Though I eventually I earned a degree in physics at a major university, I never questioned my faith, yet I didn’t remain active in the church. I would return home from college and attend church with my family, however, reveling in the complements of all the congregates who had watched me grow into a “handsome and intelligent man.” Of course, no one knew — not even myself — that I had developed a bad and expensive addiction to pornography.

Having grown up in an alcoholic family I had become exceptionally good at keeping secrets. It wasn’t until after my second year of marriage that I finally came clean to myself and my wife that I had a serious problem. So began my journey in a 12-step program with the first step: admit to my higher power that I am powerless over my addiction, and that my life had become unmanageable. Committed to overcoming my addiction, and earning back the trust and respect of my wife, I became devoted to doing the program. I wanted to get the most out of every step. I knew my life had become unmanageable, but what was my higher power?

I tried Christianity again, and was spiritually charged by attending a few charismatic services at an AME church; but something wasn’t right. I felt extremely narcissistic asking the creator of the universe to help me; I was also disgusted by thought of evangelism and the lack of respect Christians have for other cultures. Through travels around the world, and earning further scientific degrees, I had also developed a significant amount of respect for the diversity of ideas, and the importance of proper, rational thinking. Over several months of deep thought and conversation with other members of my 12-step program, I was utterly unconvinced by any “evidence” of a creator, let alone the lamb of the Bible. One man in my group — a catholic Cowboy — told me with his eyes just hidden by the brim of his hat that Science has proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that God exists with high probability. He loaned me some books, after which I developed a severe allergy to anyone who has the hubris to use probability theory when they do not know its basic axioms.

I find it extremely ironic that it was at the lowest point in my life that I rejected any and every notion of a sky god, as well as the empty “hope” for an everlasting life free of dysfunction. Since beginning my program and becoming an active atheist in my community, I have acquired nearly two years of sobriety, and have been rewarded professionally and academically beyond my wildest expectations. I have completely regained hope in my future, my confidence and self-esteem are at the highest they have ever been, and I have regained the trust of my wife and found our strength together has increased exponentially. And all of this I swear I have done without signing a pact with Mephistopheles.

In short, I have become the human being I have always strived to become, and am more confident now that I can be the father that I have always wanted to be. The dysfunction stops with me. Oh, and my higher power? The relationship between my wife and I, which I know exists with probability one.

Though I eventually I earned a degree in physics at a major university, I never questioned my faith, yet I didn't remain active in the church. I would return home from college and attend church with my family, however, reveling in the complements of all the congregates who had watched me grow into a "handsome and intelligent man." Of course, no one knew — not even myself — that I had developed a bad and expensive addiction to pornography.

Having grown up in an alcoholic family I had become exceptionally good at keeping secrets. It wasn't until after my second year of marriage that I finally came clean to myself and my wife that I had a serious problem. So began my journey in a 12-step program with the first step: admit to my higher power that I am powerless over my addiction, and that my life had become unmanageable. Committed to overcoming my addiction, and earning back the trust and respect of my wife, I became devoted to doing the program. I wanted to get the most out of every step. I knew my life had become unmanageable, but what was my higher power?

I tried Christianity again, and was spiritually charged by attending a few charismatic services at an AME church; but something wasn't right. I felt extremely narcissistic asking the creator of the universe to help me; I was also disgusted by thought of evangelism and the lack of respect Christians have for other cultures. Through travels around the world, and earning further scientific degrees, I had also developed a significant amount of respect for the diversity of ideas, and the importance of proper, rational thinking. Over several months of deep thought and conversation with other members of my 12-step program, I was utterly unconvinced by any "evidence" of a creator, let alone the lamb of the Bible. One man in my group — a catholic Cowboy — told me with his eyes just hidden by the brim of his hat that Science has proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that God exists with high probability. He loaned me some books, after which I developed a severe allergy to anyone who has the hubris to use probability theory when they do not know its basic axioms.

