Introduction

My name is Stephanie. I grew up as a pastor's daughter in an unorthodox Christian church that taught a lot of things I don't believe in. When I was still a young child, the leader of the church died, resulting in doctrinal upheaval, and the church splintered into a lot of different groups who all taught a lot of different things I also don't believe in.

The main things I don't believe in are 1) the literal existence of magical spirit beings who directly communicate with and interfere in the lives of human beings in extrascientific ways, 2) the necessity of accepting the literal sacrifice and resurrection of a historical Jesus as a requirement for salvation, and 3) the use of the patriarchal Abrahamic tradition to perpetuate the social injustices of the cultural milieu in which it was established. Across the whole spectrum of religious beliefs, these two are actually fairly localized, but unfortunately for me I grew up in a community of fundamentalist Christians, for whom they tend to be unshakeable dealbreakers. And that is how I became an atheist, because when someone else is defining "God" for you in a way you can't accept while simultaneously demanding that you define yourself by whether or not you believe in their God so defined, you aren't left with a lot of options other than agnosticism and atheism. I have never in good conscience been able to call myself an agnostic; I am not uncertain of what I believe, I don't believe anything metaphysical is fundamentally unknowable, and I most definitely am not neutral or indifferent on the subject of religious faith.

So, atheist it is. But defining myself as an atheist, as something I am not, feels cold, empty, and life-denying. There is so much that I am that has nothing to do with being an atheist and that is fundamentally different from many (or even most) other people who identify as atheists, and all of that individuality of self is erased when someone assumes they know something (or even everything) about me simply because they ask if I believe in (their) God (so defined) and I answer the only way I can in the context to which they have restricted the question. This is like meeting someone for the first time and trying to find out something important about who they are by asking if they play soccer. Nobody introduces themselves by saying, "My name is Stephanie, and I sure don't play soccer." Knowing what I am not doesn't tell you anything about who I am. It's for this reason that the night that I lost my faith and the night twelve years later that I gave in to the label of atheist were two of the worst nights of my life. Huge parts of my former identity were simply eradicated, and I had no shared language or context to communicate my new identity to the people in my life in a way they would understand.

I left the church when I was eighteen. I am now almost thirty-four. I have struggled alone for a long time. I have felt powerfully that my beliefs, my doubts, and my struggles should be as legitimate and worthy of support as those of people who align themselves with a particular religious organization, but I have very rarely seen that belief validated by others. Believers say "first subscribe to our creed, then we can talk about your doubts." Non-believers say "we don't believe in anything, so why talk about it?" I have felt very, very alone.

I first heard of Unitarian Universalism in college, when one of my psychology professors introduced himself on the first day of class as a Unitarian Universalist Buddhist. I had no idea what that was, but I was pretty sure you weren't allowed to be it. Over the following months and years, I maintained a subdued interest in this strange church that seemed so different from anything I understood a church to be. When I moved to my current city six years ago, I learned right away that there was a Unitarian Universalist church less than twenty minutes from my house. Whenever I felt especially low and isolated from other spiritual seekers who might actually understand my thirst for meaning, I thought about visiting, wondering if maybe these hippy-dippy peace-and-love people would accept me despite my lack of faith. But I never went. It was still a church, after all, and atheists don't go to church.

Two weeks ago, my very supportive boyfriend (who is also an atheist) talked me into finally taking the chance and giving this church a try. The first service I attended was the annual Water Communion, where the members bring water they have collected from various special places throughout the year and combine it in one vessel along with their stories, hopes, and blessings for the community, as well as the water reserved from the year before. The new water is then distilled and used for other rituals and ceremonies during the coming year. The choir sang two African-American spirituals and a Carly Simon song. The children seemed happy. Nobody asked me if I was married or what I did for a living. Nobody mentioned God. I returned on Labor Day weekend for a service about accepting differences. The worship leader read a "story for all ages" about a transgender child being accepted for who she is, and a guest speaker described the experience of growing up as a man in a woman's body. When the children left for their religious education classes, the church sang them out of the sanctuary with a benediction they repeat every week: "Go now in peace, may the Spirit of Love surround you everywhere you go." We sang a new hymn set to the tune of a Christmas carol with lyrics about building tables instead of walls, and we sang a UU hymn about creating a world where suffering is washed away by gladness and peace.

It's hard to describe the effect these services had on me. I had hoped to feel accepted; instead, I felt embraced. I had hoped there would be room for me; instead, I felt like I belonged there, like my seat had been sitting empty with my name on it. I thought I had rejected the possibility of a church community; now, I feel as though this one has been waiting for me all these years. I am overwhelmed, overjoyed, and utterly terrified. I have no idea where this journey will lead now that I have taken the first step.

So, this blog is about that.