By
Joe
Chiarenzelli
“The
person who is certain, and who claims divine warrant for his
certainty, belongs now to the infancy of our species. It may be a
long farewell, but it has begun and, like all farewells, should not
be protracted.” Christopher Hitchens
I am
not a religious man. Sure, my family tried to raise me as a religious
individual, but I wore them down until they didn’t want to try
anymore. Mind you, I wasn’t actively trying to resist the religious
tradition they were trying to give me, I just seemed to be
incompatible with it. When they would bring me into the church they
would be forced to sit in the far back, so that my voice wouldn’t
echo off the front wall and no one would have to hear, “Wait, wait,
this guy lived inside a whale? How does that work? Wouldn’t he be
digested? I thought whales ate plankton?” However, all my close
friends were of a more religious bent. They were avid members of the
youth group and sometimes I would tag along. From what I could gather
through these small acts of reconnaissance, if you were under the age
of eighteen, an ancillary part of your personal relationship with god
was listening to a middle aged and overly sensitive bachelor play
impoverished chords on a guitar while singing along and working on
our various, macaroni, popsicle, or popcorn projects. But certainly
none of this led to any anger towards the church or anything like
that, just a sense that I would rather be home watching TV then
listening to the aforementioned guitar playing.




