AT 10.30am on a Sunday morning in North London, a congregation is
flooding out through the doors of Our Lady & St Joseph Roman
Catholic church. I wonder what the god-fearing attendees would make of the service.
I am on my way to join in the dilapidated nave of St Paul’s Church, just a few hundred metres up the road.
And wonder I might — since that is the theme of this month’s Sunday Assembly, a gathering for non-believers, agnostics and atheists who want to feel the sense of community that church-going provides, but without sermons on the afterlife and readings from the scriptures.
This is the second monthly meeting of the Sunday Assembly, and people have come in their droves. After a warm greeting at the door, I venture inside, where a 300-strong crowd are already in their seats, and it’s standing room only at the back. The assembly is also being screened in an overflow room at a local pub. It seems atheists are more than happy to get out of bed on a Sunday morning when it’s for something they believe in.
At 11am, Sanderson Jones, stand-up comedian and co-founder of the Assembly, stands in front of the crowd like a jovial vicar. Wearing pink drainpipe trousers and a yellow tie, the audience is rapt as he explains how he and his agnostic friend, Pippa Evans, thought their concept of a church for atheists would only attract a handful of people.
Since then, Sanderson and Evans haven’t been out of the media spotlight, sought out by the New York Times to contribute to a debate on atheism, and the source of a Twitter spat (funnily enough it isn’t Christians who are getting upset about the Sunday Assembly, it’s other atheists).
With the crowd nicely warmed up, it’s time for a song, led by Pippa and her small band. Expecting a few verses of ‘Kumbaya’, instead there is an enthusiastic Karaoke version of Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’. Who said atheists are dour?
Then, it’s the keynote talk given by particle physicist Dr Harry Cliff on life, how we came to be here and the stuff we are all made of – matter. Cliff talks about the work he does, the mysteries of the universe around us, and about the work of Paul Dirac. It is enlightening, entertaining and amusing, but the Sunday Assembly isn’t all laughter.
A two-minute reflection follows, then a reading from Alice in Wonderland, and a short musing on parallel parking. A tin is passed around for donations to cover the rental of the nave and then to finish it’s Nina Simone’s ‘Ain’t Got No/I Got Life’, as sung by 300 atheists. Sanderson concludes with a moving speech, espousing the Sunday Assembly’s motto – live better, help often and wonder more.
Afterwards the uplifted throng potters around drinking tea and eating the cake and biscuits provided. Among them is a young married couple called Ian and Lucy, with their toddler Claudia (who is more interested in the biscuits than the discourse). They tell me why they came: “We like the idea of community. It’s something different and I like the idea of happy people coming together and enjoying themselves,” says Lucy, who went to a Catholic school. Her husband Ian, who was raised a Christian, baptised and confirmed, says that even though he no longer believes it is “really nice to be able to join in with like-minded individuals.”
John Davis, the building manager, is delighted to see the nave so full. “We have had recitals of Sunday chamber music by really famous musicians here and got 30 people in at best,” he says. As the Sunday Assembly has no negative message and the nave belongs to the community, Davis says there is no reason why they shouldn’t be permitted to meet here.
Perhaps because atheism’s poster boy is the po-faced Richard Dawkins, it seems surprising that atheists would wish to gather, share their views and celebrate life, but Sanderson Jones says people are crying out for a sense of community. “Just because their god has died, it doesn’t mean that wonder or beauty or transcendence has to go with it,” he says.
Evans and Jones hatched the idea for Sunday Assembly while chatting in a car. “When I stopped believing I really missed church as a place to go and meet people, but I felt hypocritical going when I didn’t believe,” explains Evans after the service. While they both hoped the idea would be popular, they had expected it to grow slowly rather than balloon.
“We are hoping once the media attention has died down, it will continue, because the thing is about the Assembly and bringing people together. We hope people are coming because it’s satisfying something and serving their needs … we don’t want to make it a comedy thing,” she says. Jones, too, hopes the idea will blossom and has hinted at the possibility of holding weddings and funeral services for atheists.
With the 2011 census showing that over quarter of a million people in Ireland categorised themselves as non-religious, the idea has potential for growth in other countries too. Until then, it’s Sunday Assembly once a month for me. I’m converted.