Wherever Willy Went
Process Theology for Dog-Lovers
“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”
— Will Rogers
I remember the day my dog, Willy, died. He was old, gentle, and slowing down, but his eyes still looked at me with love. I sat on the floor beside him, my hand resting softly on his chest, as he took his last breath.
The house felt hollow without his tail-wagging welcome, his grin, his quiet companionship. Sometimes I still feel him—in a warm breeze, in the silence of early morning, in a kind of presence that isn’t quite gone.
Some say dogs don’t have souls. That heaven is for people. But if ever a soul walked this Earth, it was his.
Wherever Willy went—that’s where I want to be.
And here’s something process theology helps me see: dogs are not just extensions of human lives. They are not valuable only because they make us happy or keep us company. They have lives of their own—rich, meaningful, and of value to God. In the language of process thought, dogs are concrescing subjects—centers of experience, with feelings, desires, memories, and aims for satisfaction.
Their joys, their sorrows, their curiosity and trust and play are significant in and of themselves. God—the loving presence at the heart of the universe—feels their feelings, just as God feels ours. They are not objects. They are subjects. They matter.
And when a human and a dog form a bond—as Willy and I did—it is not one-sided. It is mutual. It is not mere projection. It is connection. In process-relational terms, we might say that we prehended one another. We felt each other’s feelings. We responded to each other’s moods. We shared space, rhythms, and rituals. We became part of each other’s world.
In this kind of relationship, I believe God is present—not as a distant ruler, but as a holy spirit, a love-energy quietly flowing through the leash, the gaze, the shared silence, the tail wag, the gentle hand. God is not only above or beyond, but within—the sacred lure that binds creature to creature in tenderness, attention, and care.
I’ve come to take comfort in a vision offered by process theology, which speaks of three ways a life can continue beyond death:
- Continuation in the World through Influence and Memory — the way a life, even after death, continues to shape others. Willy lives on in me. In the way I love. In the way I remember. In the way I pause for stillness or laughter or kindness because of him.
- Continuation in the Ongoing Memory of God — the belief that every experience, every feeling, is taken into the heart of God. Willy’s life is remembered, held, and cherished by the One who feels all feeling, without forgetting or letting go.
- A Continuing Journey after Death — the possibility that a being continues to live after death, still becoming, still experiencing, still growing. Some process theologians hold hope for this, and I find myself drawn to it too.
To be honest, while I appreciate the idea that a life continues in the world through memory and influence, I’ve also come to recognize how limited that really is. The overwhelming majority of lives—human and non-human—are forgotten. Their influence is minimal, their stories barely noticed, their names never spoken again. That doesn’t make them meaningless, but it does make me lean more heavily on the other two hopes: that they are remembered in God, and that they may continue on, somehow, in a way not dependent on the world’s memory. These hopes speak to a deeper justice, a sacred tenderness, a love that holds even the unnoticed.
A friend of mine once said that the idea of a continuing journey after death is meaningful to him because, as he put it, “so many people die in a state of incompleteness.” I get that. It makes sense to me. So many of us leave this world mid-sentence—with wounds unhealed, dreams unrealized, love not yet fully lived. I hope that, for them—for us—there is more. More becoming. More beauty. More healing. More joy.
And I hope this for Willy, too. Admittedly, I don’t think he died in incompleteness. His life felt full—muddy and playful, faithful and loving. But plenty of dogs do die in incompleteness. I think of the strays who never find a home. The abused ones who never know gentleness. The ones abandoned or lost, scared and alone. And I think of the people, too—so many lives interrupted, hopes dashed, kindness unspoken, love unlived. I think of children who die prematurely, of people who die in terror, or violently, or alone.
For them, I hold onto this hope even more tightly: that death is not the end of becoming. That there is something on the other side of suffering. That the unfinished get to continue. That the unloved find love. That the lonely are met.
Maybe the universe has more grace in it than we can see. Maybe, in the heart of God, no good story is left without its final chapter. Maybe, in some quiet meadow beyond what we can name, tails are still wagging. And hearts are still healing. And nothing beautiful is ever truly lost.
