“I still feel this is my denomination:" A Conversation with Gretta Vosper

In late January I interviewed Gretta Vosper, the self-described “atheist minister” in the United Church of Canada, about the unexpected decision by that church not to hold a hearing about her suitability for ministry.

I wrote about that decision in the Winnipeg Free Press and also for Religion News Service in the U.S.

Since you can never say everything that needs to be said in a short article, below find a transcription of our conversation.

Were you surprised when you were offered the settlement?

Gretta: I was very surprised. We certainly didn't expect any action at that point of time. I was totally convinced that, barring some miraculous intervention, I would end up outside of the church. Every indication suggested that that what was going to happen.

On the first day [of the hearing] there was someone present who had been a mediator on a couple of previous occasions when we had tried to find a settlement. He sought permission to try to do that again prior to starting and a formal hearing panel. They agreed. He spent all day Monday [working at it].

I went home Monday night feeling it was entirely futile and a waste of time and energy. [When we] came back on Tuesday something had shifted. I'm not aware of what [it was]. My lawyer may know, but he hasn't disclosed that to me.

Were you surprised that all the charges were dropped?

Gretta: Yes. It was unexpected. There are a number of things that that the church has the power to do when someone has been through a disciplinary review. If that person is allowed to remain in their position, often there's a supervisor given to that person so there is an ongoing relationship for a period of time.

After [a period of time] there's another assessment of how the situation is going. That supervisor can lift that supervisory requirement. But they [the Toronto Conference] didn't even choose to do that.

John: So there is no monitoring?

Gretta: No. There’s no monitoring. And that surprised me as well. Because if the if the church felt that the positions that I was espousing in my congregation were antithetical to what the church does, then it would seem that they would want to have someone fairly close to me watching. But that was a choice they didn't make.

John: Why do you think the settlement was offered?

Gretta: Part of me thinks that it may have been simply that the church had been betting on my backing down because of the financial burden [the legal bills]. And so when we were there the first two days it was very, very clear we were going to go the full length. 

My husband and I had talked about that. We understood the financial implications.

John: What have you paid in legal expenses?

Gretta: My legal fees have stretched to over $220,000. [Yet my husband and I] felt it was extremely important. So we decided to move forward. The Friends of Gretta Vosper [a fundraising initiative for her legal fees] was going to continue to fundraise.

We felt that even if there was an outcome that was not in our favor, it was important that the church go through that and make it very clear why [we were doing that].

John: Why do you feel so strongly about this?

Gretta: Everything I teach is consistent with the theological training that I received from the United Church [at Queens Theological College on the late 1980s]. I just simply choose to express it in a different way. 

I choose to use everyday language in order to share my beliefs and to engage the congregation, rather than speaking in archaic theological terms and having to follow with a phrase about what I really mean when I use that word.

It shouldn't be surprising if an individual who's trained in the liberal church determines that that language is unhelpful and chooses to use different language. And that's really what we do. 

I was taught the Bible was a human construction, and there is much wisdom in many texts, both ancient and contemporary.

We don't privilege that text [the Bible] anymore [and] suggest it has an authority beyond all other wisdom in the world. That's what I understood my theological training to be teaching me. I would not have been able to articulate that when I was at theological college, or even [for my first] few years in ministry.

But really that's the challenge. If the Bible is not the authoritative word of God for all time, why does it take such a central position in the church?

John: So in terms of the settlement, are there any terms or things you need to abide by or do?

Gretta: No. There are there are some things that were signed under a nondisclosure agreement, which was a challenging thing [for me] to do. Obviously, I'm not able to discuss those with you.

But there's nothing in that that influences what I am able to do, that has any impact on [my ministry]. I am able to function in ministry with all the rights and privileges that clergy have.

John: Why do you think the review was initiated?

Gretta: The review was instituted in 2015 because [the church worried] there was going to be a huge breach in the relationships that clergy have with one another, and that congregations [and individuals] have with the United Church, if I was allowed to stay.

John: What response have you heard to the decision?

