Why I am an Angry Atheist

Note to readers: I didn't write this, a blogger Greta Christna did. You can find the piece in its entirety here. It is quite a long piece, but I think it is worth your time to read the whole thing.

"I'm angry that almost half of Americans believe in creationism. And not a broad, "God had a hand in evolution" creationism, but a strict, young-earth, "God created man pretty much in his present form at one time within the last 10,000 years" creationism.

And on that topic: I'm angry that school boards all across this country are still -- 82 years after the Scopes trial -- having to spend time and money and resources on the fight to have evolution taught in the schools. School boards are not exactly loaded with time and money and resources, and any of the time/ money/ resources that they're spending fighting this stupid fight is time/ money/ resources that they're not spending, you know, teaching.

I'm angry that women are dying of AIDS in Africa and South America because the Catholic Church has convinced them that using condoms makes baby Jesus cry.

I'm angry that women are having septic abortions -- or are being forced to have unwanted children who they resent and mistreat -- because religious organizations have gotten laws passed making abortion illegal or inaccessible.

I'm angry about what happened to Galileo. Still. And I'm angry that it took the Catholic Church until 1992 to apologize for it.

I get angry when advice columnists tell their troubled letter-writers to talk to their priest or minister or rabbi... when there is absolutely no legal requirement that a religious leader have any sort of training in counseling or therapy.

And I get angry when religious leaders offer counseling and advice to troubled people -- sex advice, relationship advice, advice on depression and stress, etc. -- not based on any evidence about what actually does and does not work in people's brains and lives, but on the basis of what their religious doctrine tells them God wants for us.

I'm angry at preachers who tell women in their flock to submit to their husbands because it's the will of God, even when their husbands are beating them within an inch of their lives.
I'm angry that so many believers treat prayer as a sort of cosmic shopping list for God. I'm angry that believers pray to win sporting events, poker hands, beauty pageants, and more. As if they were the center of the universe, as if God gives a shit about who wins the NCAA Final Four -- and as if the other teams/ players/ contestants weren't praying just as hard.
I'm especially angry that so many believers treat prayer as a cosmic shopping list when it comes to health and illness. I'm angry that this belief leads to the revolting conclusion that God deliberately makes people sick so they’ll pray to him to get better. And I'm angry that they foist this belief on sick and dying children -- in essence teaching them that, if they don't get better, it's their fault. That they didn't pray hard enough, or they didn't pray right, or God just doesn't love them enough.

And I get angry when other believers insist that the cosmic shopping list isn't what religion and prayer are really about; that their own sophisticated theology is the true understanding of God. I get angry when believers insist that the shopping list is a straw man, an outmoded form of religion and prayer that nobody takes seriously, and it's absurd for atheists to criticize it.

I get angry when believers use terrible, grief-soaked tragedies as either opportunities to toot their own horns and talk about how wonderful their God and their religion are... or as opportunities to attack and demonize atheists and secularism.

I'm angry at the Sunday school teacher who told comic artist Craig Thompson that he couldn't draw in heaven. And I'm angry that she said it with the complete conviction of authority... when in fact she had no basis whatsoever for that assertion. How the hell did she know what Heaven was like? How could she possibly know that you could sing in heaven but not draw? And why the hell would you say something that squelching and dismissive to a talented child?

I'm angry that Mother Teresa took her personal suffering and despair at her lost faith in God, and turned it into an obsession that led her to treat suffering as a beautiful gift from Christ to humanity, a beautiful offering from humanity to God, and a necessary part of spiritual salvation. And I'm angry that this obsession apparently led her to offer grotesquely inadequate medical care and pain relief at her hospitals and hospices, in essence taking her personal crisis of faith out on millions of desperately poor and helpless people.
I'm angry that so many parents and religious leaders terrorize children -- who (a) have brains that are hard-wired to trust adults and believe what they're told, and (b) are very literal-minded -- with vivid, traumatizing stories of eternal burning and torture to ensure that they'll be too frightened to even question religion.

I'm angrier when religious leaders explicitly tell children – and adults, for that matter -- that the very questioning of religion and the existence of hell is a dreadful sin, one that will guarantee them that hell is where they'll end up.

I'm angry that children get taught by religion to hate and fear their bodies and their sexuality. And I'm especially angry that female children get taught by religion to hate and fear their femaleness, and that queer children get taught by religion to hate and fear their queerness.

I'm angry about the Muslim girl in the public school who was told -- by her public-school, taxpayer-paid teacher -- that the red stripes on Christmas candy canes represented Christ's blood, that she had to believe in and be saved by Jesus Christ or she'd be condemned to hell, and that if she didn't, there was no place for her in his classroom. And I'm angry that he told her not to come back to his class when she didn't convert.
I'm angry -- enraged -- at the priests who molest children and tell them it's God's will. I'm enraged at the Catholic Church that consciously, deliberately, repeatedly, for years, acted to protect priests who molested children, and consciously and deliberately acted to keep it a secret, placing the Church's reputation as a higher priority than, for fuck's sake, children not being molested. And I'm enraged that the Church is now trying to argue, in court, that protecting child-molesting priests from prosecution, and shuffling those priests from diocese to diocese so they can molest kids in a whole new community that doesn't yet suspect them, is a Constitutionally protected form of free religious expression.

I'm angry about 9/11.

And I'm angry that Jerry Falwell blamed 9/11 on pagans, abortionists, feminists, gays and lesbians, the ACLU, and the People For the American Way. I'm angry that the theology of a wrathful God exacting revenge against pagans and abortionists by sending radical Muslims to blow up a building full of secretaries and investment bankers... this was a theology held by a powerful, widely-respected religious leader with millions of followers."

My to-do lists are getting smaller!

