From an article entitled Serving in Iraq killed my faith in God:
I asked myself how could there be some guy in the sky watching over this mess? How was there a God who was fine with Luke being killed, fine with the dead, burnt bodies of Iraqis I drove past on my way to Basra? How was he fine with the people who waved crying at us hoping we’d throw some rations and water into their desperate lives?
I went to see the padre. Sitting with this devout Christian in the cradle of civilisation, I had the most honest conversation I had ever had about religion. I’d never had the courage to say these things out loud before, but the Padre made it easy. He listened to my angry words and I knew it was okay for me to not believe. For the rest of the tour I spoke to the lads about it constantly, and as Saddam’s empire came tumbling down so did any belief I had in God.
The only downside of his story hinges on the way it comes across at the start — that part of the reason he decided to drop his faith was because his buddy told him it’d suck to die a virgin on account of it. But, the end is pretty good:
Back from Iraq, I met my first girlfriend at the age of 26 and started living my life. It felt right. I didn’t believe in God and wasn’t scared of admitting it any more. I didn’t need a religion and was at my happiest and most content. It might be a hard thing to hear but my religion held me back for years and only when I had the courage to get rid of it did I really start living my life. My new-found honesty gave me freedom and strength. I had realised that I don’t do God.
Good for him, and good luck to him, I say.