Knock Knock… Who’s There? Oh Great, It’s the Apocalypse Sales Team.
So, there I was, quietly sipping my coffee and contemplating whether pants were really necessary today, when I heard a knock at the door. Thinking it might be Amazon delivering yet another questionable impulse purchase, I opened the door – only to find the local creationist chapter had rolled into town like a divine circus, and guess what? I’d won a front-row seat.
The cheerful visitor handed me a copy of the Bible and informed me with the certainty of someone who’s never Googled carbon dating that the Earth is just over 5,000 years old. And Genesis? Undeniably true. Why? Because God said so. Naturally.
Now, for some context – this is not my first rodeo. Years ago, I had a Mormon chap show up, and he introduced himself as “Elder Berry.” I naturally laughed. He didn’t. The seeds of mischief were sown that day.
Now listen, before you start waving pitchforks carved out of recycled hymnals – faith is fine, however mis-guided, you have the right in this free society to believe in what you want. Personally, I like facts instead of mysticism. Your faith is your business, and yours alone, but don’t come preaching your cloud-based patriarch’s bedtime stories to me while I’m still in my dressing gown trying to rescue a burnt piece of toast.
To lighten the mood (and because I’m a bit of a git before noon), I asked her the classic: “Did Adam have a belly button?”
She blinked like Windows 95 trying to open Photoshop. Then muttered, “I suppose so.”
I explained the umbilical cord scenario. You know – biology. Origins. The whole awkward “created vs born” paradox. She looked like she’d just been asked to recite pi to 100 digits.
Then I followed up with: “How exactly did billions of humans spring from just one man and one woman in a garden with a suspiciously talkative snake?”
I also happened to point out that the God of the Old Testament is a homicidal maniac and the biggest mass murderer of all time. With all respect, she took that quite well and explained that God works in mysterious ways. I tried using the argument that I work in mysterious ways at my last visit to the benefit’s office – it didn’t go down too well.
She said the Bible didn’t explain everything and I just needed “faith.”
Faith was indeed restored – when she buggered off, with me shouting “what about Dinosaurs?”. The T-Rex deserves better.
Let’s be clear: faith is fine (ish). Blind faith and organised religion that acts like a global corporate cult with better branding? Not so much. I struggle with the whole “sky-daddy watching everything you do, especially in the shower” concept. And let’s be honest, God used to look like Charlton Heston. Now he’s Morgan Freeman. At this rate, he’ll be Ryan Reynolds by 2030.
Here’s the thing: if 20 people believe in a magical being with superpowers and dietary restrictions, it’s called a cult. If 20 million believe it, it’s called a religion – and it gets massive tax breaks, political influence, and its own merch line.
Since that enlightening doorstep encounter, I’ve been on my own spiritual journey. After much soul-searching (and possibly alcohol), I have found salvation: I am now a proud Pastafarian, devoted to the mighty ‘Flying Spaghetti Monster’.
It was He who boiled forth creation. I have been blessed and touched by His noodly appendages, and I now walk the path of his bolognaise enlightenment.
For further holy guidance, please visit the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster website. Please, for the love of meatballs, keep an open mind (it’s not supposed to be taken seriously), and don’t take religion or faith so seriously that it fucks up your life.
Most importantly of all – keep those fucking evangelists off my doorstep before 10 a.m.
Amen to the Moose Almighty.