With the wedding quickly approaching (only 54 days left!), I've been pretty busy with some of the smaller things that I know need to be done. I've realized that for the most part, all I can do at this point s wait for things to fall into place. All of our vendors are booked, things are being paid for, everything has been scheduled... This makes my to-do list pretty small. In the next couple of weeks, all I need to do is:

- Finalize ceremony readings with readers
- Finalize ceremony songs
- Begin working on programs, wording, etc.
- Finish up gifts for the bridal party
- Make escort card holders
- Continue collecting RSVPs
- Have all guys fitted by the end of the month
- Meet with DJ about special songs

Really, I thought the closer I got the more I would have to worry about. All I can do now is rely on my florist to get the flowers done, the caterer to make the food, the guests to send back RSVPs, our quartet to play the music, or DJ to play the right songs... And I hate that this is all things that are out of my control!

RSVP count

Well, our invitations have been out a little over a week and I've been doing some major mailbox stalking lately. I used to be the type of person that would check the mail once every other week, now I'm checking the mail every day. I know my constant eye wont make them come in any faster, but I can't seem to help myself!!

After being out for their first full week, we've already gotten in twelve responses! Ten of them have accepted and only two declined. Out of our original 165, I think 12 is a very respectable start. So let's keep those responses coming!

Place Cards!

I've been toying with the idea for months over a seating chart and I think I finally figured out what I want to do. Austin and I love wine. We drink it all the time and we used to have a huge bowl of wine corks that we just threw out. Why would we need to keep them anyways? What use could I have for old wine corks? I figured it out (only after I threw them out of course): I'm going to use wine corks as place card holders.

I found these online:

but I just couldn't bring myself to spend anywhere from $250-$500 for place cards, so I think I'm going to make them myself.

Since it wouldn't be possible (or something I would suggest trying) for Austin and I to drink 200 bottles of wine in the next two months, we're going to talk to his dad about getting his old wine corks. I guess its something that most wine-o's tend to do, hold on to their old corks, because he has a large jar of his wine corks. If he doesn't have enough for us, I found that you can buy old wine corks on eBay (100 for only $10) and we'll get what we need from them. When I actually start on this process, I'll be sure to let you all know how it goes, but I'm pretty excited to have this idea FINALLY nailed down!

If you're pregnant/trying to get pregnant you have been warned: You wont like this post.

Yeah, we get it - You're pregnant.

Big fucking deal.

Its not like you went to school for three years and had to take some excruciating multi-day certification. Its not like you saved a golden retriever puppy from getting run over by a bus load of Norwegian tourists. Its not like you cured macular degeneration. You spread your legs. Wow. Way to go. I am amazed you made it through sucha amen tally and physically demanding challenge that probably lasted all of 45 seconds.

And now I'm supposed to fawn all over you? I'm supposed to act like it's so incredibly difficult to get pregnant? And you're now this pristine chalice of life, something that deserves to be worshiped and adored? Really? This isn't something that EVERY animal in the animal kingdom can do? This is something special that ONLY YOU are able to handle?

Fell sick in the mornings? Do your feet hurt because they are swelling? Have to buy new clothes because you're twelve weeks along and have already put on nineteen pounds? Not my problem. Do your job like you're supposed to and shut the hell up.Stop telling me I shouldn't be willing to spend $200 on a pair of shoes just because you're pissed you can't even see your feet. Stop judging me because I'm a size zero and choose to accentuate that fact with nice, new clothes just because you can't even fit your arm into my sweater.

Oh, by the way, quit using your pregnancy as an excuse to stuff your gullet each and every chance you get. When you proudly stand up at the staff meeting and announce that "The baby wants" an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Su[er Fudge Chunk, a liter of Dr. Pepper and some curly fries TELL THE BABY TO SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Now what exactly do I have to look forward to for the next two or three years? A constant stream of verbal diarrhea such us "little Bobby went to the toilet and pooped all by himself. But he forgot to wipe and then sat on the floor to pull his pants up! Oh, it was so precious, but there was poop everywhere!" or "I'm sorry I'm 40 minutes late. You see, I have a four year old in potty training and we had a little accident" or "I don't feel comfortable doing the speed limit, my baby is only two months old - You can just go around." FUCK YOU.

Two years after that and I'm stuck behind you in line at the concession stand. And guess what? You feel it's important to empower your child. It doesn't matter that there are nine people behind you, you want little Bobby to make is own choice when it comes to artificially flavored processed movie snacks.By god, your little Bobby is special. There is only one little Bobby and he is different from every other person on this earth. He is special and he will be raised knowing he is special. And now, little Bobby has been standing there with his little index finger in his little mouth staring at all of the choices for the last FULL minute. But you aren't the type of parent to acknowledge the fact that people are waiting on little Bobby to make up his little mind. You don't say something like "Hurry up and choose something or I will choose for you" or even better "Other people are waiting, make up your mind." No, not you. Instead you turn to the sea of humanity that has formed a marginally cohesive line behind you and look at them with an 'I'm sure you all understand' look. FUCK YOU.

You are the same people that can't just put their cell phone conversation on hold for 20 seconds while you order your venti no-whip-half-caff almond latte and spinach croissant. Instead you make eye contact with the waiter and raise that index finger. You are the same people that let your child scream in a nice restaurant instead of taking them outside because little Bobby just needs to get it out of his system. You are the people that don't care that I took the time out of my schedule, I am using my money, for a nice relaxing night out. You are the people that talk about kids and how they are such a miracle and how you can't understand how anyone wouldn't want to have children. You are the people that feel sorry for these people that choose not to procreate.

Yes, feel sorry for me. I am obviously too emotionally fractured because I don't share in the same fervent desire to add my particular goo to this world's collective semen cesspool...