Process Theology for People in Recovery
“Recovery isn’t one big decision—it’s a thousand small ones, made moment by moment, breath by breath. Some are strong. Some are shaky. Some feel like grace, others like survival. It is an ongoing process. I am always recovering. But each one matters. I can make them only with help from others—people who walk with me, listen without judgment, and remind me that I’m not alone. And I think God is in somewhere in there, too. I believe in a God of second chances."
James, age 28
James, age 28
God and the Spirit of
Creative Transformation
The Spirit of Creative Transformation
Imagine that the universe carries within its very heart an impulse—a spirit—of creative transformation. New things emerge from the past. This is the spirit of evolution in all its dimensions: atomic, galactic, geological, biological. It is the ongoing movement toward what is new, what is possible, what has never been before.
This spirit brings about new stars from collapsing clouds of gas.
It brings new mountain ranges from shifting tectonic plates.
It brings birds from dinosaurs, flowers from ancient ferns, songs from sorrow, and wisdom from suffering.
It brings about laughter in the midst of grief, friendships born in recovery rooms, and kindness where there used to be only fear.
It brings second chances, new ways of loving, and quiet courage that didn’t exist before.
This spirit of creative transformation is not all-powerful. Things can and do grow stale. Life can become rigid, stuck, or broken. But still, the spirit moves. It gives rise to what the process philosopher Alfred North Whitehead calls the “creative advance into novelty.”
And this spirit is not only around you.
It is inside you, too.
God and the Open Future
Your recovery participates in, and is responsive to, the indwelling lure of creative transformation. It is not merely private or local—it is, in this way, cosmic.
This spirit of creative transformation is God.
God is not a distant observer. God is also a receptacle for all that happens—a deep listening presence who feels the feelings of each and all, including your own. Everything you have experienced—your joys and regrets, your hopes and failures—is taken into God's own life. Nothing is dismissed. Nothing is wasted.
God is a fellow sufferer who understands.
God understands the pain you have endured—and the pain you may have caused.
And still, God responds—not with condemnation, but with compassion and invitation.
God offers you fresh possibilities, moment by moment. Possibilities for healing, for reconciliation, for becoming.
Not just so that you can move beyond the past, but so that you can add goodness to the world,
and walk into a future that is open—including for you.
Imagine that the universe carries within its very heart an impulse—a spirit—of creative transformation. New things emerge from the past. This is the spirit of evolution in all its dimensions: atomic, galactic, geological, biological. It is the ongoing movement toward what is new, what is possible, what has never been before.
This spirit brings about new stars from collapsing clouds of gas.
It brings new mountain ranges from shifting tectonic plates.
It brings birds from dinosaurs, flowers from ancient ferns, songs from sorrow, and wisdom from suffering.
It brings about laughter in the midst of grief, friendships born in recovery rooms, and kindness where there used to be only fear.
It brings second chances, new ways of loving, and quiet courage that didn’t exist before.
This spirit of creative transformation is not all-powerful. Things can and do grow stale. Life can become rigid, stuck, or broken. But still, the spirit moves. It gives rise to what the process philosopher Alfred North Whitehead calls the “creative advance into novelty.”
And this spirit is not only around you.
It is inside you, too.
God and the Open Future
Your recovery participates in, and is responsive to, the indwelling lure of creative transformation. It is not merely private or local—it is, in this way, cosmic.
This spirit of creative transformation is God.
God is not a distant observer. God is also a receptacle for all that happens—a deep listening presence who feels the feelings of each and all, including your own. Everything you have experienced—your joys and regrets, your hopes and failures—is taken into God's own life. Nothing is dismissed. Nothing is wasted.
God is a fellow sufferer who understands.
God understands the pain you have endured—and the pain you may have caused.
And still, God responds—not with condemnation, but with compassion and invitation.
God offers you fresh possibilities, moment by moment. Possibilities for healing, for reconciliation, for becoming.
Not just so that you can move beyond the past, but so that you can add goodness to the world,
and walk into a future that is open—including for you.
Recovering from What?
Recovery means different things to different people.
Some are recovering from addiction—alcohol, drugs, gambling, or compulsive behaviors.
