The Tragic Deception

(The Church and the Golden Idol)

1 Timothy 6:10 (KJV)

For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.

Poet’s Note

Dear Reader,

I wrote this poem with a heavy heart and a burning spirit.

In a world drowning in prosperity sermons and golden cathedrals, it grieves me to see Christendom often loving the sound of coins more than the living fire sealed within the gold- and silver-filled pages of Scripture. Money is not evil — it is a tool, a servant, a means to bless and build. But when the love of it slips quietly onto the throne of the heart, it becomes the most ancient and subtle idolatry: Mammon in the sanctuary.

This is not a condemnation of honest wealth or faithful stewardship. It is a lament and a warning. The Church was never meant to compete with the marketplace; she was called to confront it with truth, purity, and sacrificial love. When the rattle of riches grows louder than the voice of the Spirit, tragedy follows.

My prayer is that these words stir you — not to shame, but to holy jealousy for the Word of God above all else. May we return together to the refining fire. May Scripture once again be our greatest treasure.

With urgency and affection,

The Poet

Matthew 6:24 (KJV)

No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon

If Christendom bows to the chime of cold gold,

To silver’s soft rustle, to currency’s call,

More than the Scriptures where treasures untold

Lie layered like fire in refining’s pure hall—

Then tragedy reigns in this demonic deceit,

Where shepherds grow fat while the sheep starve for bread,

Where marble cathedrals and ledgers compete

With the voice of the Spirit long silenced and dead.

The gold-filled pages lie dusty and dim,

While vaults overflow and the pulpit grows tame.

They preach “abundance” but crucify Him

Who warned that a rich man can die in his shame.

O Church, wake and tremble! This lie is your snare—

A glittering noose wrapped in “blessing” and “seed.”

The Cross is not commerce; the Kingdom not fair

When Mammon is master and Jesus recedes.

Return to the furnace where truth is assayed,

Where money is vapor and Scripture is flame.

Let love of the Word be your only parade—

Not the rattle of riches, the curse of ill gain.