I find it extremely ironic that it was at the lowest point in my life that I rejected any and every notion of a sky god, as well as the empty "hope" for an everlasting life free of dysfunction. Since beginning my program and becoming an active atheist in my community, I have acquired nearly two years of sobriety, and have been rewarded professionally and academically beyond my wildest expectations. I have completely regained hope in my future, my confidence and self-esteem are at the highest they have ever been, and I have regained the trust of my wife and found our strength together has increased exponentially. And all of this I swear I have done without signing a pact with Mephistopheles.

In short, I have become the human being I have always strived to become, and am more confident now that I can be the father that I have always wanted to be. The dysfunction stops with me. Oh, and my higher power? The relationship between my wife and I, which I know exists with probability one.

So, I was born into a Roman Catholic family 37.5 years ago. I was sent to Catholic grade school and high school (I actually got a pretty good H.S. education and was introduced to the scientific method and evolution there). I lived a sheltered life, forced to go to mass every Sunday and to do the altar boy thing for a while too. I never really got anything out of mass…ever. After I went to college, I never went to mass except when I was home and my parents made me.

The first memory I have that something wasn’t quite right was when I was about 8 or 9. I asked my mother if god had parents. My mother was friends with many priests at the school I attended and she told me to go ask the priest who taught the upper level religion classes at the high school. He told me that god did not have parents, but that he had always existed. I pressed him for details. If he wasn’t born, then how did he get there? Answer: he was just there. Rather unsatisfying, don’t you think?

By the age of 13 or 14, I remember thinking that the whole resurrection thing (and all the miracles) just didn’t seem like anything I could believe in. I never thought of calling it quits or anything, I just went through the motions to keep my parents off my back and didn’t really concern myself with thinking about religion. I continued along this path for many years, always thinking in the back of my mind that all of this religion stuff was useless and a waste of time.

I finished college, worked a few years, got married, and went to vet school. When I moved to my current home, my wife started going to church. I was having some problems with my temper due to stress and anxiety about my new job and my wife convinced me to try going to church with her. I tried really hard to get something out of mass (Episcopal), but remained bored with it and generally unimpressed with the whole scene. We joined a young adults group and went to some classes/discussion groups/etc. I found that everything they talked about (e.g. the power of prayer, the resurrection, etc) was absolute bunk. I kept looking for some kind of proof for the claims people made, but only got arguments from personal experience and arguments from authority (you know, the usual garbage). So, I stopped going.

It was during this time that I first read Carl Sagan’s wonderful book, “The Demon-Haunted World” and discovered a term for what I had been experiencing all those years without knowing it: skepticism. Suddenly, it was OK to doubt all these things I had been indoctrinated with–it was natural to do so and it was right to do so. I began reading voraciously about science, evolution, cosmology, philosophy, etc. My mind was opened like it had never been before. The more I read, the more I drifted away from my religious burden.

At this time, I was working with a woman who was very smart and science-minded, yet, oddly, 100% convinced of god’s existence and the truth of the Jesus story. We began talking about it frequently. I argued against god’s existence often. One day she asked me if I was an atheist. At first, I said no. I never thought of that as an option. Me? An atheist? No, I’m just playing devil’s advocate.

Then, I listened to “The God Delusion”, read Dennett and Harris, explored the myriad internet sites related to atheism, and started thinking. At some point about a 1.5 years ago, I accepted the fact that I am a non-believer and a non-christian and slowly introduced my wife to this new position. She’s coping with it and is (maybe) beginning to think about some of my points and (just maybe) beginning down a similar path.

So that’s it. I think deep down, I’ve been an atheist most of my life, but only recently understood it was an position I could take and still be a moral, loving, and caring human being.

So, I was born into a Roman Catholic family 37.5 years ago. I was sent to Catholic grade school and high school (I actually got a pretty good H.S. education and was introduced to the scientific method and evolution there). I lived a sheltered life, forced to go to mass every Sunday and to do the altar boy thing for a while too. I never really got anything out of mass…ever. After I went to college, I never went to mass except when I was home and my parents made me.

The first memory I have that something wasn't quite right was when I was about 8 or 9. I asked my mother if god had parents. My mother was friends with many priests at the school I attended and she told me to go ask the priest who taught the upper level religion classes at the high school. He told me that god did not have parents, but that he had always existed. I pressed him for details. If he wasn't born, then how did he get there? Answer: he was just there. Rather unsatisfying, don't you think?