Gretta: I'm aware of at least one individual who has challenged her congregation to consider ways to respond with vehemence against the decision. But I know there are . . . many who are relieved. There are many who will not say what their position is for fear of censure from the United Church.

John: It sounds like you see your battle almost as being a battle on behalf of all progressive clergy in the United Church. Is that the case?

Gretta: Yes. That's true. And that certainly was the impetus for carrying on . . . that ruling [against me, from the hearing] could have put all clergy at risk.

I think there has been a subtle steering of the denomination in a conservative direction that has been ongoing probably for the last 10 or 15 years. I think there are some things the United Church has done in the past [that are] at risk as a result of that.

The United Church generally has been a progressive church. So it's not that I'm fighting on behalf of a small group of people in that church. But that, you know, the social impact that the United Church has had around [things like] LGBTQ, a decision made so long ago, that led the church and also challenged communities around churches.

We've pushed policies around a number of things that put us on the cutting and sometimes leading edge of progressive thought in Canada, [things like] the conversation around Palestinians and the impact Israel and its policies has on those people—something some people call a slow genocide. 

The United Church has made statements on that [issue] much to the distress of many of its partners and members. It has not not faltered in that work.

But if it has, unfortunately, privileged and protected a very conservative interpretation of doctrine. Certainly when I was at theological college that was not being taught. 

I was one of the few in my year who actually had been raised with the new curriculum in the 1960s and so had never had a supernatural judging Father God and who had never believed that Jesus had died and risen to save me from m sins. I've never had any of that literal theology.

I was one of the few in my first year at the college who didn't have to have my entire conservative theology deconstructed so that it could be put back together in a in a much more contemporary way that was informed by critical scholarship.

I was fighting on behalf of that voice of the United Church.

John: You are known as the atheist Minister. Is that a moniker you chose for yourself or that has been applied to and how do you respond to it?

.

Gretta: Yes I did choose that myself. I took that label on and I was happy to do so. I was doing it within a theological milieu and I expected that my colleagues who are all theologically trained would understand what I meant by that. That proved not to be the case.

A lot of the negative commentary that takes place about me [comes] from colleagues who have chosen to interact exclusively with a caricature of who I am and what my beliefs are and who have never had a conversation with me or in fact read any of the things that I have written. 

So they take that label in the most negative way that they possibly could and they express their ire in relation to that.

John: Do you think the Toronto Conference offered the settlement because they just wanted this whole thing to be over? After all, it would have generated more publicity that the Church may have wished to avoid.

Gretta: Yes, I think so. We had booked three weeks for the trial, so it would have been three weeks of daily engagement. Then the decision coming down would have made a big deal too.

John: How do you think others in the church view you through all of this?

Gretta: There is this big, very big perception that I am constantly sending out press releases and trying to get media attention. I have not sent out press releases. I think my lawyer did a couple of times, including one about the settlement. 

But all of the interviews that I have given have pretty much come as yours did, simply a request from someone who wants to know what is going on and share it with the people that they write for.

John: The United Church is not officially saying anything about the settlement to the media, except to acknowledge it happened.

Gretta: It confuses me a little bit that the United Church doesn't realize how important this is. Interest in church and religion is dwindling. [But then] the general media connects and says they want to talk about what it is that's going on. I think the United Church has had an opportunity to really engage media, but they haven’t.

I think the interest in what is happening could have been leveraged by the United Church in a very positive way, had they chosen to do that. This is a moment in the United Church's history when it has much to engage about, and they don't seem to have any sense of that.

John: Why did you stay in the church despite all of this?

Gretta: I still feel this is my denomination. This is my heritage and to refuse to allow me to participate and continue in ministry felt like a betrayal.

I wanted to clarify what it was I was doing. Unfortunately, the disciplinary review completely stifled any conversation about what it is we're doing at West Hill and why we're doing it.

And that's the important piece here. I want people to know what it is that we're doing, why we feel so passionate about it, why we think that it's so important, why we think it's the work that the United Church has to do, and [why it] is perfectly placed to do that work. [By] not doing that work it’s abdicated its responsibility.

