10 - A Holy Search

Frank was, at a glance, an entirely pragmatic an sensible man. He might have gone through a brief rebellious stage where he had smoked cigarettes and had a bright red Mohawk but that lasted all of two days. The smoking lasted a little longer until he realized the drawbacks of having yellow teeth and permanently bad breath.

Now he was a successful business owner, selling office supplies which of course was always in regular demand and he liked to spend his evenings watching reruns of old TV shows and occasionally going out for social drinks and local theatre shows.

At thirty-five however, Frank began to feel restless. He started having the distinct feeling that he had forgotten something that wasn’t as mundane as keys or his Gym membership card. It wasn’t a provincial desire for a wife either. He had just ended his last relationship with a pretty receptionist with an odd predilection for rapping when happy.

Passing by a giant sign proclaiming “Have you found Jesus yet?” he decided that was what he had forgotten. Not Jesus precisely because how could he loose something he never had, but religion. If most people in the world followed one God or another or more then perhaps so should he.

Once he made this decision it was easy enough to stroll down to the nearest cathedral. St Paul’s cathedral was a beautiful building in quiet corner of a busy section of the city. The stained glass windows and worn pews were inspiring. Less inspiring was their holy book. It started innocuously enough but the God described in this book seemed to be jealous, angry and fond of killing people or making others kill people. A little more research on google brought up crusades and witch hunts and really far too many instances of death in the name of a God.

The next logical step was Christianity, it’s sheer popularity if facebook was anything to go by had to mean something, but they used the same book and the youtube videos of Reverend Pat Robertson irritated Frank for the sheer stupidity portrayed.

Judaism seemed difficult, something about bloodlines and the fact that Frank happened to love bacon. He considered Islam but it was hard to get passed the pictures of the Burqa and stories of suicide bombers.

Hinduism was out because Frank was not good at math and there were too many gods to keep track of.

Luckily for him, a Jehovah’s witness knocked on his door with leaflets and a wide smile but he soon found out that Christmas was anathema to them. Life without Christmas sounded boring.

Mormonism sounded quite fascinating. Frank could easily give up alcohol and even coffee for the right god, but Joseph Smith had clearly just pulled that story of golden plates out of his arse.

Scientology seemed popular with celebrities so perhaps there was something to it, but again, its founder was a science fiction writer and alien spirits was just too silly to believe while e-meters sounded creepy.

Frank considered some form of paganism, perhaps Shinto or Wicca but how could he become a pagan and worship nature while smack dab in the middle of the most concrete city in the world?

He couldn’t be a Rastafarian because of his need for practical hairstyles despite the marijuana and for the same reason he was not keen on becoming a Sikh despite the snazzy turbans and of course he couldn’t give up bacon.

Finally Frank found his religious calling while perusing Reddit. It seemed obvious. The perfect religious expression. One that did not ignore the science Frank had grown up with, nor interfered with the way he lived his life. His Holy Noodleyness had shown him the way. Terrifyingly squiggly, squishy with a hint of garlic, the Flying Spaghetti Monster had touched him with his noodly appendages. The church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster demanded no tithes, nor demanded attendance. It gave him no reason to ignore or change his moral compass or feel any guilt or anxiety for natural urges. It was his perfect religion and he had found his god.