My long-standing theism and the process of divesting it over the past two decades is curious to me. My compelling existentialist non-theistic Christianity is powerfully and paradoxically tempered with a mystical evolutionary sense of God in nature and a deeply personal internal relationship/dialogue/devotion to Jesus, as well as a deep embedded experience of God as Tree Woman who saved my soul from being murdered in the most interior part of my psyche. Sorting my way through this journey is complex, rich, confusing, intimidating, vulnerable, and tiring.

The beginning of the journey went like this: In my twenties, my best friend had a son with autism. He was school age at the time and they were visiting my house. She and I realized the house had gone strangely quiet, and we went to look for Keith. He was in my bedroom, permanent marker in hand, writing on a beautiful queen-sized quilt my grandmother had stitched for me. In shock, my friend grabbed the marker and scolded him loudly, staring hopelessly at the black gash marks on the fabric. I was in a bit of shock, but realized that he didn’t know what he was doing (“Father, forgive them…”), and I shushed her as we led Keith from the room. I told Keith it was okay, it was just a quilt, and asked him not to write on it again, which he willingly agreed to do. But, in that interaction, a revolution took place in my mind. In the middle of the upset, and my own graciousness, I realized that I was a better “parent” than the God I had worshiped my whole life. I saw that I held to a higher moral standard. I was not about to punish Keith for offending me; I did not hold him to the same standard as everybody else. I had no desire for him to feel guilty or ashamed; and I felt the desire to comfort him when he realized what he had done. And, in that moment, God died for me.

“He” resurrected again, shortly thereafter, in a modified form, but one slightly less legalistic and more customized to my own perceptions. I came to believe that God was not intimidated by my doubts, and indeed, had given me an intellect perfectly suited to questioning the status quo. I learned that doubt was the tool of my growth and enlightenment, leading me ever forward through revelation and despair, as I left the shores of old concepts and gently tested new waters. And this process repeated itself for two decades, as I watched God, then Goddess, die over and over in response to openings of my mind and heart, each one revealing how small and shallow my previous concepts had been. It was excruciating; I can’t say the agony I have felt time and again as the being I loved and served simply dissolved in front of my eyes. But the first time was definitely the worst. I felt like a traitor as I entered the banishment and wilderness of not knowing who God was.

The last funeral for my personal God came about four years ago, sitting at a coffee shop with my friend, Deborah. I was talking about my observation that God cannot or will not alleviate suffering; I felt desperate, because in my situation, the pain of my five-year old nephew’s congenital heart disease and the tenuous prospects for his precious little life consumed me. In the course of the conversation, I gave up my last hope that God would somehow reach “in” and fix this situation, or that of any other creature suffering in our world. I sobbed to Deborah, “How many times does God have to die?” as my heart was once again ripped from between my ribs. She, being a solid atheist, did not quite seem to understand the depth of my loss.

My precious evangelical and fundamentalist friends would likely say that I’ve been reading the wrong books, listening to bad influences, walking a dark path. I do not see it that way, and, honestly, most of the upheaval has come from within, from the deep place where Mystery resides and reason cannot dictate, not from outside influences. And, ironically, I trust God to guide me. The process is not without fallout, however, because each shift of world view, or God-view, requires adjustment in my own beliefs and practices. If God is not personal, how then shall I pray? If God is not a “he?” how shall I deal with the sexism of the Bible and liturgy? If sacrifice is not required, what, then, is the meaning of the cross or of Eucharist? If hell does not exist, does heaven? All stepping stones of this great journey I’m on.

I have since learned a Buddhist saying: “If you see the Buddha on the road, kill the Buddha.” Any form of Buddha we recognize as true or right must ultimately be challenged. God must die, because the form that we recognize is already not God. Yes, indeed it feels violent, and the violence is within. But, it is the violence of a new world forming, a new place for truth and grace to flourish. This death and rebirth cycle is the great secret of the universe and I get to participate in it through this liberating process where God has to die so that I can live.