The rumors are true. I am a Christian. I go to church. There, I said it.
Let me begin this confession by apologizing to my fans, all six of them, whom I've deceived into believing I was a regular pagan who dances naked around bonfires deep in the forest, like a normal person. I do not generally do naked bonfire dancing unless pressured to do so by my colleagues in higher education.
To my godless friends: I know you're worried about me. What if I'm secretly a theocrat who believes Jesus will come back on a space pony and slay everyone who doesn't believe what I believe? Some do believe in the magical pony and some believe it will be a benevolent unicorn while others believe this image serves as a metaphor for an event that has already occurred and that the thing to be destroyed is already destroyed. The point is not to get fixated on the pony, which is like hating the music of Led Zeppelin due to the bulge in Robert Plant's trousers. Try not to look directly at it.
I know a respected atheist scholar who believes electromagnetic energy can cleanse her breastmilk of impurities, but I don't tell her I think she's nuts, because Jesus says I have to feel compassion for crazy people. She probably thinks I'm insane because I believe the Christmas story actually happened in space and time. I've known many young mothers who are virgins, which we call “Baptists.” But I'm not here to preach the Virgin Birth or cite studies showing how weekly church attendance reduces gingivitis. I'm here to confess.
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