Inside Alpha: An atheist’s foray into Christianity

Tabatha Leggett signs up to Christianity’s most successful recruitment programme.

It’s 7.30pm on a Tuesday evening and I’m at a small church in East London. A man called Adam* hands me a name label, pours me a plastic cup of squash and says dinner won’t be long. I pull up a seat and introduce myself to ten strangers. It’s all rather awkward.

The reason I’m at church isn’t because I’m religious (I’m not) or because my fridge is empty (it is). It’s because I’ve signed up to Alpha, a weekly course run by churches all over the world in order to spread the Christian message. Although I’m an atheist, I don’t have a problem with people who subscribe to religion. I am, however, wary of brainwashing, I think most religious beliefs are kind of stupid and I strongly suspect that organised religion is a horrible thing. But, 2.8 million people in the UK have done an Alpha course, and I’m willing to be proved wrong.

Over the next six weeks, I’ll exchange Bible reading tips with experts, share stories about intimate prayers with total strangers and spend a lot of time crying down the phone to my mum.

But it all begins when Adam hands me a hot dog. I don’t drop mine on the floor, unlike four of the other people, who I suppose are nervous or something. For pudding, we get a box of chocolates. In week one, they’re Roses. The strawberry ones go first, which makes me suspicious because they’re the worst ones.

Adam, the course leader, is wearing a Superdry shirt. After dinner, he explains that it’s customary to sing. Rebecca plays the acoustic guitar and Adam mans the PowerPoint presentation, which would have got an A* if it was a piece of ICT GCSE coursework because the lyrics make noises when they appear on the screen.

After singing comes talking. Specifically, Adam talking. Over the next six weeks, his talks will cover: “Is there more to life than this?”; “Who is Jesus and why did he die?”; “How can we have faith?”; “How can we read the Bible?”; “Why and how do I pray”; and “What about the Church?”. After each talk, we’ll break off into groups and discuss what we’ve learnt.

The first couple of sessions are similar. They involve Adam handing out copies of the Bible and saying things like, “So let’s assume Jesus does exist and came to Earth to save us…” I’m genuinely the only person who is annoyed that Adam makes no attempt to prove Jesus’s existence.

Adam’s big points in the first two weeks are that we should love Jesus because he loves us in spite of our tendency to sin and that we should try to emulate his behaviour, because it’s nice to have a role model.

Discussion time isn’t fruitful. Natalie asks me how I’m able to distinguish between moral and immoral behaviour if I don’t base my actions on Jesus’ example. I explain that I work out what makes my peers happy and try to do those things. Everyone laughs, which I find confusing because I’m not joking. I agree that having a role model can be helpful, but ask how they know Jesus is the best one. Anna and Will, who are married, tell me that it’s because the Bible said so. But how do they know the Bible is right? “No offence, Tabatha,” replies Louise, “but the Bible is quite far-fetched. I don’t get why someone would have made that stuff up if it weren’t true.” It sounds like I’m lying, but I’m not.


By week three, things intensify. Over dinner, we talk mostly about Adam’s marriage. It strikes me as odd that these people are willing, after only two weeks of knowing each other, to share intimate stories. I wonder whether they’re lonely.

This week, Adam’s main point is that Christianity isn’t about rules. Fine, but there’s still no attempt to prove God’s existence.

During discussion time, Natalie tells us that God forgives everything as long as you repent. Adultery? Yes. Murder? Yes. Mass genocide? Yes. The Christians are bored of my questions and Alasdair says, “Wouldn’t you forgive your child if he committed mass genocide, Tabatha?” I tell him it’s a poor example because there’s not an obvious answer, he tells me I’m too young to understand and I tell him he’s patronising.

Then we talk about which bits of the Bible we should take literally. Louise tells me I’ll work it out if I read the Bible. I tell her I’ve read it. She says I will never develop a full understanding because I’m not God so I can’t understand everything. This is becoming a recurring theme. These people have answers to some problems, but as soon as they hit a brick wall they settle for not understanding God and refuse to think through alternatives. They can explain why God is forgiving (it’s because Jesus took our sins), but they can’t explain what taking our sins entailed, or why a perfect creator put sin in the world in the first place.

On my way out, I overhear Patrick, a socially awkward member of the group, telling Adam that he suffers from anxiety attacks. I feel bad for making fun of him in my head, and also sad that Adam, a stranger who is not qualified to talk about anxiety, is the only person Patrick feels he can turn to. I cry a bit when I get home.

By week four, I find myself looking forward to Tuesday evening, which I didn’t expect. This week, Leslie, a priest from the church, speaks about evolution, which has to be our most interesting topic to date. “How do I know evolution isn’t true?” he begins, continuing: “Because God revealed himself to me through scripture.” This annoys me: these people keep saying really obscure things and not explaining them. Leslie explains that scripture is “God-breathed,” so when you read the Bible, God is speaking directly to you. I’m not an idiot but I have absolutely no conception of what that means.

