As part of its mission statement, Project 573 aims to show you who the Nones are and how they impact your society. In this story, Project 573 explores the lives of two families who share some religious similarities but, like all families, are different from one another.



​​The Raglands
Caroline Sullivan lost a tooth. It wasn’t her first, and it wouldn't be her last, but more than 20 years later, this particular tooth has become a symbol of an unorthodox parenting style.



Before her daughter came barreling down the stairs, Ellie Ragland had been awake for a couple of hours. Ellie has always been an early riser, a relentless workaholic who had become an international expert in the field of Lacanian philosophy. This particular morning she was working on a manuscript for one of her eight books.



“She didn’t come!” Caroline said, nearly out of breath.



“Who?”



“The Tooth Fairy!” Caroline anxiously explained. What had happened?



“It's not your fault,” Ellie said.



Fortunately, Ellie told her daughter, she had been alerted to the situation just before Caroline came downstairs.



Ellie quickly explained, “the fairy assigned to come get your tooth was very old and lost her glasses. So last night, she couldn’t find our address.”



Caroline was still dismayed but intrigued.



“But I bet I know what they’re going to do. I bet tonight they’re going to send a younger fairy with twice as much money to make up for what happened.”



Much to Caroline’s delight, the next morning she woke up with two dollars under her pillow.



When Ellie, now 67, looks back on this story, she sees more than just tooth-obsessed pixies and a monetary transaction. Instead, she sees a story about faith and coping with loss, two major tenants of all religions.
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“It is critically important to have organized religion because people have to have a structure in their lives,” Ellie says, now an English professor at the University of Missouri. “Life is so based on suffering and horror and trauma. People have to believe there is something more to life, something that can give you a reason for being other than pains and sorrows.”



But Ellie is not religious. By definition, she's an atheist, a word that annoys her. To Ellie, atheism is an adversarial word that presumes there is a god to begin with. She prefers the term “non-believer” because how could she be against a god that doesn’t exist?



As a philosopher, Ellie views religion as a dual-action tool serving as humanity’s greatest defense against fear and suffering and as a harbinger of hope and inspiration.



What the Tooth Fairy represented for her then six-year-old daughter is a microcosm of the role religion plays for the present-day faithful. The Tooth Fairy provided Caroline with happiness and hopefulness. And when she felt abandoned, another story was provided to comfort her. Ellie believes religion acts in a similar way, and she isn’t alone.

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Father Stephen Jones of the Catholic Diocese of Jefferson City calls religion “a crutch,” saying humans have a natural need to rely on something supreme or omniscient to provide purpose for their lives and to assist them in times of need.



"Religion, in many ways, is a crutch because we're all broken. People are broken and need assistance ... We all need a crutch to lean upon when we encounter the profound sadness of the reality of our broken existence," Jones says.

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Ellie agrees and knows her beliefs make her sound Marxist, but when confronted with that label, she rejects it too.



“I deeply do not believe in God,” Ellie says. “But I deeply believe in religion.”



Religion in her life
In 1985, Rev. Terry Ragland, Ellie's father, was diagnosed with prostate cancer. It was an advanced form that had already begun spreading throughout his body. But that wasn't a major concern for the Protestant minister – at least, not the primary one. What he wanted to know was whether it would hinder his ability to preach.


In the 10 years Terry battled cancer, Ellie said spirituality and faith in God were her father's primary sources of strength and the reasons he survived years beyond what his doctors initially predicted.



Often when Ellie visited him in the hospital, he was watching faith-healing televangelist Oral Roberts for inspiration. Until two weeks before his death, he read from the Book of Job every morning. She recalls he never once doubted God would get him through life's latest challenge. He used to tell her, “God, Gene (his son) and those doctors will get me out of this.”



Ellie's relentless smile fades when she talks about her father's death, but his faith comforts her. Dad, she says, was blessed to be the perfect blend of someone who loved life and craved more of it and someone who was on good terms with his maker.



His lifelong commitment to the Christian ideals of charity and stewardship inspired in her a strong belief in the value of religion. So when the time came to decide if she, a devout non-believer, was going to raise her own child with a faith, it was no question at all.



Caroline Alexandra Sullivan, Ellie's only child, was born in 1981 and baptized a Christian by Terry three years later. By eighth grade, Caroline was confirmed a Catholic, and she, now 32, has remained faithful ever since.



Her mother could not be more proud, but she can't help but be a bit envious. Ellie is a reluctant non-believer.



“I've seen how powerful having religion can be, and I wish I was like that, but I'm not.”



It's not for lack of trying. When Caroline was converting to Catholicism, Ellie attended all of her classes and was so moved by her daughter's experience, she resolved to become a Catholic too.



“I fell in love with Catholic mothers and nuns,” Ellie says. “I wanted what they had.”



Ellie underwent a year of training herself. She made it all way to the day of confirmation, but just before she walked up to the priest to be blessed and initiated, a nun asked her a fundamental question to which she gave the wrong answer.



