Written by: Ana Zelidon
God, the “great iconoclast.” I can’t stop thinking about this passage from A Grief Observed. There’s something so jarring—yet so true—about the idea that God isn’t just some eternal comfort blanket, but one that actively breaks apart the images we build of Him. It makes belief feel almost dangerous, like walking on shifting ground. And maybe that’s the point.
As Christians, we love our images — the stained-glass pictures, the gentle shepherd metaphors — all developed to make God feel manageable, the boxed-in and limited Creator. And C.S. Lewis understands their origin—he even acknowledges their usefulness.
But then he drops this line: “Images of the Holy easily become holy images—sacrosanct.” Suddenly, the things meant to redirect us to God end up replacing Him. That’s terrifying, but it’s also so very human.
Of course, Lewis doesn’t arrive at this realization in a vacuum. His wife dies, and the God he thought he knew vanishes. Here he is, one of the greatest Christian authors of his lifetime, and he’s stuck questioning the love of God. From an outsider’s point of view, one wonders how authentic his theological foundation really was.
He says, “My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself.” That’s the thing about faith—it’s not static. It’s this constant process of unlearning of God, with Him at the forefront of the destruction of the false versions of Himself we’ve built, so that we can start to see Him as He truly is.
If God is the great iconoclast, then belief is this terrifying act of letting go. We don’t get to have the final word on who He is, no matter how frustrating or comfortable that image is. In 1 Corinthians 13:12, it states that we only see “a reflection as in a mirror,” like we’re grasping at shadows of something too vast to hold.
And yet, we keep trying. We want all the certainty and answers, but belief isn’t about that. It seems that our relationship with God is about being willing to have our illusions shattered, over and over again, until all that’s left under the dust and broken glass is Himself.
So here’s where I land: Lewis’ description of God as the great iconoclast is unsettling, but it feels true. Our spiritual relationship with God is a mixture of human and divine, the deeper we step into His presence, the more we have to learn.
Faith and belief is not a rendering of tradition and biblical jargon or even a denominational church but about a belief in a God that constantly asks us to let Him tear down our incomplete understanding of His will and character. To me, that’s equally terrifying and thrilling. Because, if God is constantly shattering my expectations, then He must be far greater than anything I could ever conjure on my own. And that’s a God worth knowing.