I talk about it because I think what we do is crucial. I think it's significantly important and I think that if we had the opportunity to have a conversation with people [in the United Church across] Canada they would find a serious and significant avenue for the work they do to provide for the needs of a fast-growing sector of Canadians who currently have no community that replicates the kind of social well-being and social connections that the United Church [provides].

Godless in Dixie: Neil Carter on What it's Like to be an Atheist in the U.S. South

Neil Carter is a 44 year-old high school teacher in Jackson, Mississippi, and author of Godless in Dixie, a blog about living as an atheist in the deep south of the U.S. 

In November, following a presentation to the Humanists, Atheists and Agnostics of Manitoba, he answered some questions about being an atheist in America today.

What is your religious background?

I was raised Southern Baptist and was saved at the age of 15. I graduated from Reformed Theological Seminary in 1998 with a Master's degree in Biblical Studies and relocated to Atlanta in 2000 to be a part of a small but international network of home churches. I was there for ten years.

I started helping with new church plants in 2004, and wrote a book about Christian community in 2007.

I left it all in 2009.

Was there any one specific thing that pushed you from belief to unbelief?

It was a death by a thousand cuts. I feel like I always lived with an inner skeptic. But toward the end there were a couple of primary factors, such as getting around more and seeing just how diverse Christian belief really is, and yet seeing how convinced everyone always is that their theology is the only right theology. 

That inspired me to ask myself harder questions about why I believe what I believe.

Also, my evangelical tradition stressed having an intimate, personal relationship with God. Yet after two decades I realized that I had to supply both sides of the relationship. The moment I quit "making" God real, he disappeared entirely.

One day it dawned on me that if I can't really point to anything objective, anything outside my own head that could validate the existence of this invisible person, then maybe I needed to think some more about why I believed what I believed. 

The rest just kind of added up from a dozen unanswered questions that made a whole lot more sense the moment I considered the non-existence of God as a better explanation than the previous religious answers I was given for everything.

What happened after you told others you were no longer a believer?

At first, I kept it very private. But in 2012 one of my students discovered I had liked a Facebook page about atheism and asked if I was an atheist. I said it wasn’t relevant to the class, and she said “why didn’t you say no?”

Soon after, the principal pulled me aside to ask me about it and later transferred me to another class. When the year ended, my contract was not renewed for the next year—no reason was given, but I knew why.

It also affected my family, driving an emotional wedge between me and my wife. A year later we decided our differences were irreconcilable, and we filed for divorce. 

Coming out as an atheist also fractured relationships with friends. They believed I was going to hell for rejecting Jesus. Some of them saw me as a project to bring back to faith. Some friends even staged an intervention.

Do you think that was because of where you live, in the U.S. south?

Yes, it is largely because of the central place religion plays in the life of people in the Deep South. 

Granted, rural areas all over the country have the same quality to them, the same culture, but down here it's even prevalent in our big cities. The first thing people do when they move to a new place in Mississippi is join a church.

People around here take religion very seriously. It's the most important thing about you in their minds. So coming out of the closet as an atheist is a problem.

You use the terms "come out.” Is that terminology common for atheists?

Quite common, especially among people who de-convert from evangelical and fundamentalist Christian families. 

Our families don't take this news very well at all. They all believe we are going to hell for rejecting Jesus, and they also are quite shamed by our departure. It hurts their reputation among other church members, and most of them feel very strongly that we are supposed to "come back."

Keeping this to ourselves saves us a ton of grief from our families, and in many cases it may also be necessary for protecting our jobs and the cohesion of our families. 

Has the election of Donald Trump, and the rise of the Christian right, made things more challenging for you?

Significantly. It would take a long time to flesh out just how badly his ascension has polarized public discourse in my country, but it's been like a giant toxic wedge that has emboldened the most racially intolerant, bigoted elements of our country to come out of the woodwork, as we say.

Do you know atheists who have left other religions?

Yes. I have a number of ex-Muslim friends. I know fewer who have left Judaism. Most Jewish folks I know were always pretty secular to begin with.

What advice would you give to atheists about interacting with people from the evangelical community? And what advice would you give believers for dealing with an atheist?

