Jeffrey Olsson

I served as an Anglican priest for 12 years and have been out of the ministry for 5 years. My concerns about Christian treatment of non-Christians whose lives we were supposedly improving led me to secular and scientific readings which ultimately led me away from faith.

During my ministry in northern Canada I became painfully aware of the residential schools abuses that had been perpetrated upon aboriginal children. The government of Canada, along with the Catholic, Anglican and Lutheran churches set out to Christianize aboriginals and integrate them into mainstream society. As a result it was mandatory for these children to attend special aboriginal schools. We kept an old file of photos of children from our parish who were sent off to school up to eight hundred kilometers away from their families every winter.

Once at school, children were forbidden to speak their native language, they were scrubbed, their hair was shorn with clippers, many were beaten with wooden paddles for punishment and some were sexually abused by the same men and women who taught them to pray. About one quarter of my parishioners had attended these schools during their youth and I was quite amazed that any of them retained a Christian faith. In the mid 1990’s the last of these schools stopped its operation just as my ministry was beginning. I often wondered how those who ran the schools could see themselves as the “hands and feet” of Jesus Christ.

I spent a good part of my ministry talking to parishioners about issues like the residential schools program. I witnessed firsthand the dysfunction that it brought to aboriginal society: rampant alcoholism, broken families where the children lost the language of their home community and a cultural divide between parents and children that worsened as the children grew older and as they spent more winters away from home. Children were told that the religion of their parents was wrong and they were taught to pray to the Christian God.

In 2006, I approached a senior pastor and friend and told him I was struggling with my faith. He suggested I talk to our Bishop. The Bishop was concerned enough for me that he thought I should take a break from ministry. During the break I had plenty of time to think. I explored philosophy, science, epistemology and finally, I read a book called The Selfish Gene, by Richard Dawkins. I will never forget how it awakened my mind and how it stirred a deep curiosity within me. I desperately needed to know more about who I am, where I really came from, and how it is that, as humans, we have evolved to be the way we are. I started to see that my model of the world was not working.

I still remember one pivotal morning. I lay in bed, the warm summer sun streaming into my window. It dawned on me for the first time after 32 years of committed Christian life that the world makes much more sense without a God in it. All the violence, all the chaos, pain and suffering. Where is our loving God? Why didn’t he intervene and help those children? Does God even care? I had tried so hard to present God as loving, kind and caring in every sermon I preached but I could not believe it anymore.

Deep inside, I secretly knew I was no longer fit for ministry. How would I tell my children I didn’t believe anymore? How would I tell my wife? I tried to believe but nothing worked. I could not reconcile my newly found atheism with the biblical texts that demanded surety, faith and trust in a loving God.

Finally, my sabbatical ended and I resigned in 2006. I had spent many long hours talking it over with my wife, and I finally told my children. They weren’t happy but they understood why I rescinded my holy orders. The next step was to tell my father, who is also a clergyman. I’ll never forget his reaction as he tried repeatedly to convince me I was destined for hell. Some of my former parishioners phoned and tried to convince me I was wrong. “You’re going to hell, Jeff”, some of them said. My head pounded.

No one would listen. It’s as if they were immune to my reasoning. I’m not a bad person, I just don’t believe anymore. I felt very alone. What would I do with my future?

Luckily I had worked as a tradesmen for many years before going into ministry. I knew my family would be just fine. I wasn’t so sure about myself.

After five years of struggling on my own, I found The Clergy Project after it was recommended to me by a humanist friend who had read the Sam Harris article, ‘Life Without God: An interview with Tom Prowse’. The Clergy Project has given me new hope because I now know there is a place for people like me. I wish it had existed five years ago because I really needed the precious new friendships that are made here every day by people seeking support. Folks at the clergy project really understand what it is like to leave a ministry, to lose the support of your family or to look for a new job because they have experienced it for themselves. I read their stories, look at the answers to their questions in the forums as others try to make a difference by giving advice or listening. I have even offered a hand in support where it was needed.

Even though The Clergy Project has only just begun, it has already become a very important part of my life. Some of my wounds are quite old now, but they still hurt. It means everything to me to know there are others who understand how I feel.

I am not alone.

Lon

My name is Lon. I am a former licensed minister with the Wesleyan Church. Entering the ministry was a midlife career change for me. I began my ministerial studies in my early forties and pastored my first church in 1995.

Six years later, I was a part-time minister, conducting worship services for two small congregations in central New York and working as an inspector in the manufacture of mass transit vehicles in Maryland during the week. Finding the maintenance of two careers a bit draining, I finally left the ministry in 2001 to concentrate on my secular career.

