An experiment for the religiously inclined

In my puzzlement as to how religion can hold people so tenaciously, I've begun to design an experiment that religious people might be willing to perform for the purpose of self-discovery¹.
    The experiment could be quite simple.

Say, for one month, "fast" by giving up all of your current religious practices:

Don't pray.
    Don't "think about God."
    Don't go to church (or synagogue, mosque, temple, kingdom hall, or whatever).
    Don't read the Bible (or whatever your holy text is).
    See how it feels.

At the end of the month's fast, evaluate how it went:

Was it difficult?
    In what ways?
    Did you lack anything essential?
    What, precisely?
    What do you make of those findings?

I welcome suggestions for improving the experiment, and four days ago I asked a few religious friends for input:

Do you think such an experiment would even be possible, let alone easy? [If religion is an addiction, violent withdrawal symptoms might manifest during the first few days of the experiment².]
    How do you imagine that you yourself would feel during the month if you attempted it?
    How would you anticipate the post-experiment evaluation to go?

But they haven't replied³, even though I'd added:

I'd appreciate your insights, not to mention your profession of continuing to love me despite my being critical of religion. I love you even though you are religious.

I had told them that I realized I might be walking a perilous line, maybe even on a knife's edge, wanting to subject religion to some necessary criticism without alienating my religious friends.
    Is that possible?
_______________

1. I have in a sense been performing this experiment myself for over two years (since September 9, 2007), with eye-opening results: I've lost nothing essential by giving up religion entirely for that period. But, more important, without the burden of religion weighing on me, I've gained a marvelous sense of freedom and lightness.
2. As my post of September 9, 2007 makes clear, addiction played no part in my own religious experience. It isn't clear, though, whether my tendency to criticize religion might itself be a kind of addiction. I do incline to feel uneasy if more than a few days go by and I haven't said something unflattering about it. That would be a species of unfreedom.
3. But see a later post.

Progressing

On Sunday I added a couple of sentences to the "about me" section of my blog profile: "I think I'm making progress [in finding out who I am]. How about you [in finding out who you are]?"

Then I went out and did a bit of gardening. As you may recall, the garden is my own personal church. Out there I found myself spontaneously recognizing that I seem to have made some progress in "finding out who I am." I reflected that I had in recent days written a first-person report of a miracle and would shortly post another such report, this time of two angelic interventions. I reflected that I had just affirmed publicly on my blog my friendship with Tom Sheepandgoats (of the "Sheep and Goats" blog), with whom I suppose I have mostly seemed to be at odds ever since he visited my blog several months ago and we started to dispute about divine revelation. We are still not in agreement about that, anymore than I am with another friend whom Tom introduced me to, who wisely suggested that she and I "agree to disagree." I speak of Maliha (of the "Lightness of Being...forever in flight" blog: forever in flight from the mundane, the meaningless), who is also very skeptical of my skepticism. To her the things I'm skeptical of are "just obvious."

But I feel close to both of these people (whom, you understand, I've never met in person). I respect them, and I think, despite my being less tactful and generous than they are, that they respect me. Our hearts somehow—and large territories of our minds—seem to be in the same place.

Out in the garden, I was remembering that early in my correspondence with Tom, he bravely offered that I might be willing to sit down to dinner with him for friendly conversation. I am embarrassed to admit it, but—for the sake of honest self-disclosure—I do admit that I rudely rebuffed him. Tom, I apologize for that. The fact that you are still with me is eloquent testimony of your character. I hope that you might still feel inclined to that dinner. And Maliha, for her part, says, "I wouldn't be surprised if someday Tom, you, and I found ourselves sitting across a dinner table and chuckling over some of our correspondences. It would be a fine day indeed."

Chalk up to the civilizing influence of these two persons that I too now incline to that dinner conversation—as good evidence as I can offer that, in fact, I am making progress.