Faith among the desolations
Of all the Christian kitsch, none is quite so classless as "Nietzsche is dead. – God." Besides the theological silliness of turning Jehova into a sporting god we cheer for and claiming some goal scored in a mortal's death, this is the sound of laughter bronzed in crassness. For Nietzsche's proclamation was one of mourning, an unquenchable sorrow in the requiem for God.
How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the whole horizon? What did we do when we loosened the earth from its sun? Whither does it now move? Whither do we move?
Consider the crisis, which is written this way: What do you say standing before the absence of God?