Others are recovering from grief, heartbreak, or betrayal.
Some are healing from trauma—emotional, physical, spiritual.
Some are climbing out of depression or learning to live with anxiety.
Some are recovering from religious wounds or systems that shamed rather than healed.
Others are recovering from burnout, perfectionism, people-pleasing, or the slow erosion of self-worth.
Some are recovering from things they did. Others, from things done to them.
Some can name exactly what they’re recovering from. Others just know they’re trying to find their way back to life.
Process theology makes space for all of this.
It reminds us that the universe is not static but always becoming. That we are not finished or fixed. That no pain is too small to matter or too large to be beyond hope.
It offers a vision of a God who walks with us, suffers with us, and lures us—gently—toward healing, step by step.
Whatever you are recovering from, you are welcome here.
This is a space of compassion, possibility, and grace.
Recovery is not a straight line. It’s a winding path made of courage, confusion, relapses, restarts, small victories, and deep questions. Some days you may feel strong. Other days, you may feel like you’re barely holding on. In the spirit of process theology, recovery is not about achieving perfection or erasing the past. It’s about walking forward—moment by moment—with the gentle companionship of a God who understands, a community that cares, a universe that is always becoming, and a sense of purpose that you can make a contribution to the world. Your recovery is part of that contribution.
Some are recovering from addiction—alcohol, drugs, gambling, or compulsive behaviors.
Others are recovering from grief, heartbreak, or betrayal.
Some are healing from trauma—emotional, physical, spiritual.
Some are climbing out of depression or learning to live with anxiety.
Some are recovering from religious wounds or systems that shamed rather than healed.
Others are recovering from burnout, perfectionism, people-pleasing, or the slow erosion of self-worth.
Some are recovering from things they did. Others, from things done to them.
Some can name exactly what they’re recovering from. Others just know they’re trying to find their way back to life.
Process theology makes space for all of this.
It reminds us that the universe is not static but always becoming. That we are not finished or fixed. That no pain is too small to matter or too large to be beyond hope.
It offers a vision of a God who walks with us, suffers with us, and lures us—gently—toward healing, step by step.
Whatever you are recovering from, you are welcome here.
This is a space of compassion, possibility, and grace.
Recovery is not a straight line. It’s a winding path made of courage, confusion, relapses, restarts, small victories, and deep questions. Some days you may feel strong. Other days, you may feel like you’re barely holding on. In the spirit of process theology, recovery is not about achieving perfection or erasing the past. It’s about walking forward—moment by moment—with the gentle companionship of a God who understands, a community that cares, a universe that is always becoming, and a sense of purpose that you can make a contribution to the world. Your recovery is part of that contribution.
Breaking the Bubble of Self-Absorption
Volunteering as a Path of Recovery
One of the quiet challenges in recovery is self-absorption—not out of vanity or ego, but because pain and craving can shrink our world. The focus becomes immediate: how to survive this feeling, how to avoid that trigger, how to get through the next hour.
It’s understandable. When we are in pain, the world can narrow. Our field of vision contracts around our own need.
But process theology gently invites us to break open that bubble—not by shame or pressure, but by remembering that we are part of a larger web of life. We are not isolated units. We are relational beings, always in connection, always in becoming with others.
One of the most powerful ways to shift this focus is to volunteer—to give time, energy, and attention to others. It doesn’t have to be dramatic. Serving food at a soup kitchen. Picking up trash in a park. Reading to children. Listening to someone else who is hurting. These simple acts reconnect us with the wider world and give shape to our becoming.
Volunteering is not just an act of kindness. It’s an act of recovery.
It helps restore dignity. It fosters empathy. It reminds us that we still have something to offer. In process terms, it is a creative act—contributing something real and meaningful to the becoming of the world.
And in giving to others, we often receive something unexpected:
A moment of peace.
A feeling of connection.
A glimpse of purpose.
A hint of joy.
You don’t have to wait until you feel whole to help someone else.
Sometimes, helping others is how we begin to feel whole again and add beauty to the world simultaneously.
It’s understandable. When we are in pain, the world can narrow. Our field of vision contracts around our own need.
