Some people think I hate Christians. My occasional comments on Tim Tebow probably have something to do with that perception, although you have to aggressively project a hater stereotype on me to make that work. Which a lot of Christians are happy to do, make no mistake.

I won’t lie, though. I’m very much not a Christian myself and I’ve read my Dawkins and my Harris. I’m a persistent fan of evidence, and I’m not idiot enough to think that we know all there is to know. In particular I’m intrigued by the study of energy and the question of whether perhaps it coheres once we die. But this is a question of science, not blind religion. I feel no particular need to believe in a “higher power” or in the existence of a spirit realm. I’m certainly spiritual, but since spiritualism as expressed by humanist awareness is more than I’ll ever unravel, I have no need for superstition.

Let’s also understand my long, deep relationship with Christianity. I grew up Southern Baptist. Some of the finest human beings I ever met are Christians. This number would include my grandmother, who raised me from the time I was three as though I were her own son and who was, without question, the single most important person in my entire life. There may be people reading this who knew her, and they can attest to the fact that she was a saint navigating a harsh world on crutches with never a bad word for anyone, no matter how much they deserved one. Also in that number you’d find one of my sisters and her family, several of my closest friends and half the guys in my wedding party.

So no, I don’t hate Christians.

I do, however, have a tremendous distaste for Christianity as an institution, which has done unspeakable damage to every culture it has touched throughout the centuries. This argument, though, isn’t really about Christianity per se – what I’m reacting against is a natural function of any creed that attains a certain level of political power. I have lots of neo-pagan friends and have been known to describe myself in those terms, but I know without question that had this set of religions gained the status and influence that Christianity enjoys they would be every bit as corrupt and anti-human. The Holy Druidic Empire? Be afraid.

Since I live in Denver, home to our nation’s most rabid cult of the moment, Tebowism, I’ve had ample opportunity lately to reflect on what, exactly, bothers me so much about our currently fashionable epidemic of “faith.” I’m obviously concerned about the fact that 85% of Americans can vote whatever the hell they want into law, especially when the Supreme Court itself becomes co-opted. But at an even more elemental level, I think what gets to me is the arrogance and the hypocrisy.

First, the arrogance of evangelism. If you don’t believe what I do you’re going to burn in an actual lake of fire for eternity. I even got this pitch a couple of times back when I was a Christian because apparently I wasn’t Christian enough. (You could tell because I was a member of the highly suspicious fringe liberal Southern Baptist denomination.) I was taught that Catholics were going to hell because their kind of baptism didn’t count. Imagine, then, what awaits those of us who don’t even pretend.

You can’t argue the point, of course. If you do, that just proves that you’re doomed.

The most annoying form of arrogance on display in the US today? PDPs: public displays of piety.

Sideline Reporter: “Steve, that was a remarkable diving catch in the end zone to win the game. How did you beat the coverage?”

Wide Receiver: “Janice, I’d like to thank my lord and personal savior, Jesus Christ.”

Ummm, okay. But he’s just expressing his faith, right? And that’s in the Constitution, you say? Fine, let’s test that theory:

Sideline Reporter: “Steve, that was a remarkable diving catch in the end zone to win the game. How did you beat the coverage?”

Wide Receiver: “Janice, I’d like to thank the dark lord of this world, Lucifer.”

Still good?

And did you see this last weekend?

No, this isn’t bowing. It’s Tebowing. I kid you not. And it’s bigger than the Cabbage Patch, Disco and the Loco-Motion put together. I quote no less a source than NFL.com – it’s a sensation.

Because in this, our most ostentatiously pious of eras, your religion doesn’t count unless a lot of people are watching. When a guy scores a touchdown and points to heaven, we don’t look at heaven, do we?

I can’t help thinking about the fact that the best Christian I ever knew in my life, my aforementioned grandmother, Helen Marshall Smith, never once engaged in untoward PDP. She was a fervent believer but I don’t even recall us even having a blessing when we went out to dinner with Christian friends. Unforgivable, huh?

Then there’s the hypocrisy. This isn’t new, of course, nor is it unique to members of any particular religion. But the bigger a show you make of your piety, the more appalling it is when you fail your own standards. This past week gave us an incredible example of what I’m talking about, and if you watch Survivor, you already know where I’m going.

The Upolu tribe (“Upolu” is the Samoan word for “praise Jesus because the cameras are rolling”) features a couple of the worst jackasses in the game’s history, Coach (Ben Wade) and Brandon Hantz, the clueless fuckwit nephew of the show’s most notorious villain, Russell Hantz. Coach made a name for himself on Survivor: Tocantins as one of the game’s greatest wack jobs, but his “dragon slayer” act wasn’t the best part. The best part was the way in which he played an exceptionally deceptive game and then developed total amnesia, insisting that he had played honorably, that he had never lied, etc., despite all the actual footage.

Russell Hantz was pure unadulterated evil on a scale that would make Satan nervous, but Brandon quickly established himself as being less about ubiquitous malevolence and more about basic psychological instability (and a disturbing degree of misogyny born of some deep-seated demons I don’t even want to guess about).

However, these men are bound together by … wait for it … an unwavering and extremely public faith in God that has grown with each episode. This past week’s show might as well have been a praise rally, as the tribe was gathered for on-your-knees, hand-holding chest-thumping prayer at least three times (and this doesn’t count Coach’s Tai Chi/I’m Not Worthy Father workout routine, which was played with a performative subtlety worthy of a Commedia dell’Arte).

The moral of this story isn’t the annoying PDP, though. It gets better. What they were praying for was that the tribe could find the hidden immunity idol. Which is sacrilegious to start with – you think The Lord Most High gives a fuck about Survivor? Please. He’s got enough on his hands trying to save the Denver Broncos from Tim Tebow’s inability to read a safety blitz.

Hang on – even that isn’t the good part. No, the real payoff is that Coach already has the idol. He’s had it for days and has been keeping it a secret from Brandon because, well, because Brandon’s crazier than a sack of bats on nitrous. Two other members of the tribe know, as well, so there they are, on their knees on national television, using God as a red herring. Which proves there’s no god pretty conclusively, I’d think. If there were, He’d have “voted the whole tribe off the island” on the spot, if you catch my meaning.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a worse display of hypocrisy on television in my life, and I’ve lived through Jimmy Swaggart and the Bakkers.

Mercifully, Coach and Tim Tebow aren’t like most Christians. If they were, you couldn’t go to drive-through at McDonald’s without enduring a testimonial. “Can I get a Big Mac and a Coke?” “Yes sir, and I’d like to dedicate this order to my lord and personal savior, Jesus Christ.” Or the bank. “Hi, I’d like to deposit this check.” “Welcome to Bank of America, ma’am. Have you accepted Jesus into your heart?” I don’t even want to contemplate trying to get a lap dance down at the Diamond Cabaret.

No, most Christians are capable of getting through the day without clubbing somebody to death with their copy of the New Living Translation. I also imagine that they see all the Tebowing and are made a little uncomfortable. Some of them, anyway. And the pompous charades of asses like Coach (who, I assure you, will have no memory whatsoever of the events of this past Wednesday’s episode if he’s called on it) must be absolutely infuriating because of the light in which it casts other Christians.

In the end, public displays of piety, especially when performed in front of large audiences, aren’t about Him, they’re about You. And the more you perform, the less I believe you.

I hope that America’s more sensible Christians will, at some point, pull their self-aggrandizing brethren aside and have a quiet word with them.