“Do you believe?” the nun asked.



“In what?” Ellie said.



“God.”



“Well no, of course not. But I believe in you guys.”



"I'm sorry," the nun said. "You can't go. You can't become a Catholic."



Ellie cried that day. The rejection stung. She feels her lack of religion is a disconnect between her and Caroline, and in June of 2011, the disunity became evident.



As a leading scholar in her field, Ellie regularly traveled to lecture or attend conferences during Caroline's childhood. While she was away, Terry and his wife, Virginia-Lucile, took care of Caroline. In those years, Caroline and her grandmother became very close.



After Virginia-Lucile's death nearly two years ago, Caroline was left without one of her best friends. She became suicidal.



"I just wanted to die and go to heaven with her," Caroline said.



This was not a feeling Ellie could understand. She believes when you die, you're dead. There is no heaven. You can keep people alive in your heart by talking about them and thinking about them.



Ellie's beliefs weren't enough for Caroline. She needed something more.



The best Ellie could do for her daughter was warn her of the peril of suicide within Catholicism. As a Catholic, Ellie said, "if you commit suicide, you won't get to see Grandma. You'll go to hell and you'll never be with her."



Eventually, Ellie brought Caroline to a priest seeking grief counseling. Much to Ellie's relief, the clergyman's hopeful words and direction have helped alleviate some of Caroline's pain.



Despite the comfort religion provides her daughter, Ellie's beliefs remain the same.



“I don't believe in God, or religiousness or faith ... I don't believe in the afterlife. I don't believe in any of those myths, but you won’t find a person who is more pro-religion than me.”



Ellie is an admirer of world religions. The English teacher in her respects the Jewish faith for its ability to analyze and interpret text. The minister's daughter, who initially attended college to become a missionary, reveres Muslims for their belief in the power of prayer. And the more she learns about Hinduism from her son-in-law, the more the “liberal hippy” in her loves their openness towards and tolerance of other religions.



The only people within religion Ellie detests are those who stand against it.

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Anytime I hear Bill Maher start to put down adamant believers, I say, in my heart, ‘strike him dead, God.’”



She cannot understand why people would try to tear at a fabric that is so integral to humanity’s understanding and coping with the world.



In infuriates her to hear about non-believing parents who raise their children without religion. She wonders how they expect their children to confront the question of the meaning of life. How scary would life be for a child without faith there is something after it? How could a child be expected to understand evil or catastrophe?



“Things happen in life that you can't explain to a child,” Ellie says.



Ellie encourages parents to lie to their children about their own beliefs



“It’s their responsibility to lie to their children. Why wouldn't we want children to believe in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny? We want them to believe there is something special in being good."



Just like the Tooth Fairy.
 

​​The Huttons
On a Wednesday evening in April, an hour or so after family dinner, Howard Hutton tells his loved ones what he'd like them to do with his body after he dies.



Ideally, he says, they'll fly his carcass high up over a mountain and dump it at the peak.



He says he knows it’s a long shot. It’s probably illegal (it is). He’d be leaving behind a significant carbon footprint. In a perfect world, though, he’d love for the birds, insects and worms to “take care of (him).”



When Howard finished, the three faces staring back at him weren't stunned. His second wife, Christy Hutton, and two daughters, Korri and Erin, wore knowing smiles, as if requests like this were made commonly around the Hutton table. It’s one of those things Dad says. Chalk it up to Dad being Dad.



Howard knows his idyllic funeral probably won't happen, but he hopes when he dies, his family will do something untraditional. For the Huttons, a non-religious family, untraditional is their tradition.



Whatever fits
Howard, 48, and Christy, 43, were raised in Christian homes – he studied to become a minister and her father was a Southern Baptist deacon. Both, however, discovered they weren't happy with their faith.



Christy's disenchantment stemmed from the need to accept responsibility for one's own actions.



“I grew up with kids in church who thought you could be a jerk and then apologize, and you’d be good,” she says.



For Howard, it came through philosophical exploration.



“I was going to be a minister, but I knew I didn’t know enough,” he said. “So I studied a lot and it took me to a different place. It took me to the place I am now.” 



Where he is now is the Unitarian Universalist Church of Columbia. It's the place where Howard and Christy first met, it's where they married and it's where they and two of their three children go almost every Sunday morning.



The UUCC church ascribes to no creed. They promote no dogmatic truths and value no one sacred scripture above another, but they call themselves believers. They believe in a free-thinking community and in showing compassion and respect toward everyone who does the same.



Howard, a Customer Relations Coordinator for the U.S. Postal Service, and Christy raised their shared, Korri, Erin, and Brendan, from Christy's first marriage, by those same customs of the UUCC– no absolutes; only questions.



If one of his children were to ask Howard about God, he wouldn't give an answer. He'd give a litany of abstract complications about the word “god,” and then he'd fire off two or three questions of his own.