But process theology gently invites us to break open that bubble—not by shame or pressure, but by remembering that we are part of a larger web of life. We are not isolated units. We are relational beings, always in connection, always in becoming with others.
One of the most powerful ways to shift this focus is to volunteer—to give time, energy, and attention to others. It doesn’t have to be dramatic. Serving food at a soup kitchen. Picking up trash in a park. Reading to children. Listening to someone else who is hurting. These simple acts reconnect us with the wider world and give shape to our becoming.
Volunteering is not just an act of kindness. It’s an act of recovery.
It helps restore dignity. It fosters empathy. It reminds us that we still have something to offer. In process terms, it is a creative act—contributing something real and meaningful to the becoming of the world.
And in giving to others, we often receive something unexpected:
A moment of peace.
A feeling of connection.
A glimpse of purpose.
A hint of joy.
You don’t have to wait until you feel whole to help someone else.
Sometimes, helping others is how we begin to feel whole again and add beauty to the world simultaneously.
Recovering as a Contribution
to the World
In process theology, every moment is a creative act. Each person, in every situation, is contributing something new to the ongoing becoming of the world. You are not a passive recipient of life—you are a participant in its unfolding.
Recovery, then, is not just about getting back to who you once were. It’s about becoming who you are now—more aware, more compassionate, more connected. Recovery is a form of creativity—a daily improvisation of courage, trust, and honesty. It is a re-shaping of your own life and, by extension, the life of the world.
Your healing ripples outward. When you take one more step toward wholeness, you contribute to the well-being of others. When you tell the truth about your pain, you make it safer for others to tell theirs. When you forgive yourself or someone else, you loosen the grip of resentment in the wider world. When you show up—even shaky and unsure—you add something beautiful and real to the shared human story.
Recovery is not a detour from life. It is life. And it matters—not just for you, but for all of us.
Reminders for the Road
Here are some reminders for the road to keep in mind. You don’t need to hold onto all of them. Take what helps. Leave the rest. Let these ideas walk beside you like quiet friends, returning when you need them most.
Reframe recovery as a creative act.
You are not just returning to life—you are helping shape it, moment by moment. Your healing is part of the world’s healing.
Do things that help break the bubble of self-absorption.
Pain and craving can shrink your world. Service, creativity, movement, and beauty can help open it again. Volunteering is especially powerful—it reconnects you to others and reminds you that you still have something to give.
Make connection with others—and with the natural world.
Call a friend. Sit under a tree. Spend time pets. Listen to birdsong. We heal in relationship—with people, with place, with Spirit.
Let each moment be a new beginning.
No matter what happened last hour or last year, this moment holds fresh possibilities.
Remember that you are not alone.
God is with you. Others are with you. You are part of a web of support, seen and unseen.
Trust that you don’t have to be perfect to be loved.
Your presence, your honesty, your effort—that’s enough.
Know that God is a companion, not a judge.
God feels with you, grieves with you, walks with you, and offers you new possibilities.
Let the past shape you—but not define you.
Learn from it. Grieve what needs grieving. But don’t let it tell the whole story. You are not your worst day. You are more than your mistakes. You are still becoming.
Celebrate small steps.
One breath, one glass of water, one act of honesty—these are sacred.
Allow yourself to feel.
Anger, shame, fear, and grief are part of the journey. You don’t have to fix them right away.
Remember that creative transformation is part of the very essence of the universe.
Even if it’s slow. Even if it’s painful. Nothing is fixed—not even you. You are part of a living world where change is always possible.
Lean into community.
You weren’t made to do this alone. Healing happens in relationship.
Rest in the truth that your experience is known and understood by God.
Nothing is ignored. Nothing is wasted. And the future is still open.
Ask for help when you need it.
There is no shame in needing support. There is wisdom in reaching out.
Accept that setbacks are part of the journey.
Falling down doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re still walking.
Listen to your body.
Fatigue, hunger, tension, breath—your body is speaking. Let it be part of your healing.
Trust the gentleness of God’s lure.
God doesn’t force or shame. God invites, nudges, and calls you forward in love.
Know that you are becoming.
You are not broken. You are not finished. You are a living process of healing and hope.