Fugitives from Fundamentalism

The Musings of Adult Missionary Kids (MKs) & Former Born-Again Believers

First Church of Atheism

Posted by Ann on October 23, 2010

Yes, there’s a church for atheists, and you can join on-line. The church building is located in PA. If you want to be an ordained atheist minister, you can become an ordained atheist minister. The First Church of Atheism motto: Reason, Thought, and Compassion. As an atheist minister you can perform weddings, funerals, and any other ceremonies normally officiated by members of the clergy. “The one thing binding every FCA minister is his or her belief in science, reason, and reality”: First Church of Atheism

Pursue your realist beliefs without any outside interference! By the way, this is real.

And just for fun, a video from our church website:


6 Responses to “First Church of Atheism”

  1. Jerry said

    I love the video. Whenever I think that I’m maybe a little bit “off”, all I need to do is to read a few of the things that fundamentalists believe and I realize I am far, far more sane than any of them. I esp. like the one about atheists being the offspring of human/demon. That’s priceless.

    • Ann said

      I like the comment on the video about how atheists, unlike human beings, are unable to be Christians because they don’t have the spirit of God in them. Yeah, it does make you feel more sane. Who knows, maybe someday in the future fundamentalism will be a diagnosable disorder in the DSM.

  2. Bob said

    Now I’m going off to die in a fire, because I just now thought of that.

    • JN said

      Your Punishment in Hell
      by Gary Leising

      Someone will douse a cobra in gasoline,
      light the sucker, and shove it headfirst
      down your throat. It’ll speed straight
      through your esophagus, unfurl
      its hood to fill your stomach
      then begin to strike and strike and strike
      and strike and strike: fangs pierce
      your stomach, venom pours in,
      the little burn of incipient ulcers
      grows quick, paralysis sets in.
      Your lungs stop before your brain,
      before your hand, which lifts
      to your mouth the plastic-lidded
      paper cup holding the caramel
      macchiato cappuccino with a double
      shot of espresso and frothed soy milk
      topped with two shakes of cinnamon
      and no, NO (yes, you said no twice)
      sugar that was made for you
      slowly, while I, already running late,
      waited behind you for a simple,
      already-made black coffee.
      You will lose all motion before
      that drink reaches your mouth,
      but you recover and the drink,
      strangely, has vanished, and barrista
      and cobra-douser-slash-lighter do it all again
      and again. I know this because,
      for my angry impatience,
      I am behind you in line in hell
      forever, the pot of black coffee
      behind the counter steaming,
      turning, I know, bitter.

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