To him, there is no certainty in life, just uncertainty. Those who say they are certain are dangerous because they are incapable of accepting new ideas.



That is the “healthy skepticism” he lives by and promotes in his children.



For Erin, 15, it worked immediately. Erin was born a questioner, says Christy. She used to come home from grade school and engage in four, five, sometimes even six hours of discussion with Howard about religion. She read the Bible when learning how to read (because of the little print and tough words) and began questioning “two or three chapters in,” Howard says.



But 17-year-old Korri was different. Until recently, she accepted the Christian faith she shared with her mother.



However, Korri began questioning her Christianity. In the past months she has begun attending the UUCC full time. She said it is the open-mindedness of the Unitarian Universalists that led her away from what she thinks is an overly judgmental Christian faith.



“I have a lot of insecurities,” said Korri, who recently came out as gay. “And I didn't like the idea of being judged by this guy sitting up in the sky monitoring everything I did.”



Christy is happy to have Korri back with the family at church on Sundays, but said she wouldn't be surprised if Korri one day ventured back to Christianity. And that'd be fine too, Christy says.

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“If something else fits better, it fits better,” Christy says. “We missed having her with us at church, but once our kids reached a certain point, we said it was up to you.”



Let’s talk about...
“The big dread in our house is that Dad is going to talk to you,” Christy says about disciplining her kids. “Oh, he can lecture. I’m much more succinct, much more likely to instill a consequence. With Dad, he’s going to talk to you.”

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The kids say Howard likes to talk to them about everything, but they know Christy can punish with words too.



One morning a couple of years ago, Korri came down stairs with an embarrassing question, she hoped would fluster her stepmom. Christy is known around the house for her willingness to talk about anything, but Korri thought she could make her blush.



“Christy, do you masturbate?”



Without hesitation or embarrassment, Christy answered.



Korri was caught off guard and now she was the one blushing.



“Do you?” Christy quickly followed up, and a red-faced Korri went running up the stairs without a reply.



While Christy, a psychologist at the University of Missouri, doesn't mind if her children believe in something different than she and Howard, she wants them to feel comfortable enough to talk about anything with them, including sex.



She says “we live in a shame-building culture” that tells people to talk about sex in secret.



"We want to take sex out of the closet," says Christy, who is also sex-education teacher at the UUCC. "We live in a culture that tells us not to talk about it in public and to only discuss it in hushed tones behind closed doors."



Christy encourages her students and her children to choose abstinence first, but she wants them to be prepared for, not fearful of, sexual situations. She teaches them about intimacy, the differences between intercourse and outercourse, and how to express themselves without feeling ashamed. Most of all, she encourages her kids to make smart, healthy decisions.

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The Huttons talk about everything, but they don't always agree. While Howard is a staunch atheist who calls the afterlife “heroin” for the faithful, Christy still associates more closely with her Christian upbringing.



When she talks about it practically, she says, there are too many holes in each religion's take on the afterlife. Yet, “when someone I care about dies, it's very easy to go back to that Southern Baptist place where it’s all nice and cozy.”



Howard says the “excuse” that heaven helps cope with death is a man-made myth.



“If you learn it (that heaven is real) and it's taken away from you, that's the anxiety that puts you at odds” with fellow believers, Howard says. “I don’t think the normal, average person has a problem (coping with death). That's why there are so many Nones now.”



While their parents have vastly different takes on what happens after death, Korri and Erin have yet to make up their minds. But that's one of the benefits of living with the Huttons. When they're ready to decide, or even if they never want to, it will be their choice.
 

Nobody said it was easy
Ten years ago at Howard and Christy's wedding, they sang bluegrass songs to each other in front of their friends and family. The cake was made of cupcakes. Christy wore a hot pink sundress and Howard had on open-toed sandals. There was no official. They MC-ed the whole thing themselves. They didn't want a customary, one-size-fits-all wedding. Christy and Howard wanted a celebration that reflected their personalities.



"It fit us," Christy says. "It's who we are."



For some in attendance at the UUCC that day, the ceremony was revealing.



“Howard's oldest brother came up to me after it was over, hugged me and said, 'Dennis (Howard's younger brother) and I kept talking about needing to warn you about how weird Howard is. But after this ceremony, we're pretty sure you know.”



When Howard and Christy got married that day, they had imagined that the freedoms they would give their children would lead them to make the right decisions. Unfortunately, their son Brendan, now 18, abused that freedom. He clashed with Howard's talk-it-out method of parenting, began to use drugs and eventually moved out.  



“As many things as Brendan did, the trust that he was given still probably did more to form his better nature than if we rode him as hard as some people ride their kids,” Howard says.



The Huttons know what they believe in. They believe in the value of non-conformity. They believe in questioning everything. They believe in a free-thinking and tolerant community. They don't believe, though, that they have it all figured out.

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But they are willing to talk about it.