I hope my Catholic friends will forgive me, but if the last few weeks are any indication, bashing Scientology is the last acceptable prejudice. Thanks to the immodest and unlikely courtship of Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise, everybody's mocking it.

Because most Scientologists in the public imagination are either rich or connected to Hollywood, making fun of them doesn't carry the same social risks as mocking believers genuflecting before the face of the Virgin Mary in a stain of condensation along a freeway underpass in Chicago.

In fact, hell will freeze over before an anchorman in middle America laughs out loud while reporting a story about the latest grilled cheese sandwich in the shape of the Mother of God to go on sale on eBay. Either there aren't enough Protestants in the media or blasphemy isn't as funny as it ought to be.

Scientology has problems with the media because it is the only religion on the planet willing to drag a reporter's heathen ass into court. The Church of Scientology hasn't gotten as far as it has by being a congregation filled with forgiving types. They're a bunch of litigious souls and proud of it. Suing Time magazine for an unflattering cover story is their version of the Crusades. Less blood, more pain.

Ever since Tom Cruise scuffed up Oprah's couch proclaiming his undying love for the 26-year-old virgin from "Dawson's Creek" -- after what, one date? -- the long knives have been out for him. How does a guy who's shorter than you get to unceremoniously dump Nicole Kidman and Penelope Cruz in one lifetime? Why does Tom Cruise gets so many bites at the apple?

Since it's impossible to make fun of Cruise's looks or worldly success, his religion and his manhood are the easiest things about him to mock. Since guys simply don't talk about women they're involved with the way Cruise bleats over Holmes, he's immediately suspected of perpetrating a fraud.

Cruise's earnest proselytizing of late has also made him a bigger target than usual. Because Scientologists don't consider psychiatry or drugs an enlightened path to wholeness, Cruise came out swinging against actress Brooke Shields when she confessed in her new book to feelings of suicidal despair brought on by postpartum depression.

Demonstrating an uncharacteristically tin ear for the suffering of a fellow celebrity, Cruise publicly criticized the star of "The Blue Lagoon" for using antidepressants, sparking a row he immediately regretted.

"Tom Cruise's comments are irresponsible and dangerous," Shields said, responding to his suggestion that her career was on the rocks because of her use of drugs. "Tom should stick to saving the world from aliens and let women who are experiencing postpartum depression decide what treatment options are best for them."

You could hear the wheels of ill-regard turning all over America. Even Tom Cruise couldn't get away with criticizing a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve to describe a problem millions of women could identify with. Instead of promoting "War of the Worlds," Cruise got into a verbal feud with a woman who never had the kind of crush on him that Katie Holmes did.

Dogmatic statements are always unintentionally comic, whether uttered by movie stars or presidents. While the public indeed let Mel Gibson get away with foisting his bloody vision of Christ's last hours down its throat, at least it had roots in a millennium of mysticism and sectarian violence.

Scientology began as a tax shelter and literary conceit for L. Ron Hubbard, a science fiction writer at the peak of his popularity in the 1950s. It hardly seems fair that something that hasn't been around as long as the Hula Hoop would even be considered a religion. So when word spread this week that Katie Holmes had formally converted from Catholicism to Scientology, the "Free Katie" T-shirts began selling like hot cakes.

How, folks wondered, could a sweet girl like Holmes give up 2,000 years of mystery and ritual to embrace the religion of a guy who, in the scathing words of Brooke Shields, accepted an alien as his Lord and Savior?

All of this is especially remarkable given that the two haven't known each other two months. Though both declare their love with the sincerity of actors trying out for roles in "Tartuffe," neither can describe their first date.

It's all very hilarious and more than a little strange. If what Holmes and Cruise have isn't "real," then both will be mocked forever, and deservedly so.

As you can see, I'm struggling with a bias against Scientology, though I deeply admire many Scientologists. Though I have only one friend who's a card-carrying member, she's one of the sweetest people I know. Because of her, I feel I have to give Scientology the benefit of the doubt. But that's doubt with a capital "D."