I’VE never had an easy relationship with God.
I’ve had my doubts about the existence of God since I was 11 years old. On one hand I’ve been brought up as a Catholic and I’ve always tried to keep a vestige of faith alive, right down to getting married in a church, despite the fact that I’ve long held the opinion that the concept of God is little more than Santa Claus for grownups.
But I’ve been more than happy to keep my lack of faith away from members of my family.
After all, life is hard and the last thing people want to hear is someone bleating on about how religion, the one aspect of hope in their lives, is a waste of time.
But the sheer scale of the cover-up by the Catholic Church over child abuse has not only shattered any shred of respect I had left for the organisation, it’s had a much more devastating effect on me personally.
It’s more or less confirmed that I was right to be sceptical about the existence of a God.
After all if God exists and God is just, why would He allow child abusers, or at least people who turn a blind eye to abuse, to represent Him?
Any organisation that believes that the sexual abuse of children isn’t worth reporting to the authorities deserves nothing but contempt.
I hope that God exists, I really do, but the despicable acts and subsequent cover-up by members of the Catholic Church prove that, if He is out there, He isn’t looking out for us.