Poet’s Note

Dear Reader,

This poem was born from a deep ache I could no longer silence.

We live in an age where the Church is too often measured by budgets, buildings, and bank accounts rather than by brokenness before God and hunger for His Word. The tragic deception is real: too many have grown more fluent in the language of “seed and harvest” than in the piercing truths of Scripture. The very pages that gleam with divine gold and silver are left unread while earthly gold and silver command the altar.

I do not write to curse prosperity or honest gain — those can be beautiful gifts when held with open hands. I write to expose the quiet idolatry that creeps in when the sound of money becomes sweeter than the voice of the Holy Spirit. When Mammon is welcomed into the sanctuary, the Cross is quietly moved to the side.

My earnest prayer is that these lines would awaken a holy discontent — a longing to treasure the Bible above every financial promise, and to love Christ more than any blessing He gives. May the refining fire burn away every false gospel, and may Scripture once again become the loudest voice in the house of God.

With trembling hands and a watchful heart,

The Poet

Money itself bears no stain of the curse;

It’s servant and tool, like the ox or the plow.

It feeds hungry thousands, it builds up the Church,

It clothes naked orphans and waters the brow.

Prosperity flows from obedient hands—

A river of blessing when channeled aright.

The temple was gilded by generous plans;

The poor were remembered in tithes and delight.

But love of this money—the clutching, the lust—

This root of all evils that strangles the soul,

This anathema poison that turns gold to dust

And trades living water for glittering coal.

It hardens the heart till compassion runs dry,

It whispers sweet lies in prosperity’s name,

It crowns self as savior while Jesus stands by

And watches the rich fool forget his own name.

Christ flipped the tables on profit and greed,

Yet dined with the wealthy and let them provide.

He warned of the danger, yet never decreed

That honest abundance itself must be denied.

So let money serve freely where justice demands—

A faithful envoy of the Father above.

But guard well the altar: no idol may stand

Where the love of the Lord burns hotter than love

Of silver or gold or the treasures of earth.

Choose now whom you serve. Let the Bible rehearse:

God first. Then the coin as His humble envoy—

Never the master. Never the curse.