My final graduation to atheism was a gradual process which took another six years. I suffer no withdrawal symptoms and am very happy with my new and improved worldview. I am married to a believer who is ever growing in tolerance. For the most part family, including children, grandchildren and in-laws just avoid engaging me in discussions of religion.

As a child, embracing the truth as presented to me by parents, pastors and Sunday school teachers seemed reasonable. But ultimately, a healthy hunger for truth combined with a fundamentalist background drove me to try to make logical sense of the bible. Early on I could see that the infallible word of god had many faults. It was the process of bible study over the decades that slowly but surely delivered me to final state of unbelief. A sibling shared with me that, as a young child, she thought the rest of the family was pretending to believe all the Christian stuff we were exposed to at church. When she finally realized we weren’t pretending she concluded we were all crazy. Well I may be slow but I can now greatly respect her youthful skepticism.

In many ways I am fortunate. I escaped the ministerial “call” well before I lost my faith and I easily settled back into a secular career. I’m sure my transition to unbelief was much more traumatic and sudden for my family. For many clergy, losing belief in the supernatural can mean the loss of family, career, social network and self-image. More than we can imagine are even now travelling the same path. For them The Clergy project will be an oasis and a community where constructive commiseration and enlightened encouragement happen every day.

Now that’s real ministry isn’t it? Yes, I can hear those amens.

John Compere, PhD

I was a fifth-generation Baptist minister, ordained at age 18, while in college. I served until age 32 when I left the ministry and the church to get a PhD in Clinical Psychology. I had already completed a three-year seminary degree following college, which only increased my doubts about the authenticity of the theology I had learned from childhood. Leaving the ministry was not an easy decision to make since all my friends and family were in the church. But it was a decision I ultimately HAD to make if I didn't want to risk being publicly phony and privately cynical. I became an agnostic, then an atheist, NOT because I hadn't read the Bible, but because I had! An atheist, by the way, is simply someone who does not believe in a supernatural being. I am convinced that the evidence supports that view. All religion suffers from being bound by unchanging myth.

As a psychologist, I continued to try to help people find meaning in their lives. I taught at the university and medical school, had a private clinical practice, and then became a professional speaker on "Psychology You Can USE!" I seriously doubt that life has any ultimate meaning, but I'm convinced that we can make our own meaning, and I have spent the last 45 years since I left the ministry trying to help people do just that. Success is not the goal -- all therapists have dealt with many a successful person who was miserable -- life satisfaction is the goal.

When I made my career change, I was essentially on my own. I wish something like The Clergy Project had been around then. I could surely have used it. The goal of this project is not to try to convince believing clergy to give up their faith. Rather, it is to help those in the clergy who, for their own individual reasons, are no longer able to believe, to try to figure out how to make a huge sea-change in their lives. It may well be the absolutely most challenging career change anyone can make. We simply want to help make it easier.

Lynn

The Clergy Project has been a lifesaver for me. I am an active Methodist pastor who is also an atheist. I began the ministry full of great dreams and full faith in what I preached. However, over time I began to realize that the 'truth' I was preaching wasn't so true. I resisted my doubts at first, but the nagging in my brain wouldn't stop. So I embarked on a journey of researching and discovering that what I had believed for so long wasn't true.

I'm still in the pulpit, as I stated above. There are a couple of reasons for this. First, I made a commitment to my church and my denomination to serve this appointment. Second, the financial issue. If I walk away now, my family will suffer greatly. Trust me, this decision to stay for now hasn't been an easy one. Every week I feel like a fraud. Every week I struggle with the fact that I'm lying when I stand before my congregation. I'm leading a double life.

I do have an 'exit strategy' but it requires some time. Until then, I will continue to serve my church and fight the battle in my mind.

Thanks to the clergy project, I'm able to find a supportive community who understands and encourages me during this time. The friends I've made are invaluable. They are open and honest with their struggles and continually offer support not only to me but all the others in my position.

(As of March 26, 2012 'Lynn', whose real name is Teresa MacBain, came out as an atheist. Read her story.)

"Seraphim"

Losing one’s religion can often mean losing one’s family, friends, community, and social network. This risk can be especially great for those still active in their religious communities: one often can’t open up to those who are closest to them for fear of misunderstanding, overreaction, and outright rejection.

The Clergy Forum offers an opportunity to find acceptance and understanding within an online community of people who are or have been in the same seemingly impossible situation of propagating a faith in which they no longer believe. Unlike within one's religious community, one can express one’s deepest convictions without fear of judgment.

I became active in The Clergy Forum shortly after experiencing the trauma of leaving a monastery after nearly two decades of monasticism. I have found understanding, practical help, encouragement, and moral support in this virtual community. I look forward to seeing the community grow and to hearing from those who have gone through similar experiences in different religious traditions; however different our circumstances, our stories are very often the same.