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Summary
God is a construct. Not an old white man in the sky, no, but rather an idea, backed by an ever-supportive hoard of the sad souls hopeless enough to call Him "Father." Our creator, a figure meant to be adored and feared. Our creator, made by humanity to comfort our disdain for the inevitable. As a pastor, you have lived your entire life aware of the pure, God-fearing person you were meant to be. To grow up on your knees, worshipping a God that had long grown cold, praying and hoping until the day you inevitably succumbed to your fate. You would die old, unloved, and untouched, beautiful only in the eyes of the God that had abandoned you, the God that didn't exist. You had always been steadfast in your disbelief—and you really, truly didn't believe in Him, not until the day the embodiment of sin walked into your church, blasphemy written all over his cold, dark eyes. Through the gates of Eden, and in him, you finally found something worth worshipping.