If nothing is incompatible with the purported truth of a statement, then the statement does not assert anything. If there is nothing an assertion denies, then there is nothing that it asserts either. If there is nothing to prove that god loves us, then there is no proof that he doesn’t hate us.
Religion to me is a tradition. Its my childhood. Its the Friday night and the Saturday afternoon. Its the Shabaat dinner and the Shabaat lunch. It’s the glass of wine and the loaf of Bread. It burns bright like the candle near the window sill and lingers like each drip of wax. It’s the smell of a clean house on a Friday morning, the smell of food to come at night. Its the smiles of my family and invites outside family and strangers over. It brings us together when there is no reason to. Its the voice of my father and the nod of my mother. Its a 7th family member that is always close, even if i try to push it away. Religion was my innocence, the singing kid at age 13. Religion is the face of nations, of my nation. It keeps hope alive when your neighbors want to dispose of you. It creates tension and war. It sends boys to fight and separates families. It defines people almost as an identity. Separation, an impenetrable Wall of China. It can create hate with radical ideas between strangers that may have been brothers. It allows one to pursue victory, and forces the other to succumb to loss. It can divide love, hinder great relationships. An idea for some can be strong enough. An idea that could keep me from the girl I love. An idea that could leave me alone. I see religion as the language I speak, the words I read, and the ones I think. We may all try to say the same things, but our meaning is lost through our differences. We all don’t think the same, live the same, look the same, or speak the same, but I know that we all dream the same. This is how I view religion.