I always advise atheists who have very religious family to keep it to themselves until they are so financially and socially independent from their families that they could weather even the worst treatment as a response. 

The nicest, kindest people will turn mean overnight (or at least passive-aggressive)when they learn their family has "turned from the Lord." It's a scandalous, painful thing for them and it brings out a side of them that you can only see after you've "left the fold."

I advise people to build up a strong enough social support network that they have people to turn to for help when they need it. Only then will they be ready for the worst. 

And if their families surprise them by being consistently gracious, then it still didn't hurt to be prepared for the worst. Take your time and become more secure in your beliefs before you make yourself transparent to your family.

As for Christians, take time to listen to us and don't assume you already understand what makes us tick or why we stopped believing. 

Don't assume you know better than we do what we are thinking, and please believe us when we say we truly don't believe in spirits or ghosts or gods or afterlives anymore. 

They have the hardest time accepting that. They think we are lying to them or else to ourselves. 

I wish most that they could understand that changing our minds about God is usually an intellectual response to questions or realizations of things that make us see things differently. 

It’s  not a moral failing. We aren't "rebelling against God" even though they are certain that's how it should be seen.

We cannot help the fact that we've stopped believing and as far as we are concerned it wasn't a choice we made at all. It just kind of happened whether we wanted it to or not. 

I wish they would stop reframing it as a choice on our part. We cannot choose to believe something that no longer makes sense to us.

Click here to read what it's like to be an atheist in Manitoba; it isn't easy for some here, either.

Not Always Easy to be an Atheist in Manitoba

HAAM booth at the University of Manitoba.

Is it easy to be an atheist in Manitoba?

In our increasingly secular society, you would think so. Who cares what people believe—or don’t believe?

But for some Manitobans who have chosen not to believe in God, that’s not the case.

In November I met some of them at the monthly meeting of the Humanists, Atheist and Agnostics of Manitoba (HAAM).  

They had gathered that evening to hear a presentation by Neil Carter, a seminary graduate, former church planter and now author of the Godless in Dixie blog.

Speaking via the Web from his home in Mississippi, Carter, 44, said there were a number of factors that led him to leave his evangelical faith to become an atheist.

These included “seeing how convinced everyone always is that their theology is the only right theology,” and his own inability to have the kind of personal relationship with Jesus his tradition promoted.

“One day it dawned on me that if I can't really point to anything objective, anything outside my own head, that could validate the existence of this invisible person, then maybe I needed to think some more about why I believed what I believed,” he said.

When he “came out” to his family and friends—a term atheists use a lot to describe what it’s like to tell people they no longer believe—Carter lost his job as a public school teacher, his marriage and many friends.

While those who grow up in non-religious homes may find it easier to be publicly atheist, people who “deconvert,” especially from more conservative religious groups, find that the news isn’t taken “very well at all,” he stated.

“They believe we are going to hell for rejecting Jesus, and they also are quite shamed by our departure,” he said.

When Carter left his faith, some people saw him “as a project,” to bring back to belief in God. Some of his old church friends even “staged an intervention,” he said.

These are the kinds of responses that can cause some atheists to keep quiet, he added.

“Keeping this to ourselves saves us a ton of grief from our families, and in many cases it may also be necessary for protecting our jobs and the cohesion of our families,” he said.

This is especially true in the southern U.S. where he lives, a place where religion is woven into every part of life—family, friendships, business, education and politics.

“People around here take religion very seriously,” he said. “It's the most important thing about you in their minds.”

For members of HAAM, things are not nearly as difficult in Manitoba. Yet only one person I spoke with was willing to go public for this story—they wanted to be anonymous, or only use first names.  

“My ‘coming out’ wasn’t as dramatic as Neil’s, simply because I didn’t talk about it with anybody,” said one woman.

When she did ask questions about faith, she was “met with anger and lectures from family members, so I stopped talking,” she added.

Another man agreed. “I'm still not very comfortable making my atheism public,” he said, adding “I have friends and family in rural Manitoba and am reluctant to be open because of that.”

Arthur grew up Roman Catholic, but later attended an evangelical church. He also keeps his atheism quiet—something he feels has prevented bad experiences.

