Atheist chaplains are forging a new path in a changing world

Jason Callahan spends much of his days at the bedsides of people nearing the end of life.

A chaplain in the palliative care unit of a hospital cancer center, Callahan supports patients and their loved ones as they confront some of life’s most challenging crises: How will I cope with the pain and suffering that accompanies this advanced illness? Did I do right by my dying family member? Did I experience and accomplish everything I wanted to? What will happen after I die?

Callahan isn’t afraid of digging into the deep stuff. In fact, he runs toward it. Sometimes, though, he’ll encounter patients who brush him off when they learn he’s a chaplain — they aren’t believers, they tell him, and aren’t particularly in the mood for a sermon.

He isn’t there to preach or pray, he reassures them. His job is to be there for them as a human being: To listen and to comfort them through whatever they’re struggling with.

In these conversations with patients who are wary of religion, Callahan slips in another detail: He’s an atheist himself.

Callahan is one of a growing number of openly atheist chaplains working in institutions around the country. Though the term “atheist chaplain” might sound like an oxymoron, he doesn’t see a contradiction between his beliefs and the work of tending to the human spirit.

“Being an atheist, nonbeliever, unaffiliated, whatever you want to call yourself, lends itself really well to chaplaincy because we naturally don’t project our own stuff on the people,” he says.

Callahan’s role reflects a broader trend in society. About 28% of adults in the US belong to a group known as the religious “nones,” meaning they identify as atheists, agnostics or “nothing in particular,” according to Pew Research Center.

But even as the population moves away from religion, the desire for spirituality and connectedness remains. Pew’s survey indicates about half of “nones” describe themselves as spiritual or say spirituality is important to them.

Fundamental questions that faith has long answered — from why we’re here and what it means to live a meaningful life — are just as urgent and relevant for the nonreligious, especially as humanity grapples with existential threats and technological advances that are reshaping our world in ways that are still unclear.

Chaplains like Callahan are helping people make sense of them.

Callahan is a chaplain at the Virginia Commonwealth University Massey Cancer Center, though this wasn’t necessarily a profession he imagined for himself.

Despite attending a Presbyterian church growing up, Callahan says religion never appealed to him. He realized early on that he didn’t believe in a higher power, and he felt the messaging around faith was “too soft” for a self-described “street dude” and boxer like him.

Still, when he found himself in an advertising career that ultimately left him unfulfilled, he turned to his old pastor for guidance. When she told him he had a call to ministry, he was puzzled by the suggestion: What exactly did a call to ministry mean for an avowed atheist?

Callahan kept an open mind. The pastor advised that he obtain a master of divinity degree to open up a number of career paths, leading him to enroll in seminary. He thought he might eventually work as a community organizer or at a social justice-oriented nonprofit until, as part of his spiritual training, he spent a stint as a hospital chaplain at VCU.

There, he felt he found his calling.

The hospital, he says, was a microcosm of the city — a place where staff worked together across disciplines to provide care and where people of different backgrounds connected on a human level. Unlike traditional religious institutions where he felt he’d be isolated, Callahan says he saw a path at the hospital to serve people’s spiritual needs without all the baggage of religion.

“Chaplaincy opens up a door to living life and being raw,” he says. “You can’t get that in the churches.”

Though he’s an atheist, Callahan likens his approach to chaplaincy to the biblical figure of David, the courageous shepherd. He’s fiercely protective of his flock, and he’s willing to traverse difficult terrain alongside people who are suffering, no matter who they are or what they believe.

The difference between Callahan and his religious counterparts is his emphasis on life here and now, without concern for a higher power. And where religiously affiliated chaplains might lean on the teachings of their faith to guide others through crises, Callahan says he draws on the philosophies of Muhammad Ali, Malcolm X and Tupac Shakur.

“Every single thing that a religious person experiences, nonreligious people experience, too,” Callahan says. “It’s just learning how to translate and speak that language in a way that makes sense.”

Chaplaincy, which arose from Christian traditions, grew into an established profession in the mid-20th century as Protestant theological educators who were wary of outside influences in spiritual matters sought to train their students to offer support in nonreligious settings.

Early chaplains were volunteer or retired clergy who made brief visits to patients from the same religious backgrounds and conducted rituals. As the profession became more institutionalized and chaplains became fixtures in hospitals and the military, they increasingly helped people grapple with moral questions and listened to their fears.

As US demographics changed throughout the 20th century, the field expanded to encompass faiths outside Protestantism. Today, there are chaplains who are Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu or like Callahan, of no religion at all.