Leslie goes on to offer practical Bible-reading advice: you should read it for 15 minutes a day and ask God questions by verbalising your thoughts. By this stage, I’m annoyed. I want to know why we should read the Bible, how they know it’s true, what God sounds like and how He chooses which prayers to listen to. Instead, Leslie says things like, “If we pray, we become trees. Trees grow fruit, so we will live fruitful lives.” This kind of obscure, metaphorical chat is driving me mad.

In discussion time, it becomes clear that although these people are interested in religion, they’re uncritical of it. It’s really starting to bother me that this institution encourages blind faith at the expense of scientific enquiry. “Wouldn’t it be cool if God spoke to someone we knew,” Alasdair muses, and everyone nods in agreement. Well, quite. I don’t get it. I don’t understand why these people don’t ask good questions and why they dedicate so much of their lives to something they don’t seem to fully understand. I call my mum on the way home and cry again. Alpha’s starting to make me sad.


Week five is all about prayer, and I’m dreading it. These people love sharing uncomfortable truths, but I find it all very awkward. During dinner, I discover that everyone else on this course is already a Christian. Rebecca runs an Alpha course for kids, Maya is here with her brother Matteo because the last Alpha course she did was so helpful and Anna has bought her husband Will because they want to explore their current faith. With so many course repeaters, I’m starting to question the 2.8 million statistic I read on the website.

Adam tells a story about his wedding ring. It’s a more elaborate version of this: Adam went to Costa. He left his wedding ring behind. He realised what he’d done. He said a quick prayer. He went back to Costa. He found his ring. He reckons God answered his prayer. No one asks why God was so busy looking for Adam’s ring instead of sorting out problems like poverty.

The next thing Adam says makes me feel intensely uncomfortable. Richard isn’t at Alpha today, because his father died of cancer last night. Adam explains that despite his prayers and his commitment to Christianity (which he implies puts him higher up God’s priority list), he died. “We don’t know why, but God had a plan for him. It was right that he died,” Adam says. I’ve always had issues with organised religion, which suppresses freedom of thought and causes things like war, but I didn’t think small-scale religion caused any harm. It’s things like this, though – people like Adam telling people like Richard that it’s a good thing that his dad died of a terminal illness – that make me doubt that. In my mind, that’s a wicked thing to say.

In discussion time, we’re asked to talk about prayers that have been answered. I’m the only person who has never prayed. Louise claims that God once answered her prayer to get her to the airport on time. Alasdair thinks God stopped a wave breaking on him when he went surfing as a teenager. Robin tells us that God warned him to wear a helmet when he snowboards. But the weirdest and most upsetting claim comes from Maya, who asked God to let her leave her job. A week later, she fell pregnant and saw that as a sign that she should leave. She miscarried her child. Three days later, the company she worked for closed. “I thought God gave me a child, but He actually closed down my company,” she said. “He answered my prayer, but not how I expected.”

“Anyone feel unconvinced by the power of prayer?” Natalie asks. “YES,” I feel like shouting. “YOU’RE IDIOTS. ALL OF THOSE THINGS WERE PROBABLY COINCIDENCES THAT YOU’RE READING TOO MUCH INTO.” But I can’t say anything because how can you say those things to a group of people who have shared intimate facts about miscarriages and are now crying?

Natalie ends the session by asking us to close our eyes and say a prayer. You can opt out, and I do. Maya asks God to reveal himself to the group’s non-believers (which is basically just me). I think I hate this.


By week six, I’m relieved it’s over. Alpha has been emotional, frustrating and intensely sad. I’m exhausted. Thankfully this session does answer some of my questions. It doesn’t prove God’s existence, but I do finally understand why people keep going back.

Adam’s talk today isn’t about the Bible or God or any of the other issues he forgot to tackle. It’s an extended speech about why you should join the church. His answer? Because you’ll make friends there. “We have socials once a week,” he explains. The term “social” made me cringe at university, and it’s even worse to hear a grown man use it. But as I look around the room, I realise everyone’s happy. Patrick, who has suffered from anxiety attacks for 30 years, has found a group of people who accept him. Maya and her brother Matteo have a reason to hang out every week, and Jackie has gained a social life outside of her work.

“If you’re a Christian, you’re our friend,” Adam says. Why can’t you find friends outside of the church? You can, but you won’t be as close because you don’t share a belief. I’m not convinced these people know what they believe because I don’t think they’ve thought about it properly. But what I do know is that I’m sitting in a room of happy people, and although this Alpha thing may not be for me, it is for them. They’re happy because they’ve got new friends and I’m happy because I didn’t get brainwashed. Everyone’s a winner.

*Names have been changed to protect individuals’ identities

A stained glass window at Southwark Cathedral. Photograph: Getty Images

Tabatha Leggett is a freelance journalist who has been published in GQ and VICE and on the London Review of Books blog and

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Caroline Lucas and Jonathan Bartley: "The Greens can win over Ukip voters too"

The party co-leaders condemned Labour's "witch hunt" of Green-supporting members. 

“You only have to cast your eyes along those green benches to think this place doesn't really represent modern Britain,” said Caroline Lucas, the UK’s only Green MP, of the House of Commons. “There are lots of things you could do about it, and one is say: ‘Why not have job share MPs?’”

