God For The Skeptic

I don’t want to be bound by anything. I want my boundaries limitless. I don’t want anything to stop me, hinder me, or throw a wrench in my affairs. And when God demands that he will be God and I must remain human, fallible, and perishable, I react as if someone is coming after me with a straitjacket — buckles waving in the air, sleeves ready to bind me, and a locked and padded cell awaiting me. I fear that being a Christian will imprison me. Like St. Augustine, I pray, “God grant me chastity, but not yet. Grant me religious fervor, but not if people will think I’m weird. Grant me a clean heart, but let me giggle at something smutty now and then. God, give me a future, but let it be on my own terms. And keep that damn straitjacket of religion far away.”