Ladies and gentlemen, this morning, in just a few minutes, God is going to die.

God is going to die and die horribly.

And in the wake of God's violent, humiliating end, you will have some deciding to do.

At God's funeral, you will have decisions to make.

We as a species have done a lot of talking about the death of God.

We thought about it.

We sang about it.

We wrote books about it.

In his book, The Gay Science, Nietzsche imagined a madman who barrels screaming into a crowded

market and he's carrying a lantern and broad daylight.

And he's screaming at everyone, where is God?

And people laugh at him, they answer him with sarcasm until the madman explains that his

question had been rhetorical.

I mean to tell you, the madman screams, we have killed God.

You and I, we are all his murderers, but how have we done it?

How were we able to drink up the sea?

Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the whole horizon?

Do we not hear the noise of the grave diggers who are burying God?

Do we not smell the divine putrification?

For even God's putrify, God is dead.

God remains dead and we have killed him.

How shall we console ourselves the most murderous of all murderers?

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