I wish I was naive enough to pray. What comfort it must be to genuinely believe someone, something, is taking notes as you unleash your heart and mind, and to believe that he/she/it will get right on it. I’ve tried, I really have, but praying ends up feeling like I’m prattling out loud to myself, and no one hears or cares besides me. So I gave up praying for Lent.
Religion and the concept of a god is soothing, but I don’t want a lollilop and a pat on the head. My mom tells me “I’m praying for you”, and I nod hollowly, wondering how much time talking to the air is stealing from effective action.
The most fervent god-talkers I’ve ever known seemed to have a singular ulterior motive, and that was letting god take their load from them, to “give it all up” to god. Convenient that the only thing they had left to give up was their abhorrent deeds for which they had no intentions of assuming responsibility. Like death row inmates who suddenly find god.
It’s backward. The golden rule should be: take responsibility for what you do.