Stephen Paul, Sunday Alternative in Reading, United Kingdom

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2024/12/20

Stephen Paul is a British community organizer and leader of The Sunday Alternative, a secular congregation in Reading, UK. The Sunday Alternative, formerly known as Sunday Assembly Reading, is part of an international movement that celebrates life through community gatherings featuring music, talks, and social activities. Under Stephen’s leadership, the group emphasizes inclusivity and community engagement, offering events like coffee mornings, games nights, and pub quizzes. Stephen’s efforts have fostered a welcoming environment for individuals seeking a sense of community without religious affiliation. 

Paul shared insights on the development and challenges of secular communities like his. He emphasized the shift from New Atheism’s confrontational phase to fostering humanism through inclusive, activity-based gatherings. Unlike religious groups with established support and venues, secular assemblies face unique challenges in sustainability and acceptance, with volunteers and small-scale participation key to maintaining intimacy. While American assemblies often focus on atheism and rationality due to a more religious culture, Paul’s Reading community centers on shared values, philosophy, and creating spaces for diverse backgrounds. The focus remains on meaningful human connection and community well-being.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we are with Stephen Paul of the Sunday Alternative in Reading, United Kingdom. I’m always delighted to speak with anyone who lives in a place named after something related to literature, books, or reading, so it’s great to have you here.

Stephen Paul: It’s pronounced “Redding,” not “Reading.” I apologize for the confusion. Before the Internet, it was quite an issue as a place name because if you looked up “Reading,” you often found results for “Redding.” It was a real challenge.

Jacobsen: Interesting. So, what is your background in terms of Sunday Assembly? Did you have a philosophical background? How did you get involved in this philosophical and community-based movement?

Paul: It started when I was about 17 or 18, during my O-level history classes on the Enlightenment. Those were my first steps into exploring atheism. I didn’t come from a religious background. We were nominally Church of England, but it was somewhat superficial—we never attended church. It has always interested me as I have gone through life. Then, I became quite engaged with the emergence of the New Atheist movement led by figures like Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens.

It was all interesting and exciting initially, but I found the movement increasingly negative over time. I realized I was spending too much time on the Internet, arguing with people and feeling bad about myself and others. Around that time, I heard about the Sunday Assembly in London. It made me think there was a better way to promote humanism—through kindness rather than confrontation.

The Sunday Assembly loosely resembled a Church of England service, but with hymns replaced by 1980s pop songs and sermons swapped for TED-style talks, community activities, and shared experiences over tea and cake. It felt like a more positive approach. 

 I didn’t start the Reading group, but I was present at the very first meeting.

Tom, one of the founders of the Reading Assembly, was a Christian who found he didn’t fit in with traditional churches. Even though he loved Jesus, he noticed that many churches leaned toward homophobia, misogyny, or classism. He wanted a place where values could be shared without aligning with beliefs. I, on the other hand, was moving from the opposite direction.

It was a nice meeting point where you could share values without prominently displaying your belief system. 

Jacobsen: How did this compare to the religious beliefs in the communities where you grew up and the individualist movement of the New Atheists in the 2000s and 2010s? From what I observed, it became less about asking questions like “Why are we here?” and more about “How are you?” It fostered a more personal, community-oriented atmosphere. Is that what you were getting at?

Paul: Yes, it is. I had a good friend at the time, and we became close through the New Atheist movement. But I noticed he was slowly becoming more and more paranoid about Muslims taking over Reading, even though he didn’t know any. His social media became increasingly right-wing. There wasn’t any use in this. I always believed in using philosophy and science to establish basic truths, but beyond that, it only achieves a little.

So, I’ll go slightly sideways on this. I’ve been involved in veganism for 33 years. There was a guy named Lawrence I used to know well who sat on the Vegan Society committee and was a druid.

He had a big robe and a big beard and was initially quite intimidating to meet, with a strong smell. Anytime you asked him a question about what the Vegan Society should be doing, he would say, “I’m going to speak to the goddess.” This goddess—I can’t remember which one—lived on a Welsh mountain, so he would spend the night on the mountain and come back down.

