Whenever we move house, the most obvious thing that strikes almost everyone is the amount of "stuff" we have accumulated since our last move. For any variety of reasons, ranging from sheer sentiment to "it might come in useful some day," it piles up, filling every closet, storage room and drawer, leaving very little room for what we do use. It seems difficult to face the fact that we are unlikely to ever use any of this stuff again.

At least when we move house there's always the garbage dump, landfill or recycling station to rescue us, and the sense of lightness and freedom we have as we drive out of the dump having deposited a huge load of garbage must surely rank up there somewhere on the level of the most profound experiences of conversion and salvation.

The story is actually not much different in our search for a Greater God! In the first part of this article last month I pointed out how the various images of God we collect on our life's journey accumulate in our minds and memories. Our earliest images of God are understandably linked to the way in which we related to our parents in childhood. If fear, and worse, guilt about that fear, figured in those relationships, then the way in which we relate to God in religions is very likely to hinge on fear and guilt and its assuaging as the central religious imperative for us.

The feeling that a religious Sunday service based on fear and guilt and its remission gives is very akin to the sense of lightness and relief when we drive away from the garbage dump. In many ways the sets of images of God that we have collected are uncomfortably close to the major task that confronts us as we move house. But in this case we have been conditioned to believe that to jettison some of these images is perilous, and perhaps gravely wrong. There's no obvious equivalent in the spiritual realm of a convenient dump where the once treasured possessions of spirit and mind can be dumped definitely and decisively. The clearing up of the labyrinths of the mind is a slow, painful process, which usually hinges on dumping it all on Christ Jesus.

The collection of images that form how we think of God range from seeing God as a some sort of parental hangover, or a nagging voice of conscience that prods us very reluctantly onto the uncomfortable path of virtue. Yet, if we believe that the character of Christ Jesus is an accurate portrayal in time and space of the character of a God who lives utterly outside both, then we really need to pick our steps carefully. Most of what we hold dear in religion comes only remotely from dogmas and official teachings. The main vehicles of traditional religious thought that catch the imagination are rituals, customs, the associations of music, the wonderful atmosphere of Christmas, the cribs, the angels, the gifts and the signing of hymns. These agencies, far more than any doctrine, have always shaped the views of the average man and woman about religion.

But if the character of Jesus is supposed to depict the character of an eternal God incarnate, then as J.D. Phillips pointed out long ago, we can only regret in the deepest terms the inadequacies of the English language in which there are so few words that rhyme with "child." If there were more words we might have been spared that awful couplet that was drummed into so many millions down the centuries in their childhood to rest in those backroom closets of the mind:

"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look on me a little child."

"Meek and Mild" - what a travesty to apply those terms to an individual of such power of personal character that he could walk through a bloodthirsty mob intent on stoning him for blasphemy? Or who did not hesitate to level the ultimate insults at both King Herod and the entrenched religious leaders of the day. Death would have been a small punishment for his calling Herod "a fox." And calling the Pharisees "a brood of vipers," was not easy for first-century serpent-hating Jews to swallow. Meek and mild? Those are not the characteristics that caused his name to live for twenty centuries in the hearts of all those who cherish the divine within.

And if Jesus was supposed to reveal a God who is outside time and space, while within the time and space of a human incarnation, do we not then reduce God to a meek and mild state of embarrassing sweet tenderness, which completely undermines Jesus' central assertion that God is Love? For what Jesus meant by God's Love is as far from sentiment and emotion as could be imagined.

"Meek and mild" strikes no answering chord in the hearts of human beings today who want much, much more. But in order to find more, it is vital that we understand that we are going to make no meaningful progress of any kind in our spiritual journey unless, as a basic prerequisite, we realize that our pictures of God are a set of not-so-accurate images we accumulated on our journey through life. Just as when we move house, what is old, tired, and long unused needs to go to the garbage dump. And that includes having God as the parental hangover: the supervising cosmic policeman, the old man in the clouds recording all our faults, failings, and few successes.

Ultimately we have to recognize that in picturing God as a magnified version of ourselves – despite all our glorious pageantry, symbolism and ritual - we have reduced both ourselves and God, and ended up worshipping only our own egos.

Miceal Ledwith appeared in the hit move "What the Bleep Do we know" and its sequel "Down the Rabbit Hole." He is co-author of "The Orb Project" published by Simon and Schuster/Beyond Words in November 2007, and has published three DVDs so far in his projected series, "The Hamburger Universe," 2005, "How Jesus Became a Christ," 2006, and "Orbs: Clues to a More Exciting Universe," February 2008. He has lectured extensively all over North and South America, South Africa, Australia, Europe and Japan. He is a long-time member of the Ramtha School of Ancient Wisdom

He can be reached at his website: hamburgeruniverse.com