I used to, OP. But not because I made a cognizant choice to do so, as the concept was presented to me as fact.
Believing in Jesus was never the problem. And while I have made a hard left (or right) from traditional Christianity, I’ve always thought Jesus himself, the man, was a cool cat.
He was a lot like me, and probably a lot like you. He profoundly disliked hypocrisy and disliked it because it was then, as it is now, so deeply rooted into the foundation of His Holy Temple, or what is better know as the body of Christ, which I believe is the body of anyone who is living a life that is either religious or not religious, however, is a life lived as Christ suggested.
We all know our history, here, as most of us are older on this site, so I need not expound upon the history of worshiping deities, or an object, or a place, or a person, or a thing. The mythos surrounding the origins of linguistics when applied to transcendental experiences through communion with anything that is detached from t he self, (hence detached from expectation, or fear), is a beautifully crafted language used to make an attempt to:
A) Understand what we have yet to have an ability to perceive,
B) To know the unknowable
C) To eventually, organically conclude, or find, that this revered holy communion in which we seek everlasting refuge and harbor, is what we have always, already had, and it is here, where we presently stand, at this very moment, perpetually, until it is not.
D) The sheer joy that is evoked within us, as we accept our life and our mortality as a covenant with our precious life, is when we are overcome with the spirit. The spirit of love for the precious lives of others, and that is the gift, OP. It is the story which we attempt to tell eachother over and over again, throughout the ages, despite any airs of sophistication, or worldliness.
Sometimes we tell eachother our stories via art, sculpture, song, or by building the Taj Majal so that those who are to come thousands of years later, can learn of the love one man felt for his beloved, or how the passion of the Christ was quickly dampened by those who have never experienced the ecstasy of walking their talk, or simply put, living a life that is free of the hypocrisy that almost every modern church trades in as a expedient currency of what is offered as a cure for the soul’s waning resilience, perceived by us as loneliness, yet is anything but.
We just all want to connect with our beginnings, and our ends. If we cannot accept that we aren’t to know our beginnings, and cannot accept our certain ends, then we stumble, lose our step, and out of our forward lunging hands, tumbles the gift. We quickly get up to see if anyone saw us fall- wishing someone, anyone, did.
The gift is what we surmise about our communion with eachother and then in turn, give to ourselves. It’s an empty box, and we are to fill it, if we wish, with the Christ passion, not the hypocrisy of man.