Faith Rescued: How Process Theology Saved my Faith in God

Process theology emphasizes God’s love over coercive power, offering a soulful vision that inspires genuine hope, even in tough times.

Excited to share that my essay is included in Renewing Faith: Reigniting Faith and Ministry through Process and Open & Relational Theologies! Such an inspiring collection from amazing thinkers and practitioners who are helping reimagine faith and ministry for our time.

To say that process theology has been a faith-saver for me is no exaggeration. It offers generous room to integrate what we know to be true about the world through science—especially the insights of new physics—alongside deeply personal human experience. Its relational view of reality, grounded in dynamic interconnection and unfolding events, has been a breath of fresh air in my theological journey. At its heart, process theology offers a thoughtful, coherent vision of divine love, genuine (though limited) freedom, and a world still very much in process.

One of the most significant gifts process theology has given me is a reclaiming of God’s good character. By privileging love over coercive power, it gently but firmly challenges inherited assumptions like divine omnipotence. It dares to suggest that God’s power is not found in unilateral, might-makes-right control but in persuasive love, collaborative creativity, and faithful presence. Allow me to illustrate with a couple of real-life stories how my journey with Process Theology has impacted my life for the better.

On April 28, 1999, I was in my office when the phone rang. No greeting, just a voice blurting, “Jason has been shot!” Jason, a student in our youth ministry and the son of, at the time, dear friends, had been killed in Canada’s first school shooting, just two weeks after the Columbine tragedy.

The event was horrific. In its wake, beyond the chaos and grief, stirred haunting spiritual questions: Why, God? Where were you? Why didn’t you stop this?

Well-meaning people tried to console us with platitudes: “God needed another angel,” “This was part of God’s plan,” or “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground…” But those words offered little comfort. I tried to remain faithful to the “orthodox” view of God’s omnipotence, often whispering a breath-prayer: “Though you slay me, yet will I trust you, Lord.” Still, especially late at night, the questions assailed me: Was this really your will, God? How does the murder of a 17-year-old bring you glory? How is any of this loving?

Years of unspoken questioning and unsatisfactory answers fueled with the culmination of other painful losses like that of our preborn baby daughter. And through it all, I found myself asking: If God truly is in control of everything, how am I to understand the violence, loss, pain, and…betrayal? Platitudes like “God has a plan” or “Everything happens for a reason” felt so hollow and even cruel.

The only theological framework I had inherited was one in which God was all-powerful and in control of all things. And yet, if that were true, then either God directly willed these tragedies, or God allowed them for some higher purpose. In either case, God was somehow complicit in the losses. I could no longer force the toothy, faith-filled smile or sing Blessed be the name of the Lord. It became hard to believe this god was good.

This version of God—omnipotent and all-controlling—began to feel more like a monster with a very skilled PR team. If God could stop genocide, war, rape, abuse, and cancer but chose not to, then God becomes complicit in the suffering of the world. Holding that kind of divine power while not intervening is not loving regardless of the theological gymnastics. For me, it certainly wasn’t Good News.

What kind of God is glorified by suffering? What kind of plan demands the death of children? I began to reject the framework that had formed my faith because I could no longer believe in a God whose character seemed complicit in such pain. I needed a different way.

That search for a different way of believing eventually led me to the work of Thomas Jay Oord, a process theologian who helped me see that the essence of God is not all-controlling power but self-giving love. Process thinking helped me untangle my jacked-up ideas of what love is. Further, through big ideas in open and relational theology I (re)discovered the God-who-is-love. God’s very nature is love and by nature, love does not control others. Everything God does flows from God’s character of love. Rather than omnipotent, he would come to describe God as amipotent - a term meaning the power of uncontrolling, self-giving, co-creative love.

This amipotent God partners with and in creation, not over it. God’s power is not the power to override but the power to inspire, to call, to lure creation toward beauty and wholeness. In a cosmos of law-like regularities, evolution, and genuine freedom, an amipotent God can’t single-handedly prevent evil and suffering—however, God never stops working for our healing and wellbeing.

In this view, we are not passive victims enslaved to a cosmic blueprint. We are co-creators, capable of participating in the divine nature, contributing to the flourishing of ourselves, others, and the planet. God does not control us, but lovingly partners with us, always seeking the most well-being possible—even in the tragic situations God never desired in the first place.

The amipotent vision of God fits well with what science tells us about the unfolding universe. From the Big Bang 13.8 billion years ago, to the emergence of life 3.5 billion years ago, to the rise of self-aware Homo sapiens just 190,000 years ago—the trajectory is toward complexity, more love, and wholeness.

Human history, too, tells a story of evolution—not only biological, but moral and cultural. Violence, poverty, and infant mortality have decreased over time. Justice, communication, and medicine have advanced. We are far from done, but the process is visible. We are still becoming—and God is still lovingly inspiring creation forward.

God is not orchestrating every molecule like a divine puppet-master. Rather, God is inviting, empowering, and inspiring the world forward through love. In this evolutionary story, God’s power is not coercive—it is creative and faithful.

My second story: in June of 2019, my wife Andrea felt an inner nudge to schedule a mammogram. It turned out to be the final appointment available that month. Within days, further tests confirmed an aggressive form of breast cancer. The news hit us like a ton of bricks—crushing, overwhelming, and life-altering.

Andrea underwent surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. Fortunately, the cancer had not spread. Today, over five years later, she remains cancer-free. But that season, too, tested our belief in who we believed God to be.

Thank God, we had both embraced process theology and the big idea of amipotence. As we faced the grueling uncertainty of cancer, we realized our view of God had changed. God was no longer our frenemy, orchestrating suffering for some higher glory. Instead, God was the One who grieved with us, stood with us, and tirelessly worked with, in, and around us.

We no longer found our hope in a God who might or might not intervene with coercive power. Our hope had shifted to the unwavering love of a God who always acts from love, never coercion. A God who cannot prevent every evil but never stops working to redeem, restore, and renew, even when it ends with loss and heart break and even…after death. We had learned to recognize the fingerprints of God all around us and through those who cared for the both of us during that season.

Looking back, I can see clearly: God was not the author of Jason’s death, our baby’s death, or Andrea’s cancer. But God was faithfully and relationally present in all of it—inspiring medical experts and technicians, comforting the grieving, empowering communities to respond in love with support. Laboring to squeeze as much good as possible from the suffering and evil God never wanted in the first place.

This process idea has been transformative for me. It reclaims the goodness of God by refusing to make evil and suffering part of God’s character and plan. It presents a God whose very nature is love and who is constantly inviting and empowering us to participate in co-creating a better world together.

This vision helped me to find meaning in suffering, not by explaining it away, but by showing how love can still rise and how hope can be formidable. Perhaps, for me, the most special gift is a God I can love. A God I can trust. A God whose power is not in domination but in eternal, creative, relational love.

The amipotent God of process and open and relational theology offers a robust foundation for hope. It aligns with science, makes sense of suffering, and most importantly, it affirms the character of God revealed in the person of Jesus—a God of radical, self-giving love.

Rather than offering pat answers, process theology invites us into deep participation. It reminds us that the world is unfinished and so are we. But God, who has been lovingly luring creation forward for billions of years, is still at work today. And we are invited to join in that work.

This is not just theology. It is lived experience. It is a rugged hope forged in the crucible of real life. And for me, it has saved my faith.

Sola Caritas,

𝞃Michael

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ORTcon’26: July 6-10, 2026.