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There's a popular Christian school in my London neighbourhood that parents are always trying to get their kids into. The only problem is you have to go the church. This doesn't seem to be a problem for my neighbours, many of whom pad down the sidewalk each Sunday morning in jeans and sneakers (the idea of "Sunday best" apparently having gone out with hot rollers and slips), but it's a problem for me since I don't actually believe in God.

Spending three Sundays a month minimum (they take attendance) listening to scripture and sermons would make me feel resentful and hypocritical, even if it did mean my kid got into a good school. I wasn't christened, nor was my son. But I respect people with religious faith, and occasionally I even envy them. Because of this, I find the idea of pretending to be part of their fold disrespectful. I like the idea of belief too much to make a mockery of it.

But apparently, my neighbourhood church is not very churchy. "Nobody actually talks about God," said my neighbour, in between carols at our local choir practice recently. "It's more like a community group with singing and bake sales and the occasional moral fable thrown in. The kids love it."

In other words, it's like church without religion.

If this sounds enticing, guess what? The real thing exists and it's actually a global trend. Sunday Assembly, a "godless congregation that celebrates life," was founded in North London in 2013 by comedians Sanderson Jones and Pippa Evans. The congregations meet twice every Sunday to sing, socialize and celebrate their stated values of "live better, help often, wonder more."

According to its official charter, Sunday Assembly is radically inclusive, not-for-profit and community-driven while remaining entirely deity- and doctrine-free. A typical service consists of a sing-a-long to pop songs (Pharrell Williams's Happy and Daft Punk's Get Lucky are congregation favourites) followed by a reading and a keynote speaker. Themes tend to be broad and uplifting, focusing on "wonder," "love" or "empathy."

From its start early last year, Sunday Assembly quickly developed a large following in North London. Today it has 28 active chapters around the world and over 125 other "areas of interest," according to its website. It has non-profit status in the U.S. and is about to get the same in the U.K. It's growing in Canada, too. The organization's website says there are "congregations" in seven Canadian cities, though some seem to have hosted just a one-off event in the past year. This Sunday, Toronto's Trinity St. Paul's Centre will host the city's first Sunday Assembly potluck lunch.

"I think there's just a basic human desire for communities to celebrate people's values," Jones told me in an interview. "Every society has had such gatherings and rituals since the dawn of time. People want to find meaning in life, and they want to be doing the right thing. We're just doing all the best bits without the religion and with awesome pop songs."

Sunday Assembly's success illustrates the longing for spiritual ritual among atheists and agnostics like myself, but does it risk verging on something cultish the larger it becomes?

Last year, one skeptical member of the London congregation, Robbie Harris, told the BBC news: "It will become an organized religion. It's inevitable. A belief system will set in. There will be a structure, an ethical outlook on life."

But Jones says this is simply not true. While he might resemble a Christian cult leader with his Jesus hipster beard and array of suits, he insists that Sunday Assembly has no broader motive than to be a celebration of life. "It's a shame that there's been a long and proud tradition of religious hucksterism, but that's not what we're doing here. We've just found a way of talking about life and asking those big questions that people enjoy."

He likens his group to community organizations such as Boy Scouts or Girl Guides and bridles slightly at the suggestion that he might be a charismatic leader, as some media outlets have implied. While he is employed as the movement's leader (Sunday Assembly survives on a donation basis), he says he's not interested in self-aggrandizement.

I can't help but wonder what's left of the church experience once you take out scripture and dogma. Is it a bit like a keeping the sprinkles but tossing the cupcake? The assemblies are entertaining, but do they inspire faith? And if so, faith in what? Sanderson's answers for this are fairly vague, but he does ask whether I think his movement would "be better if we had specific points on how to fix the world?"

And in a way, I think I do. As long as it doesn't involve believing in God, which I don't. Or, more to the point, can't.

As for the unchurchy church in my neighbourhood, when I tell Jones about it, he asks, "Isn't that the definition of hypocrisy – people saying words they don't actually mean just because they're supposed to?"

I guess it is, but I also like the idea of people taking what they want from religion and discarding the rest. If you have faith this Christmas, good for you. And if you don't, at least you can enjoy your local bake sale.

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