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Jerry DeWitt entered the ministry when he was 17, launching a 25-year career as a Pentecostal preacher. He traveled all around his home state of Louisiana, preaching and ministering wherever he could.
All these years later, DeWitt, 42, is still on the road, and now takes his message all over the United States. But the nature of that message, along with his audience, has changed dramatically.
DeWitt is now an avowed atheist, and his audiences are made up of religious "nones," the growing number of Americans who are atheist, agnostic, humanist or just plain disinterested in identifying with a religion. Today, DeWitt preaches a gospel of disbelief.
During his speeches, he talks about the process of leaving his preacher job. "If you don't believe, then you will be like me – you'll suddenly find yourself where you only have two choices," DeWitt told a group in Johnson County, Kansas, earlier this year.
"You can either be honest that you don't believe ... or you can pretend that you do," he said. "Which is what so many people are doing and that is called faith."
The transition from preacher to outspoken atheist has not been easy, and DeWitt is trying to smooth the way for other former believers. He is executive director ofRecovering from Religion, an organization founded in 2009. Its slogan: "Thousands of organizations will help you get INTO religion, but we're the only one helping you OUT."
But a relatively new effort goes a step further than his own group by focusing on helping clergy in particular. In March 2011, a coalition that includes national groups such as American Atheists, the Freedom From Religion Foundation and theRichard Dawkins Foundation helped launch the Clergy Project, which is aimed at giving doubting and atheist preachers a community in which they can talk about their disbelief.
The program's ultimate goal: to help unbelieving preachers to "come out" in real life.
A safe online community
The Clergy Project's key component is a private online community of active and former pastors discussing their conversions to lives of active disbelief. It lets congregational leaders come out anonymously, using an alias.
"It is important to focus on any group of people who are in a lot of pain," said Linda LaScola, a co-founder of the Clergy Project. "That is why the Clergy Project exists, and it wouldn't be growing if there wasn't a need for it."
When it launched last year, 52 clergy signed up for the online community, according to LaScola. A little more than a year later, 270 members are contributing to the message boards and connecting anonymously with one another.
According to LaScola, the community includes some rabbis, imams and Catholic priests, but the majority are Protestants.
Members are barred from disclosing what is discussed on the boards, but DeWitt said it's a blend of humor, advice and encouragement. DeWitt, who left his congregation just over a year ago, is considered the group's first graduate.
"It gave me confidence to come out," DeWitt said of the Clergy Project. "Knowing that I was not alone, that I was not a fluke, that I was not a freak of religious nature, but that this is a process; it most definitely gave me confidence and a purpose."
Jerry DeWitt, far right, in his days as a minister.
DeWitt said that after connecting with people on the message boards, he realized he faced fewer obstacles than some others who are trying to leave the ministry. For example, DeWitt's wife and son already knew about his disbelief, while other questioning preachers had not yet told their families.
"I think it is important when you are struggling that you talk it out, that you write about it, that you find support," said Teresa MacBain, acting executive director of the Clergy Project. "I still try to reach out to people who are questioning, who are doubting, clergy people and laypeople alike, and let them know they are not alone, that there are people who care."
How does he feed his family?
For 44 years, MacBain was involved in some sort of ministry, from organizing worship music to being a senior pastor at a Methodist church in Florida.
At a recent American Atheists convention in North Bethesda, Maryland, MacBain first publicly announced her atheism, inspiring a roaring round of applause. American Atheists President David Silverman walked onstage and hugged her as MacBain began to cry.
"I was the one on the right track, and you were the ones that were going to burn in hell," MacBain told the crowd. "And I'm happy to say as I stand before you right now, I'm going to burn with you."
She said she sees plenty of growth potential in the Clergy Project. In the near future, she said she hopes to incorporate it as a nonprofit and begin raising funds for clergy who have decided to leave ministry jobs. She also wants to compile a group of employment recruiters to help former clergy find new jobs.
DeWitt, for his part, is struggling financially and said his house could be foreclosed on in the next few months.
For former preachers in search of work, their old skills can be hard to translate into new fields. What references do former ministers use if they have disappointed their congregants by leaving the pulpit?
MacBain said that some "formers," as she calls ex-clergy, have left their hometowns for new jobs in fields ranging from radio to counseling.
To aid those transitions, Recovering from Religion has started the Clergy Professional Relief Fund, dedicated to "helping ex-ministers have a soft landing after coming out of the ministry." Though little money has been collected so far, the hope is to help former ministers with job training and relocation expenses.
"Even if you have a degree in divinity, that doesn't really mean anything," DeWitt said. "That is the biggest fear that a nonbelieving clergy member has. How does he feed his family?"
Losing faith, losing friends
As a young fresh-faced minister, DeWitt was first confronted with his disbelief when he "became the person who got the burden of preaching about hell," he said. "I really loved the people I preached to, I loved them like family. So imagine preaching that if you don't do this, you are going to burn in hell. That wasn't easy for me."
After doubt about hell, DeWitt began to research other schools of thought about God and belief. He began to develop other doubts, about certain biblical translations and about healing.
"The next big issue was the failure of prayer," DeWitt said. "People are passing away, whenever we pray for them to live. People aren't getting jobs, whenever we pray for them to have jobs.
"The harder we tried to alleviate suffering within our church, it seemed like the worse things got," he said. "It didn't seem like prayer made any difference. It just continually crushed my heart."
When DeWitt decided to come out as an atheist, some in his congregation appeared shocked.
"I was very heartbroken actually because his family means so much to me; they are actually like family," said Natosha Davis, 30, who attended DeWitt's church for four years. "I was very heartbroken for him that he had to go through that and struggle."
Many congregants were less charitable. "Some people where he lives just totally turned their backs on him," Davis said. "He was ostracized, excommunicated. It is like he has a disease, but he doesn't."
When DeWitt runs into people he used to preach to, he still averts his eyes. Going to the post office and to Walmart, he said, can be stressful because of the possibility of running into a former congregant.
"It is because places in which you were once admired now you are suddenly scorned or pitied," DeWitt said, who admits not having many friends anymore. "It makes for an extremely uncomfortable life."
And yet DeWitt said his atheist life mirrors his old religious one in some key respects. In some ways, he said, he's still a minister.
"The origin of the symmetry is me, is my personality, my love for people, my love for ministering," DeWitt said. "What I have always tried to do is to minster from where I personally am at.
"When I was 17, I preached what I believed was best for people at the time; when I was 20, it was a little different; at 25 it was different, too," he said. "And now at 42, I am still the same guy preaching what I see is best for people."
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