Raise a beer to any fictitious god …

Religion and beer have long and intertwined histories. While early religions espoused the worship of an array sun, storm, vegetation gods, their shamans were probably manufacturing an early form of beer, when not sacrificing goats, or the odd virgin to appease these potential deities. Indeed the Pharaohs were believed to have paid workers on grand royal monuments with rations of beer.

Therefore it is interesting to examine the fates of both in current times. So let us examine the downfall of religion in the West and the intriguing fate of beer. The last census in this country indicates that fewer people are identifying as holding any religious beliefs. Now beer information is fairly anecdotal, but if we take the large international beer companies such as Heineken, Grolsch, Fosters etc., we can assume that the intake of their product has reduced as micro-breweries flourish.

That sadly recalcitrant country the USA, however seems to be unable to divest themselves of religion or masses of automatic weapons so we can assume that corporate beer is probably still strong.
Trump probably sips a little lager with unemployed steel workers.

Now let us conflate big religion with big breweries, The Catholics, Protestants, Born agains etc. are the religious equivalents of those aforementioned massive beer conglomerates … million of worshippers and billions of bottles of beer.

Either can be viewed as large factories in the production of faith or beer for those with the misfortune to blindly continue in one or other belief system. Religion holds the truth say the believers who truly have no interest in looking at their creed logically. Just as the big business beer drinkers believes their brew to be the best.

Let’s look at the process of disengagement from either of these corporations …

Think of the Grolsch factory, glossy bottles hurtling down a conveyor belt where a great capping noise takes place and a Jesuit sounding voice gently, intones, if we possess your mind for six months, we will own you for ever. The occasional drinker finds this disturbing and attempts to roll off conveyor belt beer as the product lacks inspiration and real beer must surely be out there making truth and life better.

Similarly in the Catholic Sunday conveyor belt, the odd practitioners senses that it is as foolish to believe in a white haired old fellow reclining amongst clouds as it is to believe in the tooth fairy. Sensing an unlikely scenario for this strange old cloud dweller to send a human son, this churchgoer gathers her children, makes a hasty retreat, abandoning the Catholic factory conveyor belt.

In an immediate aftermath, she flirts with micro-breweries attempting to find true beer; she dallies with other religions. She weathers the stormy path towards atheism and advances into agnosticism. She intercepts the micro brewery and finds this a pleasant alternative but senses that this is not real beer. But ultimately both people abandon not only the conveyor belt but the agnostic uncertainty or micro-breweries and other religions after realizing that beer-like religion cannot be giant or small corporation peddling a product that has outlived its usefulness.

Hop plants are given to both reformed people. They dig, water and nourish the plant and come Spring, like a rocket, hops emerges from the ground. Magically twirling around the bamboo polls always in the same direction, it circles skyward and by summer produces its magic flowers. Harvested in Autumn, the beer-making proceeds. This is a quick process needing only hops boiled in water, yeast, sugar and malt, and beer bubbles away for a week or two in the fermenting process.

True beer helps both these thoughtful citizens on the path of self-fulfilment and knowledge!

Home brewers are a kindly bunch and will provide hops. It is all so easy. And when ready, raise your glass of this fine home-made cold drink on a Sunday afternoon. Perhaps select from the long list of fictitious and imaginary gods, cover all spectrums, tooth fairies, the old gods in clouds and mists, then raise your glass perhaps to a lively fun god, say Bacchus and you have arrived in nirvana, paradise or heaven. Cheers!

*Josephine Zananiri lives in the Independent electorate of Indi in Germantown Vic and currently works in the manual labour arena tending native and exotic trees, so has plenty of time to think. Followed everywhere by her two dogs Percy and Fino who generally agree on all subjects, only occasionally deserting the conversation in the chase for samba deer! Slight differences in logic can therefore be attributed to the two woofers leaving their critical post!