His solutions and suggestions were good—they were kind and thoughtful. What he meant by “I’m going to speak to the goddess” was that he needed time alone to think. I felt we might have been judging people based on a superficial reading of their religion, assuming they were doing the things Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens criticized in terms of their thought processes.

But I started to doubt whether that was the case. It seemed more valuable to be gentle with people and not push them on the specifics of their belief systems. When we push anyone hard on their beliefs, they often reach a breaking point. As I implied, the other significant side of me is my veganism. I’ve met many nice humanists, but when you push them on the topic of animal rights, they start using the same irrational arguments they would use against religious people.

We’re all susceptible to irrational, emotional ways of arguing. Organizations like the Sunday Assembly focus on something different. They create a welcoming environment that shares values, not necessarily belief systems.

Jacobsen: Aside from the general overview you provided earlier, what does a regular service look like for you on a Sunday?

Paul: Sunday Assembly was our parent organization. However, I changed the name to Sunday Alternative because “Sunday” and “Assembly” sounded too Christian. I felt we were getting confused with the “enemy,” so to speak. We came up with a Sunday Alternative. We also moved away from their standard format: two songs, an inspirational speaker, some announcements, and two more songs followed by tea and cake.

It worked well for the founders, Sanderson Jones and Pippa Evans because they had big personalities. One was a successful improviser, and the other was a stand-up comedian. They had the charisma to match, initially attracting a congregation of 300 to 400 people to an assembly. However, a turnout of 50 would be significant in Reading, which is much smaller. We usually range between 25 and 35 on a normal day, so we’ve shifted from being a show to more of a community gathering.

So, we don’t have a speaker. We would have an activity. An example of a typical Reading Sunday Alternative assembly would look like this: You gather for tea and cakes for half an hour. Arrive early if you don’t know anyone—that’s the best way to make friends. At 11 o’clock, everyone is brought into the main area, and a simple game is played.

The types of games are similar to those you might do at an improv lesson. It might be a clapping game or a name game designed to make people feel relaxed in the space. Then, we sing two songs, usually 1970s, 1980s, or 1990s rock and pop. After that, we have the main activity.

A nice example we did recently involved a congregation member, a woman named Reka, a language professor. She split us into smaller groups at individual tables and taught us a simple card game from a set of instructions. We practiced the game and then put the sheets away. She informed us that we could no longer talk about the game but still had to play it.

We played one round, and then people moved to different tables based on whether they were winners or losers. We played the game again but should have realized that each table had slightly different rules. For some people, the ace was high; for others, it was low. So, conflicts arose when playing the game—one person would pick up the cards as the winner, while another would push back, believing they were the rightful winner. Since we couldn’t speak, confusion ensued.

Eventually, it was revealed what the game was about: understanding our personality types and our communication limitations. It demonstrated how we jump to conclusions. We would have noticed the rule discrepancies if we had all been as observant as we believed we were—being humanists and skeptics. However, most people assumed they were correct. Some people didn’t mind losing to what they perceived as cheating, while others did. So, you leave that assembly with greater insight into your nature and others.

We often conduct these types of activities. We also focus on topics like neurodiversity and mental health because they are relatable and impactful for many. Talking about those subjects makes sense, unlike discussing satellites, which might be interesting but not something most people have at home.

We aim to keep our themes centred on people, psychology, and philosophy rather than hard sciences like physics or chemistry.

Jacobsen: Does anything ever turn into a movie night where you watch something like Monty Python or other culturally relevant films that everyone might be familiar with, even if they haven’t seen?

Paul: That’s a tricky one because we have many members who are immigrants with different cultural references.

So, we must be careful with that sort of thing. I mean, Monty Python is quite niche. We have people who come along and are English speakers, but they have different cultural backgrounds. For example, I have a good Austrian friend who’s been here for 20 years, and he needs to learn who The Beatles, Queen, or David Bowie are.

Even though he’s been here forever, we must be mindful that if we base an assembly around too many local cultural references—it just doesn’t work. Yes, our band includes on two Hungarians, a Romanian, and a woman from an Iranian background, even though she was born in Britain. It’s not just a group of standard white guys with rock songs. It’s challenging to create a welcoming space for everyone when they come from different backgrounds.

One thing you quickly notice is that someone from an ex-Muslim tradition might see the assembly differently than someone from an ex-Christian background. This is challenging to navigate because we need to learn more about each other’s cultures to get everything right.