By the age of 13 or 14, I remember thinking that the whole resurrection thing (and all the miracles) just didn't seem like anything I could believe in. I never thought of calling it quits or anything, I just went through the motions to keep my parents off my back and didn't really concern myself with thinking about religion. I continued along this path for many years, always thinking in the back of my mind that all of this religion stuff was useless and a waste of time.

I finished college, worked a few years, got married, and went to vet school. When I moved to my current home, my wife started going to church. I was having some problems with my temper due to stress and anxiety about my new job and my wife convinced me to try going to church with her. I tried really hard to get something out of mass (Episcopal), but remained bored with it and generally unimpressed with the whole scene. We joined a young adults group and went to some classes/discussion groups/etc. I found that everything they talked about (e.g. the power of prayer, the resurrection, etc) was absolute bunk. I kept looking for some kind of proof for the claims people made, but only got arguments from personal experience and arguments from authority (you know, the usual garbage). So, I stopped going.

It was during this time that I first read Carl Sagan's wonderful book, "The Demon-Haunted World" and discovered a term for what I had been experiencing all those years without knowing it: skepticism. Suddenly, it was OK to doubt all these things I had been indoctrinated with–it was natural to do so and it was right to do so. I began reading voraciously about science, evolution, cosmology, philosophy, etc. My mind was opened like it had never been before. The more I read, the more I drifted away from my religious burden.

At this time, I was working with a woman who was very smart and science-minded, yet, oddly, 100% convinced of god's existence and the truth of the Jesus story. We began talking about it frequently. I argued against god's existence often. One day she asked me if I was an atheist. At first, I said no. I never thought of that as an option. Me? An atheist? No, I'm just playing devil's advocate.

Then, I listened to "The God Delusion", read Dennett and Harris, explored the myriad internet sites related to atheism, and started thinking. At some point about a 1.5 years ago, I accepted the fact that I am a non-believer and a non-christian and slowly introduced my wife to this new position. She's coping with it and is (maybe) beginning to think about some of my points and (just maybe) beginning down a similar path.

So that's it. I think deep down, I've been an atheist most of my life, but only recently understood it was an position I could take and still be a moral, loving, and caring human being.

These thoughts were an incessant torment. It was a never ending storm of the soul, but these storms didn’t prevent me from performing my duties as an Alter boy. I spent a lot of time in church and saw more than my fair share of masses. During these endless and tedious celebrations I exercised my doubts in an oppressively heavy-handed and fantastically ornate environment.

One Sunday, I got called in to serve a special funeral ceremony for a dead Monsignor. This mass would have all of the bells and whistles of a Roman Catholic high mass. Extra candles, incense, big gold covered books…..the works.

Before the doors opened, all of the local priests had the corpse in its coffin in the church for a special ceremony. They were praying over it and anointing it with oils. The plan for the service was to wheel the coffin out after the priests were done with it, let everyone in for the mass, get them seated, and then wheel the Monsignor back in for his big entrance as the guest of honor.

In the time between the priests finishing up with him and the pall bearers wheeling him out, I needed to light the special candles that they set up lining the aisle to the alter. The priests had left the church, it was dark and empty, and I was standing alone next to the corpse with a lit candle in my hand.

Now at this moment, I am struggling with my faith, no less the disposition of my eternal soul. This day is no different than any other in this regard; I am having an epic struggle in my head over my faith, a constant battle that still rages to this day in one form or another. This day, I was ready for a fight.

“Show me a sign!” I shouted in my head, for the 30th time that day.

I was ready to have it out with Him. God was such a personal being after a decade of training, that I had had it, I was calling him out. I had largely given up on faith by this time but getting over the fear was the hardest part for me. Fear was the primary impediment to my freedom.

Now while the armies of logic raged in my head and the waves of doubt crashed on the shores, there was still the pressing matter of an open coffin with a dead priest in it. Being 12 years old, and new to dead Monsignors, I bent in to check out what all the fuss was about and to see what the priests were up to. As I leaned in, I silently shouted again to the Lord, “Show me Something, Anything!”

