The Problem With Religion

         "You're not going to like what you hear." I tried to dissuade her from beginning this conversation. I don't allow people to get close to me, and she wanted to know my deepest thoughts about religion.
         "James, I know you. I'm prepared for that." She was stubborn, like a mule, like me. I had already let her get close to me, so she knew that I would tell her.
         I looked around the coffee shop where we always met and rubbed my hand over the day-old growth on my jaw, thinking about our relationship. I was the black sheep, she the sheepdog, trying to herd me back to where I should be. After a moment, I heaved an acquiescent sigh. "Fine. What do you want to know?"
         "Are you a Christian?"
{indent"Yes. I grew up in a Christian home. My dad is a pastor. I got saved when I was 11 - no big special story." My mind remembered that time of my life, and I began describing it, talking to myself as much as i was talking to her. "I had an amazing relationship with God. I would talk to Him like I would talk to a friend for hours. I would tell Him how my day went, ask Him how His day was - He was so real to me." I rarely thought about those conversations, but thinking about it now reminded me of how much I missed it. It actually hurt.
         "So what happened?"
         "God ruined my life. I love football, and I was good at it. But then He injured me so I can't play anymore. What kind of a God does that?"
         She kept her face carefully veiled at my blatantly questions, slight bitter tone. "So where are you now? I know you and God aren't in that amazing relationship anymore."
         I sighed and thought about how to put my position into words. It was like extracting water from a rock - impossible.
         "I can't really define it. I can explain it better through a story - a conversation that I had."
         She nodded her consent.
         "After my surgery, I used to walk around my city at night. The quiet let me think, and the loneliness allowed me to remove my mask of energy, happiness, and security. I avoided people, because, let's face it: humans are the greatest corruption this world has seen. I usually walked through the bad parts of town. My parents didn't care - I was 22. What were they going to say? No? Nobody would bother me - I'm 6 feet tall, obviously athletic; my dark hair and dark eyes make me look foreboding. And I know the way people's minds work, so I know what to do to make them feel uncomfortable about me."
         "James, you have blue eyes; they're not dark - well, unless you're upset. Then they're gray."
         "Yeah, if I wasn't upset, I didn't need to walk." She nodded her understanding before I continued. "Well, one night, I was practically the only person outside because it was so cold. It was beautiful. I could almost forget that humans existed. But right before I turned around to go home, I saw a drunk guy stumbling to a bench in front of me. He was mumbling, and when I got closer, I could hear him. He was muttering about killing someone, but he didn't know he was doing it, so he shouldn't be held responsible, and he was trying to make it up to the guy, but it was so hard, and the guy makes no sense - stuff like that. I figured out that he was talking about God. I agreed with him partly: pleasing God is difficult - He asks for too much, and He doesn't make sense.
         "So I sat down and started talking to the guy. Yes, I know that he was intoxicated and whatever, but I thought it would be fun. I sat down and half-argued, half-stimulated the conversation. I told him that I agreed with him, but wouldn't it be bad to stop trying to please God - I mean, He has a lot of power. Personally, I had already stopped trying, but I didn't think that he was there yet. e had to think about it, but he agreed with me; and he started talking about how God has done terrible things like killing thousands of people while saying that killing is wrong. He started talking about the discrepancies that the Bible has. I think it was then that I identified with him the most. I stopped egging him on; I started being serious.
         "I said that we couldn't just stop believing because wouldn't that mean that we had never believed - and of course, that would send us to hell. And he just looked at me. He told me that he was a pastor, and he was going to quit and find an easier job that actually made sense. He said that he didn't want to destroy my faith - that everyone needs a crutch, but he had just replaced his, and he raised his bottle of alcohol.
         "I got up and headed home after that. He probably went home, woke up the next morning with an immense headache and a remorse that few men have ever felt, begged for forgiveness, hid his secret, and rededicated his life to explaining away the discrepancies of which he complained. I would hate to live his life. It would be a dull, vain lie. But for me, I think my position only solidified. My parents taught me to think analytically - to test everything. I learned that lesson well, and now I've been testing the faith they're taught me for about five years."
         "And breaking their hearts, I'm sure."
         I had almost forgotten that I was talking to her, but that statement, though said without vindictiveness, hurt. My parents are two of the very few people I care about. I refused to show any reaction to her statement and continued.
         "There are lots of discrepancies, and i have lots of questions. I've talked to lots of people - great men of God - but they all do the same thing: they argue the points with me. But you can't argue me back to blind belief. I can always argue against them, and I've studied all that stuff. No one has ever told me that I just need to have faith. The whole religion is built on faith, but no one ever tells you to just believe. It's like they believe with a grain of salt, and why would I want to join in with people who have a fake belief? And it is a fake belief; you can't partially believe."
         She digested everything that I'd said, opening and closing her mouth a few times. "Are you happy?"
         "No." I answered quickly, surprising both of us, then I amended. "I mean, I'm happy, but not really happy, not lastingly happy."
         "But you know how to be happy." She was making sure that I knew what to do.
         "Yes, but I don't have a good enough reason to surrender my life to God."
         "Do you miss that amazing relationship that you had with God?"
         "I can't begin to describe how much I miss it."
         "So you miss it, unbelievably so, and you're not happy; but you wont do what it takes to get it back and make yourself happy." She had this annoying habit of summarizing things to make me think about the whole situation. It always made me look and feel stubborn and stupid.
         "I can't do what it takes. I don't have a strong enough motivation."
         She exposed my willfully misguided thinking. "Yes you do." Her expression told me that I was indulging either my stubbornness or my stupidity and that i needed to stop. "If you'd sit and think about that amazing relationship and not being happy for even a half hour, you'd be praying and surrendering so quickly. But you just won't sit still long enough for that, because you don't want to. You're scared to death of surrendering and losing control of your life and having the faith that you complain others don't have. But that's your choice. Your hands are not tied."
         She had a point. We both knew it. She had said it to catch my attention, and she had, but I knew that she said it because she loved me and was praying for me. But I wasn't ready to think about it. I sat for a moment, then changed the subject. And she let me.