We live in a strange time. Remember a couple of years ago when the whole country was up in arms about federal wiretapping for the sake of national security? It seemed as if everyone had something to hide. What were we scared of, the government finding out Aunt Judy’s secret pancake recipe?
Now, only two years later, we are posting every little detail of our life on Facebook. I’ve got people on my “friend list” sharing pictures of their breakfasts. Someone is telling me (and the world) that their flight has been delayed for two hours due to the snowstorms in the mid-Atlantic region. Another thought we needed to know they are watching the latest episode of “Lost” on their DVR. I know what my friends are eating, when they will be vulnerable in the air, and what they watch on television after their work day. For a nation consumed with their right to privacy (which, incidentally, is one of those things that is not mentioned, even in passing, in the Constitution), we are sharing an awful lot of personal stuff with the world at large.
But the people who annoy me most on Facebook are the ones who solicit prayer, or otherwise plug their God to me. A good number (I’d estimate about 10%) of the status updates I see when I log in have something to do with religion. Someone asked me and the rest of their friend list to pray for the people of Haiti a few weeks ago. I don’t pray. I never have, and I don’t plan to start. It’s hard enough for me to quit cigarettes. I don’t need another habit.
When you bring God into a conversation, you can only count on about 5% of your audience to agree with you. The other 95% are either nonreligious or otherwise dissimilar to your personal belief system. There are so many flavors of religion that it is irresponsible to use it as leverage in any conversation.
I have no problem with religious people. I think without religion, a lot of people would be completely lost in this world. It has helped many people get off drugs, get out of gangs, and get their life back on track. I respect that. That said, I expect the same respect from them. Do not ever try to convert me to your belief system. I have lived 32 years as a generally good person without ever asking for help from God. I do not need religion. If you’re worried about my soul (whatever your definition of that may be), stop it. I’m taking care of it the best way I know how: by being a good person and trying not to step on too many toes. Shouldn’t the well-being of my soul be my responsibility? It’s mine. I own it. Like my car. Unless you are going to pay to fix my driver’s side power window, which keeps coming off the track and falling into the door, don’t refer me to your church as a repair shop for my soul.
Don’t get the wrong impression of me: I do believe in God. And I choose to express that belief in my own way. I don’t blame God for my weaknesses or failures. Nor do I thank God for my successes. I own them all. They make me who I am. I thank myself for them.
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