I, Arthur Henry Janik, hereby renounce my Catholicism.

Strip me of all my sacraments: Baptism, Reconciliation, Holy Eucharist, and don’t forget Confirmation. You can also take away my Confirmation name, Sebastian. I don’t want it. I’ll do just fine with Henry.

Worry not, I have not been lost to the ranks of Islam, Protestantism or one of those New Age religions where you meditate about morning dew.

It’s just that after 13 years of Catholic schooling (seven of which included attending morning Mass four to six days a week), I realize organized religion is just not my cup of wine. In fact, I think it’s responsible for some of the worst suffering in the history of the world.

I see Catholic missionaries in Rwanda taking sides in a machete blood bath. I see Muslim mothers chased from their kitchen tables at gunpoint in Bosnia. I see two massive concrete skyscrapers melting into the ground amidst fire, smoke and human body parts in New York City.

I see lots of people crying.

Religious zeal scares me. People who say they act according to their “God” but ignore their own ignorance scare me. I see millions of people prescribing to divine doctrines, out-dated practices and bogus beliefs invented to paint a pretty pink picture of an afterlife that compensates for a crummy earthly existence.

Sure, there are lots of good things that come from religion, including a sense of community, good works and comforting support, all of which, as the recent tragedy in the United States has shown, are needed now more than ever.

But then religion starts telling me I have to act such-and-such a way in order to attain “salvation.” Salvation from what? I didn’t know I needed saving until you told me I did.

I will not dedicate my life to preparing to die. I will go to extremes and make mistakes, I will booze and get hammered with my friends and, dare I say it, I will have sex with whomever I please.

In other words, I will be human. Imagine that.

I’m sorry, but I can no longer pray into the air at some make-believe bearded deity in the sky. I refuse to kneel before a stone-cold statue of a white woman named Mary and call her a virgin. And I refuse to put all my trust into a Bible written centuries ago by people who lived in tents and clay houses. Since when does American society resemble ancient Israel?

You keep telling me God is love. You know when I feel love? When my mother rubs my back and makes me a cup of Earl Grey when I’m depressed, when my father hugs me at the airport terminal, when my grandmother kisses me and the Brillo-pad whiskers on her upper lip scrape against my cheek – that’s love.

As for comfort and support, I get that from my sister during our daily phone conversations and from friends when we share a bagel and coffee at Einstein’s.

Religion is a work of fiction that humanity keeps rewriting. Is there a God? I’d like to think so.

But instead of developing a relationship with a force we will never understand, we should be developing positive relationships with each other, so that Sept. 11 will never happen again.