What if I told you most believers just borrow the Word,
Crack it open for comfort but don’t live what they’ve heard.
Scripture reduced to slogans, a verse for a vibe,
Instead of the breath of God that demands we die.
We skim for motivation, not conviction or truth,
Pick a line for the morning but ignore the proof.
We want promises framed, hung clean on the wall,
But we flinch when obedience requires it all.
Jeremiah gets quoted, makes us feel secure,
But “deny yourself” sounds a little too pure.
We want crowns without crosses, joy without pain,
Resurrection power but none of the strain.
We say fear the Lord—let’s define what that is,
Not anxiety-driven, not fear like this.
It’s not fear of losing status, money, or name,
Not fear of the crowd or being ashamed.
It’s holy reverence, weight heavy on chest,
The kind that drives a man straight out of his flesh.
Face in the dirt, heart cracked wide open,
Repentance real, not rehearsed or spoken.
But we rewrote the gospel to fit our routine,
Turned the Holy King into a self-help machine.
Bless my plans, back my dreams, stay out of my way,
Don’t touch my habits or what I replay.
We claim Christ but mirror the culture we’re in,
Look no different from the world we claim is in sin.
Post Scripture online, then casually curse,
Use His name like filler—yeah that makes it worse.
We say “God is good,” but treat Him optional,
Faith on the shelf, obedience conditional.
We talk about heaven like it’s guaranteed,
But live for the earth like it’s all that we need.
Treasures piled up that rust and decay,
While spiritual riches get traded away.
We budget our money, our time, our sleep,
But won’t invest in a faith we claim we keep.
The Word said bind it to heart and to hand,
Teach your children to fear and to stand.
Write it on doorposts, let truth mark the home,
Not just read once, but lived when you roam.
Morning and evening, when you rise, when you lay,
Not a Sunday religion, but a daily display.
The Word wasn’t meant to decorate belief,
It was meant to confront us, expose our deceit.
Church, what’s wrong? I’m included too,
This mirror cuts me before it cuts you.
This ain’t a call-out, it’s a wake-up cry,
For hearts half-awake and faith running dry.
It’s time to repent of comfort-first faith,
Of praising His name while dodging His ways.
Let the Word shape us, cut us, refine,
Not just inspire for a temporary high.
Stop using God for emotional relief,
Start living like He’s worthy of every belief.
His mercy’s still reaching, the door’s still wide,
But obedience is proof that the faith is alive.
“Return to Me,” yeah the promise remains,
Says the Lord Almighty—break off the chains.
Grace still calls, but don’t get it twisted,
He saves the repentant, not the resistant.
Johnheim_Goldberg
