Counterfeit Gods || Spoken Word || Jefferson Bethke

Counterfeit Gods

You might say: I don’t believe in God, 
But the bible says not possible,
Everyone has a God, whether or not it’s the God of the gospel.
You might not believe in God, but everyone has that one thing that’s king,
Even the dictionary defines God as what “whatever we make supreme”
It’s a theme, a thread, it’s inside of all human beings,
The fact we all worship, and no it’s not just about singing.
I know some of you already like
 “Jeff I don’t worship, I put that on the shelf,”
 But I say technically we all do, we just worship ourselves.

We all worship something, and to an object we’re all liable,

Ladies, to some your boyfriend is your God, and Cosmo is your bible.

Yet, we mock and we laugh at the Israelites Golden Calf,
But we do the same right back; it just looks different than that.
So question,

What’s on your throne?

What do you chase so you don’t feel alone?
So what defines you, what do you give ultimate worth?
And what if taken from you would bring ultimate hurt?
Now see,

that is your God

And all of us,

We've sacrifice deep joy for shallow happiness, 

and honestly we look like fools,
We’re like full grown adults in the kiddie pool, going
"Oh man, this is so cool
We are slaves to our possessions,
We are always craving something new,
Reality check:
If you can’t give it up, you don’t own it, it owns you.

That’s the bible, it says we’re all spiritual prostitutes, actually we’re worse.
Because at least prostitutes get paid for their works,
When all we get paid is a hearse.

That’s why worship isn’t just behavior, it goes way into our core,
So ask yourself:

What is your God? 

What do you bow down before?

For example some of you in here don’t worship Jesus,
You worship what He said,
Got theology in your head, but in your heart, poor, pitiful, naked, and dead.

Some worship in stadiums, some worship in bars.
We worship our posessions, we worship our cars,
We worship science, or we worship the arts,
But see it don’t matter what clothes your idol’s wearing, the disease is our hearts

Or guys, how come you always say,
“ya I’m a man, because I’m in control!”
Yet why cant you stop having sex with your hand, while staring at your macbook pro
Then there’s those guys who trade their wives for their job at work
Where they give more time to their boss then their wive’s needs or hurts
And you ladies,

No guy can love you more than Jesus already has.

So stop getting your worth from Magic Mike,
Jesus is so much better than that!

I know you’re thinking,
“so Jeff, are you saying we should hate money, hate drinking, and never have sex.”
No, I'm not saying that. The bible says enjoy it all, in its proper context.

But now I want to transition, and make a spiritual incision.
Can you really tell me these things are the ultimate purpose of living?
Instead of worshiping the Creator of you and I,
We say screw you God I’ll take your stuff, but you can die.
But that trade is terrible, trading God for man
Its like God offers us water, and we say “but God, this is such good sand!”
You say, “a God that requires me to give up something” I just can’t fathom,
Yet most are willing to give up everything for a quick orgasm?
You call me a wimp for running to God when times get hard,
Yet you do the same, you just run to the bar.

I mean, Am I the only one that’s felt that gnawing within?
Am I the only one that’s felt the weight of my own sin?

But here’s what’s unique, so go ahead and critique,
but if hear anything in this poem, hear this one thing I speak.
Where we exchanged ourselves for God, thinking we could be Him,

He exchanged Himself for us, absorbing all our sin.

God put on flesh, and do you see how we treated him?
The ultimate war veteran, because he was killed for our freedom.
Nonetheless He was thinking of you and me, with every whip that beat em,
And to think he did that knowing full well we’d say nah, we don’t really need him.
But like a Father, he couldn’t bare his children to not be free
So he thought up that tree, paid our fee, for specs of dirt like you and me
So my plea is let Him restore His proper place,

I promise you He loves you right now. 

Just trust in His grace.

Because before I leave, I’ll leave you with this:

What of those other things you worship took nails in their wrists?
Or how about when was the last time money or sex forgave you?
Whens the last time your boyfriend set you free from all you’re enslaved to?
What else is there that died so you could be made new?
Or when’s the last time the world promised satisfaction, and actually came through?

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