Jacobsen: It sounds like a challenge. Are the leaders or organizers usually the same, or is there a rotation of people?

Paul: Initially, we used to hold elections and put the process out there. But, on the whole, people didn’t care. So, it’s generally a group of people willing to put in the effort to make things happen and who end up being the leaders. We abandoned the elections because there wasn’t enough interest. No real power is involved, and no money is moving around.

Yes, an assembly can be thought of as a well-organized party. You go to a friend’s house, and they’ve planned the gathering details. So, trust comes from the idea that if you can keep it going, why not continue?

We involve as many faces as possible. Our last assembly was a 10th anniversary, and at least half the room got up to share their reflections on what the assembly meant to them. The leadership feels more like a management role than a traditional priest or pastor role.

Jacobsen: What are the main challenges of maintaining a community there? And since it’s such a young organizational setup, what insights do you have about the sustainability of these communities?

Paul: Yes, Sunday Assembly is a large organization that grew quickly. It was getting much press as the “atheist church.” Still, the lack of an economic model ultimately undermined it. It was challenging to figure out what that model should be, especially in the UK. In America, there are quite a few assemblies, and people are used to a culture where if someone asks for a $20 donation, they’ll put it in the collection tin.

In England, that doesn’t happen. And if you ask Scandinavians for donations, they’ll ask, “Why? Why would you do that?” because they expect the state to cover such expenses through higher taxes. So, sustainability was challenging. Some assemblies started to fall apart after a few years.

It fractured into different organizations that share the same terminology, but there’s no overarching control anymore. My solution to sustainability was different: while the London Assembly gives away free cakes and biscuits, we charge for ours. We make nice cakes, serve good coffee, and don’t make a big deal about asking for money.

We found that the less we asked, the more people gave, which is counterintuitive. For sustainability, we only manage because the rental space we use is inexpensive—£10 an hour. Yes, keeping it small helps.

One of the reasons I don’t bring in speakers is because some of them charge fees. If a speaker wants, say, £100 to show up, that’s an issue. By keeping our activities within our community, we maintain lower costs and make the events more meaningful. 

Jacobsen: Another challenge is that religious groups often receive government subsidies, tax exemptions, and access to land and buildings. In contrast, secular groups don’t receive the same level of support, if any. Should there be a status for organizations like Sunday Assembly or the Oasis Network to help them achieve sustainability on more stable ground? From a Reading perspective, what are the main challenges?

Paul: The main issue is finding venues. Churches dominate most shared spaces and are difficult to secure. Churches have buildings specifically designed to create the right atmosphere for the community. At the same time, secular groups are left scrambling for space. The London Assembly, for example, currently uses a comedy club. It works, but it’s a different experience from walking into a church—it creates a different vibe.

It would make a huge difference if we had the same support or a history of purpose-built buildings. We aren’t seen in the same light as religious groups. Religious organizations automatically receive a certain reverence from councils or other bodies. At the same time, we’re recognized only as a community group, which could be anything–like a knitting group?

That’s how we would be seen by the council—not as a legitimate alternative to a religious setting. That said, I am interviewed locally by the BBC as a representative of the non-religious community. When I speak with priests, they usually support what we do, as we often discuss things like community retention and creating a welcoming environment.

Most church leaders know they’re doing the same thing we do. But when you speak to their congregation, you often hear, “Why do you do that? What’s the point? Jesus or God isn’t in the room with you.”

When I’ve spoken to priests, they often say, “Ah, we do the same thing.” But unless someone runs one of these organizations, I don’t think people realize we’re doing the same work—creating a community space. What’s important is the mental health benefits people gain from being together and sharing experiences.

But, as you mentioned, it’s not recognized in the same way as religious groups.

Jacobsen: How big is the community now?

Paul: Well, we mainly run through Meetup, and there are about 1,400 people on there, but not all of them show up. As I mentioned, there are usually around 35 people. I don’t actively seek more attendees because, in the past, when we reached around 50 people, the room became overcrowded.

