and book signings. So trying to translate that into a model of community that's offering a chance for people and families to connect and celebrate life events will require a lot of work in educating people to start the conversation. Humanist communities are the cutting edge, and we're laying the foundation here. Our goal is to fill a need for social connectivity, which religion does very well. Many balk at creating communities because they feel those types of groups are [intrinsically] religious. But community isn't a religious construct, it’s a human one.

What is entailed in training people to run nonreligious communities?

If you forgive the expression, there needs to be a period of soul searching for those who want to be leaders. This includes a time where they assess their strengths and weaknesses. Also there are some models I'm going to use that encourage more of a team leadership format that moves away from the traditional “top down” model.

The use of terms like congregations and churches lend credence to the fact that some are now calling atheism a religion.

We need to work with language. Some like the Sunday Assembly are calling these “atheist churches.” Some who have been burned by religion but are looking for community want to reclaim the word “church.” For others even a liberal church like the Unitarian Universalists will not meet their needs. For this reason, we’re using the term “Humanist community.”

When you establish a community, the principles of community organizing are the same regardless of whether the group is religious or secular. But in creating these communities we're lacking some important elements found in religion, and that's a deity, doctrine, dogma, and theology. This is not about imposing a new list, or rules and regulations based upon a spiritual direction for people to follow—this is about offering a social construct for those to gather in what is called a community.

How do you see these humanist communities providing the type of outreach programs and social support systems offered by churches?

There are a number of great programs out there like Recovering from Religion, the Secular Therapist Project, Secular Organizations for Sobriety, and Grief Beyond Belief that offer support services to those in need. Through organizations like the Foundation Beyond Belief we can be active in helping others. Through these organizations, we have a good starting point to build a foundation for communities to connect not only with each other, but for individuals to receive support during difficult times, to celebrate life events, and to reach out as a community to offer aid to those in need.

http://www.religiondispatches.org/archive/atheologies/7307/from_pastor_to_harvard_s__godless_church__planter/

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