Wouldn’t you know it that sucker twitched.

I’m not sure if he was settling after being moved by the priests, or if it was gas, or whatever, but that son of a bitch twitched.

Now a lot of kids in a dark, empty church with a twitching dead priest, would probably freak out a bit.

I was no different, but it was more than just panic and terror. I was mad!

“Fuck you!” I yelled out loud to an empty church.

I scowled at the 30 foot tall Risen Christ over the alter of the church.

With my heart pounding in my ears, “Fuck you!” I said, “That’s it?”

With the echo of my blasphemy still rattling through the church, I asked the Lord, “Is that the best you can do? Scaring the shit out of a boy! Fucking parlor tricks? I’m struggling with my eternal soul and you’re fucking around?”

I was pissed off. I realized in an instant that if this cruel and spiteful God did exist, he was worthy of nothing but scorn. From that day forward, I never feared for my soul. I knew that all God was good for was scaring children.

So that was my moment, It’s not easy to throw off the shackles of Catholicism. This was my banner day in making the first solid steps. I’ve never looked back and I’ve never been happier.

Gregg J. Rieker
aunrd@rcn.com

These thoughts were an incessant torment. It was a never ending storm of the soul, but these storms didn’t prevent me from performing my duties as an Alter boy. I spent a lot of time in church and saw more than my fair share of masses. During these endless and tedious celebrations I exercised my doubts in an oppressively heavy-handed and fantastically ornate environment.

One Sunday, I got called in to serve a special funeral ceremony for a dead Monsignor. This mass would have all of the bells and whistles of a Roman Catholic high mass. Extra candles, incense, big gold covered books…..the works.

Before the doors opened, all of the local priests had the corpse in its coffin in the church for a special ceremony. They were praying over it and anointing it with oils. The plan for the service was to wheel the coffin out after the priests were done with it, let everyone in for the mass, get them seated, and then wheel the Monsignor back in for his big entrance as the guest of honor.

In the time between the priests finishing up with him and the pall bearers wheeling him out, I needed to light the special candles that they set up lining the aisle to the alter. The priests had left the church, it was dark and empty, and I was standing alone next to the corpse with a lit candle in my hand.

Now at this moment, I am struggling with my faith, no less the disposition of my eternal soul. This day is no different than any other in this regard; I am having an epic struggle in my head over my faith, a constant battle that still rages to this day in one form or another. This day, I was ready for a fight.

“Show me a sign!” I shouted in my head, for the 30th time that day.

I was ready to have it out with Him. God was such a personal being after a decade of training, that I had had it, I was calling him out. I had largely given up on faith by this time but getting over the fear was the hardest part for me. Fear was the primary impediment to my freedom.

Now while the armies of logic raged in my head and the waves of doubt crashed on the shores, there was still the pressing matter of an open coffin with a dead priest in it. Being 12 years old, and new to dead Monsignors, I bent in to check out what all the fuss was about and to see what the priests were up to. As I leaned in, I silently shouted again to the Lord, “Show me Something, Anything!”

Wouldn’t you know it that sucker twitched.

I’m not sure if he was settling after being moved by the priests, or if it was gas, or whatever, but that son of a bitch twitched.

Now a lot of kids in a dark, empty church with a twitching dead priest, would probably freak out a bit.

I was no different, but it was more than just panic and terror. I was mad!

“Fuck you!” I yelled out loud to an empty church.

I scowled at the 30 foot tall Risen Christ over the alter of the church.

With my heart pounding in my ears, “Fuck you!” I said, “That’s it?”

With the echo of my blasphemy still rattling through the church, I asked the Lord, “Is that the best you can do? Scaring the shit out of a boy! Fucking parlor tricks? I’m struggling with my eternal soul and you’re fucking around?”

I was pissed off. I realized in an instant that if this cruel and spiteful God did exist, he was worthy of nothing but scorn. From that day forward, I never feared for my soul. I knew that all God was good for was scaring children.

So that was my moment, It’s not easy to throw off the shackles of Catholicism. This was my banner day in making the first solid steps. I’ve never looked back and I’ve never been happier.

Gregg J. Rieker
aunrd@rcn.com