People ended up sitting on guitar amplifiers and each other’s laps. When we moved to a larger venue, the intimacy was lost. The people at the back had a different connection than those at the front. We’re not doing the big church thing—there are no flashy lights or big productions. It’s meant to be on a human level. We can’t push it beyond 35 people and maintain a meaningful connection without becoming a show. I never wanted it to be a show.

Jacobsen: Do people generally come from far away, or are they mostly from the local community?

Paul: People come from local towns. Yes, the range is about 10 miles. The Sunday Alternative has its main assembly once a month, which is my focal point—that’s where the emotional connection happens. We also have coffee mornings that attract similar numbers, around 35 people. These tend to be newcomers to the town looking to meet others.

There’s also a book group connected to the assembly, a music appreciation group, pub quiz nights, and a highly sensitive person café. Some people participate in everything, while others focus on one specific activity.

You have to understand that attending a Sunday assembly can be intimidating for introverted people. Singing and playing games on a Sunday morning isn’t everyone’s idea of fun, so one activity alone can’t hold the community together. It needs variety. Some people want more challenges, while others prefer something less demanding. The assembly is more than just the main event; it’s about creating a broader community where everyone can find their place. I hope that answers your question, though I might have strayed slightly.

Jacobsen: It does. Where do you see this developing in the short term for the rest of the 2020s? Will it continue meeting the needs of different communities, such as introverts, extroverts, or those without faith or a mild naturalistic belief?

Paul: On the whole, we don’t get many hardcore atheists because they often don’t want to engage with anything that resembles a church setting. I find it sad that religion has captured all the community-oriented words, like assemblies and community, making it hard to market ourselves to committed atheists. My friend Tom was an exception. He was a Christian who came along and stayed until he moved out of town. We do get Christians who attend out of curiosity. But when they see Jesus isn’t present, they often say, “This is nice, but there are better places to be on a Sunday morning.”

We do attract many ex-Christians—many. We also get a fair number of people who identify as “spiritual,” though I’m never quite sure what they mean by that. They use the term because they’re unsure where they stand.

I don’t plan to market the assembly to grow beyond its current size. Expanding further wouldn’t be sustainable. COVID hit all the assemblies hard, and many didn’t survive. We came close to it. We still need more volunteers. Sometimes, I feel we keep the momentum up until something changes. If you look back 10 years ago, atheism and secularization were big topics, at least in America and to some extent here.

It’s not a big topic anymore, so we generate less press. That could be a good thing. It was a victory in many ways because what needed to be normalized became so. Yes, atheism, agnosticism, and related ideas became part of common knowledge and conversation—the biggest victory. That’s less the case in America when I speak to my colleagues there.

They focus more on atheism within their assemblies and campaign more on rationality. There’s more at stake there compared to the UK, where the situation is different. The UK is generally more secular, with fewer people attending church regularly. Yes, the push is stronger in America because it’s a more religious population, and there’s more to push against. They also seem to have a bigger presence from the LGBTQ+ community for similar reasons.

In the UK, most people aren’t attending church anyway, so it’s quite a different environment. When I explained what the assembly does, some people ask what’s the difference from jointing, say, a sewing or running club. But the issue with those is that you must be interested in sewing or running The assembly isn’t tied to any specific activity. It’s a space that can be anything, which is what community should be—it shouldn’t be tied to one activity–being in a room with people who do different things creates a diverse community.

That’s what we try to create. I don’t see us growing much bigger, and I don’t want it to grow. Could it be too much work? Yes. The more people you involve, the more potential issues arise. For example, in Sunday Assembly America, an incident involving inappropriate behaviour caused significant damage to their community. I’m always cautious of that kind of thing. Large organizations can turn into power struggles.

Jacobsen: And big personalities can complicate things.

Paul: Yes, exactly. 

Jacobsen: Not all the time, but there have been noteworthy cases. There’s always a place for a gentle, continuous renewal of critique and skepticism, especially when surveys show beliefs in supernatural or conspiratorial ideas. However, when movements overreach for too long, people start looking for alternatives like Sunday Assembly or the Oasis Network. That’s why they were formed in the first place, as you said. There’s a time and place for these things: the 2.0 phase from the 2000s and 2010s. Things have changed. This was lovely.

Thank you so much for your time today. I appreciate it.

Paul: Thanks for reaching out.

Jacobsen: Bye.

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