I realize that some will read this and think I’m being naive—that a truly mature person simply accepts the finality of death and moves on. I understand that perspective. I also know that many process theologians affirm the ongoing memory of God but stop short of affirming a continuing journey after death.
But I also know that at least one process theologian, David Ray Griffin, made a strong case for it. He builds upon the notion—central to process thought—that the soul is a concrescing subject, a moment-by-moment becoming, not entirely reducible to the brain. The brain, too, is composed of concrescing subjects at the cellular level, but the soul—the experiencing subject—is something distinct. He also affirms that the universe is not limited to three dimensions, but includes multiple dimensions of existence.
This opens up the possibility of a “place” or plane of reality in which souls might continue to exist after death—not as static spirits, but as subjects still becoming. His focus was on people, but I see no reason not to extend this hope to dogs as well. If dogs, like humans, are subjects of experience—if they feel, respond, love, and remember—then why shouldn’t their souls be welcomed into that larger journey?
And please understand: I’m a dog lover, so my focus here is on dogs. But cats, too. And horses, and any other non-human companions who have shared life with us. They, too, may have continuing journeys. And then there’s the question of wild animals—those who lived without human love, who knew hunger and beauty, terror and instinct.
I hope this for them, too. That their stories are not over. That they are not lost to silence. That they are remembered, and perhaps still becoming, in a world beyond this one.
I don't pretend to know what happens after death. I’m not certain. But I’m drawn to this hope. It feels right—not just for Willy, but for all the unfinished stories, all the broken-hearted goodbyes, all the love that didn’t get enough time.
Maybe it’s not naive at all. Maybe it’s an act of trust in the possibility that love is bigger than death, and that the God who feels all feeling, who remembers every creature, is also the God who welcomes us into more.
So yes—if Willy is still out there, if his tail is still wagging in some soft light I cannot see, then that’s where I want to go.
Wherever Willy went—that’s where I want to be.
That’s not just sentiment—it’s something I feel in my bones. My bond with him wasn’t trivial. It wasn’t small. It was, in its own way, sacred. He taught me things no sermon ever did: how to be present, how to love without condition, how to listen without words. In moments of quiet, I sometimes wonder if my love for him—and his for me—wasn’t itself a kind of prayer. Not spoken, but lived.
- Jay McDaniel (with Willy representing many canine companions)
David Ray Griffin on Life After Death
Examines why parapsychology has been held in disdain by scientists, philosophers, and theologians, explores the evidence for ESP, psychokinesis, and life after death, and suggests that these phenomena provide support for a meaningful postmodern spirituality.
In this book, David Ray Griffin, best known for his work on the problem of evil, turns his attention to the even more controversial topic of parapsychology. Griffin examines why scientists, philosophers, and theologians have held parapsychology in disdain and argues that neither a priori philosophical attacks nor wholesale rejection of the evidence can withstand scrutiny.
After articulating a constructive postmodern philosophy that allows the parapsychological evidence to be taken seriously, Griffin examines this evidence extensively. He identifies four types of repeatable phenomena that suggest the reality of extrasensory perception and psychokinesis. Then, on the basis of a nondualistic distinction between mind and brain, which makes the idea of life after death conceivable, he examines five types of evidence for the reality of life after death: messages from mediums; apparitions; cases of the possession type; cases of the reincarnation type; and out-of-body experiences. His philosophical and empirical examinations of these phenomena suggest that they provide support for a postmodern spirituality that overcomes the thinness of modern religion without returning to supernaturalism.
In this book, David Ray Griffin, best known for his work on the problem of evil, turns his attention to the even more controversial topic of parapsychology. Griffin examines why scientists, philosophers, and theologians have held parapsychology in disdain and argues that neither a priori philosophical attacks nor wholesale rejection of the evidence can withstand scrutiny.
After articulating a constructive postmodern philosophy that allows the parapsychological evidence to be taken seriously, Griffin examines this evidence extensively. He identifies four types of repeatable phenomena that suggest the reality of extrasensory perception and psychokinesis. Then, on the basis of a nondualistic distinction between mind and brain, which makes the idea of life after death conceivable, he examines five types of evidence for the reality of life after death: messages from mediums; apparitions; cases of the possession type; cases of the reincarnation type; and out-of-body experiences. His philosophical and empirical examinations of these phenomena suggest that they provide support for a postmodern spirituality that overcomes the thinness of modern religion without returning to supernaturalism.
