Rowan Pelling: I'm going to church, so get over it

I fear I am not a child of the Enlightenment. When you are guided purely by reason and evidence-based science, you have to jettison so many innocent pleasures that brighten these dark days, such as a belief in pixies, yetis, werewolves, spontaneous combustion, alien abduction, the Tardis, David Icke, the Liberal Democrats and my perennial hope that a woman rider will win the Grand National. Oh, and God - He has to go too. And what are you left with? The NHS, bird flu, global warming, golf, Ken Livingstone, Richard Dawkins and the knowledge that you are but an infinitesimally small speck of dust in the infinite expanse of time and space that is the universe, soon to be obliterated for ever. And they wonder why mental illness is rapidly becoming the largest public health issue of our time in the Western world.

Is it really such a terrible thing to dream of angels, clouds and a tea party with your dead nan instead of all this dread nothingness? It seem to me a certain aptitude for credulity is much undervalued in a person, while excessive scepticism - far from serving some larger public benefit - is a horrid, trample-your-sandcastle quality. We would think it mean to tell a small child that their imaginary friend doesn't exist, and yet we think it's perfectly reasonable to debunk God in front of happily credulous adults.

I anticipate the sceptic's customary arguments at this point. Firstly that adults aren't kids, so grow up, why don't'cha? To which I'd respond you've clearly never seen a pub full of men crying because Arsenal lost at home. Try saying to that bunch of so-called adults, "It's only a game!" Then there's that old chestnut that religion is the root cause of all misery, hostility and hatred in the world, so we're better off without it. This is so tediously and palpably untrue that it's barely worth the breath expended on a response, but here we go anyway: oh yeah? So how come Soviet Russia and Nazi Germany, neither exactly faith-based regimes, were so world-beatingly brilliant at wholesale slaughter? Why does some nihilistic teenager walk into a school with a gun and blast away half his mates? It's man who causes evil, and anyone who thinks there would be no war, bigotry or terrorism if there were no God is a far bigger kid than I am.

This is a long-winded way of saying I will probably attend church today. I know this kind of practice is about as socially acceptable nowadays as serving Blue Nun at a dinner party. I realise many might say why bother with prayer when, like Noel Edmonds, you can just "ask the universe" (you jot down your heart's desire on a piece of paper and stick it under a fridge magnet). Call me old-fashioned, but I do think it's a good thing to channel your requests within some sort of moral framework so that you occasionally have to question whether you should really prioritise a great career move or a pair of Manolos over a desire for world peace.

And, dash it all, there is something as comforting as an old slipper about the Church of England. I went to a CoE primary school, a secondary school established for the daughters of missionaries (really), the village church and my mum sang along to Songs of Praise every Sunday. I grew up with the liturgy, the hymns and the beards. It would be overstating my position to say categorically that I'm a believer, but I'm certain that I don't not believe, if you see what I mean.

Luckily for me, the Church of England is ideally adapted to such equivocal statements of faith. When I attended confirmation classes at the age of 27, I told the priest that it wasn't as if I'd ever experienced any great revelatory moment of faith, "Oh, neither have I," he cheerfully replied. People attack the wooliness of the CoE, but the woolly-minded need their own sandy shore to plant their hesitant, muddled and yielding beliefs upon. The British can't easily shake off a deep-rooted sense that fervent declarations of faith are essentially unsound and impolite. We treat God with the same courtesy that we would show a globally-renowned celebrity, by not pointing, whispering and gesticulating to show that we think someone famous might be in the room.

I barely told anyone about my confirmation because I knew most of my acquaintance would feel embarrassed by the confidence. Some would undoubtedly believe I had undergone a happy-clappy, tambourine-shaking conversion and the invitations to strip clubs and gin joints would dry up. But nonetheless I thought as someone who wanted a church wedding it was hypocritical not to show a little commitment to the faith I was born into.

What puzzles me is how such a mild act of affirmation can draw such ire. Surely there's little controversy in believing there is a greater mystery and impulse towards goodness in this life than mere science can explain? Furthermore, I admire selfless industry of the godly - it's been some time since I met an atheist who works with lepers.

So why do some friends harangue me so? Why did my husband get hot under the collar when I first suggested a christening service for our son? Why are all these hardcore non- believers male? Well, just think about it - if your average man finds it hard to ask for road directions, he's hardly going to wave his hand in the air and admit to any need for spiritual guidance. That won't happen until he's well and truly lost, at which point he's vulnerable to any passing fanatic. Why else do so many troubled young men become radical converts to Islam or Christianity while in prison?

For most women the whole issue of faith is much simpler because the boundaries between the rational and irrational world are naturally blurred. Belief without proof is almost second nature to anyone who reads horoscopes. I find once you believe that your period's much heavier whenever there's a full moon, it's a miraculously short step to subscribing to a deity.

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