But for the most part, becoming a chaplain for atheists and the nonreligious still involves religion. A typical path to chaplaincy involves getting a master’s degree from a divinity school or seminary, which were historically meant to prepare people for Christian ministry.

While some theological schools now offer programs for people of other faiths, few programs cater to the nonreligious — though Callahan says there has been talk around developing chaplaincy programs specifically for people who haven’t followed traditionally religious paths.

Even as the field is evolving and diversifying, many people still think of chaplains as religious leaders (Christians at that), says Michael Skaggs, director of the Chaplaincy Innovation Lab. He and his colleagues take a much more expansive view: Modern-day chaplains should be able to serve people of all worldviews and traditions, and at the same time, atheists and nonreligious people should be represented in the field of spiritual care.

“There is a real power dynamic at play if someone is themselves atheist and they’re in need of some sort of support,” he says. “If there’s no one out there that shares their outlook on the world, it’s really difficult to feel supported.”

Greg Epstein, a humanist chaplain at Harvard University and MIT (some atheist chaplains prefer to identify as humanists), describes himself as “clergy for the nonreligious.”

Epstein was raised in a Jewish household and grew up in the religiously diverse New York neighborhood of Flushing, Queens. Early on, he says he came to understand that people — regardless of their religion — are more alike than different, bound together by a shared humanity. As he studied religion in college and graduate school, he grew captivated by the question of what gives life meaning and eventually discovered the field of secular chaplaincy.

Since he took on his position at Harvard in 2005, Epstein says he’s observed that secular society sometimes lacks the sense of purpose and connectedness that the religious find in their faith communities. Over the years, he’s tried a number of approaches to fill that void.

For a time, Epstein formed an alternative congregation, bringing nonreligious people together on Sunday afternoons for music, poetry and storytelling and for community service projects. But as society experienced monumental shifts — from the growing existential threat of climate change to the pervasive influence of technology in daily life — he felt its sense of connectedness was disrupted. True spiritual healing, he eventually concluded, wouldn’t come from replicating religious practices but from facing those realities head on.

These days, Epstein mostly meets with students one-on-one or in small groups to talk about what a fulfilling life looks like in the face of extraordinary change — the demand is so great that he says it’s hard to find an empty slot on his calendar.

Students frequently raise fears and anxieties about how they can best position themselves for success and opportunity, which Epstein feels are stemming from greater uncertainties about the direction the world is heading (a subject that he explores in his recently published book “Tech Agnostic: How Technology Became the World’s Most Powerful Religion, and Why It Desperately Needs a Reformation.”).

“I really want students to step back from the treadmill for a while and ask themselves: Why am I studying so hard? Why am I working so hard? Why am I trying so hard to be successful?” he says.

Other atheist chaplains don’t shy away from religion at all, instead helping people explore faith and spirituality in nontraditional ways.

Vanessa Gomez-Brake, a humanist chaplain and senior associate dean of religious life at the University of Southern California, says more than half the student population she serves isn’t affiliated with a particular religion, though many are interested in connecting with their spiritual side. Responding to those desires, she and a colleague introduced a semi-regular event on campus in which students can explore the metaphysical through astrology, tarot and crystals.

“We’re at a point in our society where we need to come up with new language,” she adds. “What is this meaning making if it doesn’t involve a religious institution?”

There’s no official data on how many atheist or humanist chaplains are working across the country. But as society becomes less religious, the field of chaplaincy is likely to follow, says Skaggs, of the Chaplaincy Innovation Lab.

Epstein is already noticing an uptick. When he first entered the profession, he says most atheists and agnostics didn’t know chaplaincy was an option for them. Now, people constantly reach out to him to learn more about the field.

Already, atheist and humanist chaplains are taking on prominent roles: Epstein made national headlines in 2021 when he was named president of Harvard University’s organization of chaplains. Gomez-Brake is the first humanist to serve as dean of religious life at any US university.

“I liken humanist chaplaincy to astronauts,” Epstein adds. “There’s not that many of us. You can’t just meet one of us wherever you go.”

“And yet … I see us as having a tremendous impact on the culture around us and on people’s overall sense of what is humanly possible.”

Callahan agrees. The world is changing, and society is changing with it. People are on edge, lonely and isolated — and many are no longer turning to traditional religion for solace and comfort. There may be few atheist and nonreligious chaplains right now, but as Callahan sees it, their numbers only stand to grow.

“As we become more and more personally disconnected, we need those people that specialize in people,” he says.

Correction: This article has been updated to note that Greg Epstein was named president of Harvard University’s organization of chaplains in 2021, not 2019.