Politics is full of partnerships and rivalries, but not job shares. When Lucas and Jonathan Bartley were elected co-leaders of the Green party in September, they made history. 

“I don't think any week's been typical so far,” said Bartley, when I met the co-leaders in Westminster’s Portcullis House. During the debate on the Hinkley power plant, he said, Lucas was in her constituency: “I was in Westminster, so I could pop over to do the interviews.”

Other times, it’s Bartley who travels: “I’ve been over to Calais already, and I was up in Morecambe and Lancaster. It means we’re not left without a leader.”

The two Green leaders have had varied careers. Lucas has become a familiar face in Parliament since 2010, whereas Bartley has spent most of his career in political backrooms and wonkish circles (he co-founded the think tank Ekklesia). In the six weeks since being elected, though, they seem to have mastered the knack of backing each other up. After Lucas, who represents Brighton Pavilion, made her point about the green benches, Bartley chimed in. “My son is a wheelchair user. He is now 14," he said. "I just spent a month with him, because he had to have a major operation and he was in the recovery period. The job share allows that opportunity.”

It’s hard enough for Labour’s shadow cabinet to stay on message. So how will the Greens do it? “We basically said that although we've got two leaders, we've got one set of policies,” said Lucas. She smiled. “Whereas Labour kind of has the opposite.”

The ranks of the Greens, like Labour, have swelled since the referendum. Many are the usual suspects - Remainers still distressed about Brexit. But Lucas and Bartley believe they can tap into some of the discontent driving the Ukip vote in northern England.

“In Morecambe, I was chatting to someone who was deciding whether to vote Ukip or Green,” said Bartley. “He was really distrustful of the big political parties, and he wanted to send a clear message.”

Bartley points to an Ashcroft poll showing roughly half of Leave voters believed capitalism was a force for ill (a larger proportion nevertheless was deeply suspicious of the green movement). Nevertheless, the idea of voters moving from a party defined by border control to one that is against open borders “for now” seems counterintuitive. 

“This issue in the local election wasn’t about migration,” Bartley said. “This voter was talking about power and control, and he recognised the Greens could give him that.

“He was remarking it was the first time anyone had knocked on his door.”

According to a 2015 study by the LSE researcher James Dennison, Greens and Kippers stand out almost equally for their mistrust in politicians, and their dissatisfaction with British democracy. 

Lucas believes Ukip voters want to give “the system” a “bloody big kick” and “people who vote Green are sometimes doing that too”. 

She said: “We’re standing up against the system in a very different way from Ukip, but to that extent there is a commonality.”

The Greens say what they believe, she added: “We’re not going to limit our ambitions to the social liberal.”

A more reliable source of support may be the young. A May 2015 YouGov poll found 7 per cent of voters aged 18 to 29 intended to vote Green, compared to just 2 per cent of those aged 60+. 

Bartley is cautious about inflaming a generational divide, but Lucas acknowledges that young people feel “massively let down”.

She said: “They are certainly let down by our housing market, they are let down by universities. 

“The Greens are still against tuition fees - we want a small tax for the biggest businesses to fund education because for us education is a public good, not a private commodity.”

Of course, it’s all very well telling young people what they want to hear, but in the meantime the Tory government is moving towards a hard Brexit and scrapping maintenance grants. Lucas and Bartley are some of the biggest cheerleaders for a progressive alliance, and Lucas co-authored a book with rising Labour star Lisa Nandy on the subject. On the book tour, she was “amazed” by how many people turned up “on wet Friday evenings” to hear about “how we choose a less tribal politics”. 

Nevertheless, the idea is still controversial, not least among many in Nandy's own party. The recent leadership contest saw a spate of members ejected for publicly supporting the Greens, among other parties. 

“It was like a witch hunt,” said Lucas. “Some of those tweets were from a year or two ago. They might have retweeted something that happened to be from me saying ‘come join us in opposing fracking’, which is now a Labour policy. To kick someone out for that is deeply shocking.”

By contrast, the Greens have recently launched a friends scheme for supporters, including those who are already a member of another party. “The idea that one party is going to know it all is nonsense,” said Bartley. “That isn’t reality.”

Lucas and Bartley believe the biggest potential for a progressive alliance is at constituency level, where local people feel empowered, not disenfranchised, by brokering deals. They recall the 1997 election, when voters rallied around the independent candidate Martin Bell to trounce the supposedly safe Tory MP Neil Hamilton. Citing a recent letter co-signed by the Greens, the Scottish National Party and Plaid Cymru condemning Tory rhetoric on immigrants, Bartley points out that smaller parties are already finding ways to magnify their voice. The fact the party backed down on listing foreign workers was, he argued, “a significant win”. 

As for true electoral reform, in 2011, a referendum on changing Britain's rigid first past the post system failed miserably. But the dismal polls for the Labour party, could, Lucas thinks, open up a fresh debate.

“More and more people in the Labour party recognise now that no matter who their leader is, their chance of getting an outright majority at the next election is actually vanishingly small,” she said. “It’s in their interests to support electoral reform. That's the game changer.” 

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog. She was previously deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines.