Recently I was invited to participate in a Religion and Law Conference at Florida State University. Almost all the other speakers and attendees were legal or religion scholars, from disciplines in which I’ve had no formal training.

My only “credential” to speak was as a former plaintiff in a South Carolina Supreme Court victory for atheists. In a conference session called “Legislating Conscience,” I described (to much amusement and agreement with my position) the legal roadblocks South Carolina had placed in my path in its failed attempt to maintain god belief as a requirement for public office. The conference, though, was not a “kumbaya” weekend because I disagreed with many speakers on issues they supported.

Almost all attendees were religious liberals, whose conference papers I’d roughly place in three categories: (1) objection to favoring mainstream religions over minority religions; (2) approval of selected government support for religion; (3) disputes over what legally constitutes a religion.

I agreed with all the cases presented in (1) and disagreed with all the cases presented in (2). My position was that government should never favor one religion over another or religion over non-religion.

The most interesting discussion for me was about (3), disputes over what legally constitutes religion, because I found all the attempts to define religion problematic. One speaker defined religion as “a sincerely held non-rational (i.e., faith based) belief concerning the nature of the universe.” Why, I asked, should our government privilege irrational beliefs over rational beliefs? Of course there are both theistic and nontheistic religions, the latter placing more emphasis on what adherents view as rational beliefs.

Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart famously said, “Pornography is hard to define, but I know it when I see it.” I think the same can be said of religion, and therein lies the problem. My favorite definition of religion is from a “Non Sequitur” cartoon. An old man sits behind a table on a street corner with a sign-up sheet. Next to the table is a big poster with a huge thermometer. An arrow at the top of the thermometer points to the phrase,  “Join and help us reach our goal!” The bottom is labeled “handful of wackos.” As people stop to sign, the temperature indicator moves up the thermometer alongside labels that say “cult,” “faction,” “sect,” and finally the goal of “mainstream religion.”

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As an Orthodox Jew growing up in Philadelphia, Passover was my favorite holiday because children were an integral part of the ceremony, and I got to sit at the Seder table with grownups. After the Seder leader hid the Afikomen (a piece of matzo) during the meal, the child who found it received a small prize. I always enjoyed sipping the ritual wine, while my mother voiced her concern that I would become an alcoholic. (I now think that Manischevitz wine would be an effective one-step program to prevent alcoholism.)

I especially looked forward to the Mah nishtanah…, the question asked by a child, which translates to “Why is this night different from all the other nights?” The scripted answers from the leader represent the substance of the Seder. Though I no longer believe the answers, the question reminds me of my favorite Passover joke:

“Because of his generous charitable contributions in England, Morris was to become the first Jew knighted by the queen. As part of the ceremony, Morris spent a great deal of time memorizing what he would have to say in Latin. But when the queen approached, Morris panicked and forgot the Latin passage. So he blurted out a familiar foreign phrase, ‘Mah nishtana halyla hazeh meecol halaylos?’ Surprised, the puzzled queen whispered to a member of her entourage, ‘Why is this knight different from all the other knights?’”

Before accepting Seder invitations, I always make clear to the host that I am an atheist. I believe the traditional Passover story to be both fictional and horrible. Here’s why: There is no historical or archaeological evidence that Moses existed, that Israelites were slaves in Egypt, or that they wandered in the desert for 40 years. And that’s the good news. I find the Passover story of the Exodus is horribly inhumane: An insecure and sadistic God hardened Pharaoh’s heart. Why? So God could respond by bringing 10 plagues to Egypt, which culminated in killing innocent first-born Egyptian sons (but passing over Jewish households). Now and forever, we Jews are to thank God every Passover for creating plagues to benefit his “chosen” people.

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Tradition is important to the Catholic Church, but even the Church sometimes changes procedures when it becomes beneficial to do so. With that in mind, I propose blending the current method of choosing a pope with the method adopted by another venerable tradition that has been mostly scandal free. I speak, of course, of the Miss America Pageant.

Since the pageant began in 1945, there have been 92 Miss Americas chosen, but only 4 popes elected. The first Miss America, Bess Myerson, was a Jew as was Peter, considered by the Church to be the first Pope. And, of course, Jesus was also a Jew. Another interesting similarity is that throngs of adoring fans follow Miss America for as long as she reigns, just as adoring Catholics do the pope. There are Miss America protesters just as there are pope protestors, but both have learned to handle protesters by disarming them with a smile and a hand wave.

So here is my proposed procedure for electing future popes.

To maintain tradition, we allow the cardinals — to be explicit, I mean the Catholic prelates, not the baseball team — to narrow the pope vote down to ten candidates. Then we bring in a panel of non-cardinal and non-clerical judges for the real business of choosing the next pope.

Since papal attire is just as important and elaborate as Miss America attire, the ten finalist cardinals will parade in front of the judges wearing their traditional outrageous costumes. We absolutely want our next pope to look stylish in his uniform.

Then the ten finalists will display a papal talent. For example, one might perform an exorcism on stage. Another might bring out a bottle of wine and turn it into blood.

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I have faith that the pope reads my On Faith blogs because he followed my advice in a column in 2010. “Popes sometimes choose the name of a previous pope whose reign they wish to emulate. Whether coincidental or not, Pope Benedict XVI can take the same action as a morally challenged namesake. In 1045, Pope Benedict IX resigned.”

However, since the pope has never taken any of my other advice, perhaps I shouldn’t rely on faith to justify a conclusion devoid of evidence.

How much faith do I have that the next pope will be significantly better than the current one? Not much, because Benedict appointed more than 57 percent of the cardinals who will choose his successor. Nevertheless, I remain optimistic, but only because the papal improvement bar is set so low.

Why should I even care who the next very fallible pope is? Thanks to the HBO documentary Mea Maxima Culpa, and other revelations, the world is finally paying attention to pedophilia within the church, and the next pope won’t have as much cover-up freedom as previous popes.

If Catholics choose to be counseled about marital or sexual difficulties by celibate priests, that’s their right. But I’m amazed by a church that opposes both abortion and condom use that reduces the number of abortions; that requires celibacy before marriage, yet opposes masturbation, which makes it easier to remain celibate; that requires married women to be fruitful and multiply regardless of circumstances, but prevents church leaders from being fruitful and multiplying; that encourages monogamous marriage to avoid promiscuity, yet opposes monogamous marriage for committed gays.

I especially worry about an increasingly politically engaged Church that tries to impose its religious prohibitions (contraception, gay marriage, stem cell research, etc.) on non-Catholics. If a pope can ignore the evidence and argue that condom use increases the risk of AIDS spreading, I can argue against a church that is helping to spread a virus that infects the rest of the world, not just its faithful sheep. I wish Catholics would ignore the pontiff when he pontificates theologically, and even more so when he pontificates politically.

Read remainder of article at the Washington Post's On Faith.