Why would we take the time to build our own god and if it will not get us something? That’s the point, right? If we can’t score actual, material benefits, surely we deserve to get at least a cozy sense of well-being, or a hint of stress-relieving spiritual wonderment that is only surpassed by a visit to lululemon. At least we can hug our too-cute Build-A-Bear!
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Maybe today we don’t need a personal assistant; we need a cheerleader build-a-god, a compliant “yes man” to confirm our actions and whisper in our ears how great we really are. Tim Keller calls this god a “Stepford God,” a robot that won’t challenge or contradict or participate in our decisions, much less our lives.
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Perhaps we build a god because we assume we must, because we were raised in an oppressive church, and our consciences can’t bear the thought of the alternative. This god is the Build-A-Bear equivalent of a grizzly, occasionally in hibernation but always ready to pounce on us when we do wrong, ready to heap guilt and fear on us, to condemn us in our weakness, to bury us in a hole we dug for ourselves. Eventually most of us tire of this “grotesquely fraudulent” Frankenstein of our own creation, and we turn our backs not only on the monster, but on the urgency of our aching need for the real thing.
In the end, there are as many reasons to build-a-god as there are of us, and that is what we all ultimately create. Our build-a-gods are cookie-cutter versions of ourselves. Instead of being stuffed with soft, safe, high-grade polyester fiber, our gods are stuffed with fears, anxieties, aspirations and desires.