Darwin did not kill God.
Darwin opened God's toolbox, like a young child exploring the cellar, and God smiled from the shadows. Little Charlie hefted out one sharp tool, feeling the weight in his hand, wistful but certain as a child discerning the truth about Santa.
Einstein did not kill God.
Einstein opened God's dresser, like a child playing dress-up with Mommy's clothes, and God smiled from the doorway. Albert searched every drawer, exasperated to find only one radiant garment, then wide-eyed with wonder at a perfect fit.
Hubble did not kill God.
Hubble opened God's purse, like a teenager seeking confirmation of a fair allowance, and God smiled from close beside. Young Edwin peered into a vast chamber, much larger on the inside than out, containing riches to make him gasp like a drowning man finally breaking surface.
Copernicus did kill god.
Copernicus upended the heavens, like a sand clock run out, and god was swept away on outrushing tsunamis of sunlight. Gone indeed is the angry old greybeard; vanished also his throne in the sky. But Earth was not commanded forth by that smiteful sky-man; we emerged from God Herself, no less miraculous than stars, oak trees, oceans, and eagles.
No, God is not dead. She openly shares Her tools, Her clothes, and Her riches, still smiling from uncountable legions of faces. Ours is a God who created not one sun, but 400,000,000,000,000,000,000 suns, breathing them gently in on Her 14,000,000,000 year song. How glorious the gentle and artful God of Charlie, Albert, and Edwin!
God dances in our twinkling universe of galaxies, stars, planets, and creatures; an infinite community of celebrants; a single miraculous Oneness, re-creating Its own conscious Self to shout songs of praise and connection.