“People can be nasty if you say you aren’t a believer, they can react badly and you can be ostracized,” he said.

He knows some people who “have been rejected by friends and family for being atheists,” he added.

That’s why many local atheists like coming to HAAM’s monthly meetings—it’s a place where they can be open and feel safe with others who share their views.

Plus, as Arthur put it, the meetings are a great place to socialize and experience community. It’s the one thing he misses about church, he said.

For Peter, the social aspect is also one of the things he most appreciates about the group.

“Losing that social connection was the biggest loss after losing my faith,” he said. “I was glad to find a community of like-minded people.”

Click her to read a Q & A with Neil Carter that goes deeper into his experience as a de-converted evangelical and atheist in the deep south of the U.S. 

Unitarianism: A Place to Believe, Not Believe and Anything In Between

Have you given up on your religion, but still hunger for a spiritual community?

Are you unsure if there is a God, and wonder where to find people who feel the same way?  

Or maybe you’re an atheist—you don’t believe in God at all. But you still want to be with others to debate and discuss the big issues facing the world today.

If you said yes to any of those scenarios, then Winnipeg’s Unitarian Universalist Church would like to welcome you.

“We’re a place where people are encouraged to believe what they want to believe, or not believe at all,” says Reverend Meaghann Robern, minister at the church.

“There’s a mix of beliefs here—no God, one God, a mix of gods,” she adds, noting that member’s beliefs also change over time.

“You don’t have to believe in the same thing the whole of your life,” she says.

Unitarian Universalism—or UU, as adherents refer to it—is a liberal religious tradition that began in 1961 with the merger of the Unitarian and Universalist churches.

Instead of creeds of doctrines, UUs are united by a shared set of seven principles: A belief in human worth and dignity; a commitment to justice and compassion; the acceptance of others; a free search for truth and meaning; the right of conscience; the promotion of peace and justice; and respect for all existence.

In Manitoba, the UU movement traces its origin back to Christian freethinkers in the late 19^th century who wanted a more liberal form of religious expression.

The church itself was founded in 1904. They moved into their current building on Wellington Crescent in 1997.

Canada-wide, there are about 3,800 UUs in 46 congregations. In Winnipeg, about 200 people call the local UU church home.

I met three of them a couple of weeks ago.

Lorie Battershill is a retired teacher who has been attending the church for 3 ½ years.

Unlike churches she attended before, Battershill likes how the UU church allows people to “develop their own theology and beliefs and come to whatever conclusions they want in life.”

She became attracted to UU when traditional Christian views about things like heaven and hell didn’t make sense to her anymore. 

She likes that the church is a “place where you can ask questions” about God, yet still feel welcome and accepted.  

Mya James, a high school student, has been attending the church for much of her life. 

“I like the youth group, I feel connected to them,” she says of her decision to attend the church. “This is the most important group in my life. We’re very close.”

As for her own beliefs, she is still figuring out what they are and who she is. “I think I have time,” she says.

Jim Gardiner works for the city of Winnipeg. He has been a member for 12 years.

“This is a safe place, with healthy relationships where people are accepting of others,” he says.

Gardiner grew up in the United Church, but has no hard feelings about it.

“There are people here who felt pushed away by their churches, but not me,” he says.

What he likes about the church is that it is allows people to believe different things.

“There are four people in my family, and we all think differently spiritually,” he says. 

“The community embraces that, and blesses that. It gives us a gift of being able to explore our spirituality.”

When I ask what they call themselves, Battershill says “Christ-follower.” 

Gardiner feels his belief system is a mix of Christianity, Buddhism and Indigenous spirituality. 

Mya prefers being known simply as a UU.

“People here can have multiple identities,” says Robern, noting that while UU came from Christianity, it’s important for her to also share teachings from other religions.

“We’re a community where we practice what it is to be human, to be better human beings, and to heal the world,” she says.

Or, as Gardiner puts it, “the longer I have been here the more my need to put my finger on what exactly I need to believe has decreased, and the more my need to take care of this world and others has increased.”