Liturgy of Remembrance and Reunion
For a Beloved Dog and All Who Are Loved
Opening Words
Leader:
We gather in love, in memory, and in gratitude.
To honor a life that touched our own,
To speak of a bond that still lives,
And to rest in the mystery of what may yet be.
All:
We remember. We grieve. We give thanks.
Invocation
Leader:
Holy Presence, who dwells within all beings,
who feels the feelings of every creature,
and remembers with tenderness every shared moment--
be with us now as we hold in our hearts
one we have loved and still love.
All:
Be near to us, God of companionship.
Hold us in your memory.
Hold our beloved in your care.
A Time of Naming and Remembrance
Leader:
We speak the name of our beloved:
(Name is spoken aloud. Others may speak the names of their pets or loved ones.)
All:
We remember the joy.
We remember the trust.
We remember the comfort and the love.
(Optional: Invite each person to share a memory or moment of joy.)
Reading (or Spoken Reflection)
Reader:
In process theology, we affirm that:
- Nothing loved is ever lost.
- Every moment of joy and sorrow becomes part of the world.
- Every creature is held in the compassionate heart of God.
The life we shared with our beloved dog continues:
- In the world, through the ways we were changed.
- In God, where every experience is remembered and cherished.
- And perhaps--in another becoming, where love takes new form, and reunion is not only possible, but promised by the heart of love itself.
Candle Lighting (Optional Ritual)
(A candle may be lit in memory of the dog, or stones placed in a bowl of water, or flowers laid in silence.)
Leader:
As this light burns,
so does our love endure.
As the water holds the stone,
so does God hold our beloved in divine embrace.
Words of Hope
Leader:
If reunion is possible with one we’ve loved,
it is possible with all who have loved us.
All:
Love transcends death.
In God, all love is gathered, all tears are known,
and every creature is remembered.
Closing Blessing
Leader:
Go now in peace,
trusting that the love you shared is never undone.
It lives on in you.
It lives on in God.
And perhaps--
it lives on in a future yet to unfold.
All:
May love hold us,
memory guide us,
and hope open our hearts.
A Liturgy for Children:
Remembering a Beloved Dog
(Or Any Animal Friend We Love)
Opening Words
Leader (adult or older child):
We’re here today to remember someone very special:
a dog who loved us,
and whom we loved very much.
We may feel happy when we think of fun times we had together.
We may feel sad because we miss them.
All of our feelings are okay.
All (repeat together)
We remember. We miss. We love.
Saying Their Name
Leader:
Let’s say the name of our dog out loud, so we can hold them in our hearts.
(Children say the name aloud or whisper it quietly.)
All:
We love you, [Name].
We will always love you.
Sharing a Memory
Leader:
Would anyone like to share something they remember?
A time your dog made you laugh, or when you felt really close?
(Invite sharing: a short story, a drawing, a photo, or even just a word.)
All:
Thank you for being our friend.
A Simple Message
Leader:
There are three ways our love for our dog keeps going:
- In the world – We remember the walks, the cuddles, the games.
And we carry those memories with us forever. - In God’s heart – God is like a big love that holds everything.
God remembers our dog too, and holds them gently and kindly. - And maybe – our dog is still on a journey somewhere new,
wagging their tail, sniffing the air, and waiting for us with joy.
We hope so.
We really, really hope so.
Lighting a Candle or Placing a Stone(Optional: Light a candle or have children place stones or flowers in a bowl of water.)
Leader:
As we light this candle / place this stone,
we say thank you for the time we shared.
We say we love you.
We say we will remember.
All:
You are always in our hearts.
Additional Pages in Open Horizons
on Process Theology and Dogs
- The Holiness of Dogs: Bruce Epperly by Bruce Epperly ...
- Finding God in Rivers and Dogs by Jay McDaniel
- The New Science of Understanding Dog Behavior
- Dogs, Gardens, Donkeys, and Children: An Organic Family for the Common Good:
- Maggie the Pseudo-Beagle: Barkley Thompson
- She is of Benefit to Herself: Rabbi Bradley Artson