Maybe It'll Be ... Um ... Paul Dirac

I thought today how distressing it is that I have faith in nothing. I thought about how much fun it would be to share with everyone in their holidays, in their celebratory banquets and their ritual gatherings. United, everyone, with a single purpose and I single faith! There is an intense loneliness in being a non-believer. I don't want rich costumes and special effects; I want to believe that he parted the Red Sea. I don't want a bunch of psychological mumbo-jumbo and some well-researched thesis about ancient peoples morphing their cultures together, I want to believe in the cave and the rock and the ascension. I no longer want to be on Barnabas' side. I want to liturg.
I began to reflect on the things I do believe in, and they didn't seem like a lot of fun. Darwin? Soil science? Genetic determinism of cultivated plants? People don't have holidays for that kind of stuff. There are no songs nor holiday specials. And while many people may actually believe in those things, most don't care. People don't crawl for days on end to Mendel's birthplace. People don't go live in caves because nitrite reforms into nitrate. Requiems are not inspired by potassium cations.
I believe in a few more prosaic things. Equality of sexes and races. Opportunity for all. Aid to the underprivileged. Noble ideas, perhaps, but they do not inspire cathedrals. And while those things l are rare, perhaps non-existent, a continued belief in them does not put one on ar with, say, Job.
I want to be among the flock, but I just can't seem to manage it. There's got to be something out there. Not the Holy Trinity, perhaps, but something that will make me want to roll eggs across a lawn for reasons other than childhood nostalgia. Something that will make me gather with my brethren on a Sunday morn. Someone who will welcome me into Heaven.