Lord of the East Wind and the Western One,
You summon an army of locusts so vast
that they cover the face of the land,
devouring what little remains after the hail.
They leave no green leaf,
no blade of grass,
no sign of Egypt’s proud abundance.
You strike not at random,
but at the idols we will not surrender.
You remove what we grip too tightly,
not to harm us without cause,
but to show that it was never ours to keep.
So too, Lord, You strike at the idols of Your church in America.
We have traded Your holy presence
for flashing lights and empty noise.
We call it worship
but our hearts are cold, our songs dead,
our gatherings more like rock concerts
than holy ground where angels veil their faces.
We have enthroned motivational speakers
and health and wealth prophets
in the place where Your Word should thunder.
Pharaoh’s servants pleaded with him,
“Do you not yet understand that Egypt is ruined?”
Still he bargained,
“You may go, but not the children.
Leave the next generation in my grip.”
But worship cannot be negotiated.
Your call is for all to come,
from the youngest to the oldest,
with everything we have.
But, Lord, we have bargained too.
We have handed over the next generation
to entertainment instead of discipleship,
to screens instead of Scripture,
to feelings instead of faith.
We have told them a gospel without a cross,
a Christ without repentance,
a kingdom without a King.
And when sin is called sin,
we call the watchmen cruel.
We flip truth on its head,
calling evil good and good evil.
We silence the prophets
and crucify those who dare speak Your Word with fire.
And in our blindness, Lord,
we have taken gossip as gospel
whispers treated as truth,
rumors embraced as revelation.
We wound Your body with slander,
tear down brothers and sisters with lies,
and then stand self righteous,
as though our venom were virtue.
Forgive us, O God.
Expose the false gospels we believe,
whether shouted from pulpits
or whispered in hallways.
And there is no accountability anymore.
When discipline comes,
we just move on down to the next church,
pretending repentance is optional,
as if holiness were negotiable.
We love our sin more than we love You, Lord.
No wonder the American church is in such trouble.
No wonder so many doors are closing.
No wonder so many leave the church altogether
for what they find feels more like a social club
than the body of Christ,
more about popularity and personalities
than about truth and transformation.
We do not teach our children the whole counsel of God.
We spoon feed them the same stories,
over and over,
never leading them deeper,
never training them to wrestle with Your Word.
We treat them like infants,
slapping down their questions,
as if doubt were more dangerous than ignorance.
We have crippled a generation
by starving them of meat
and keeping them on milk.
We are stuck in the past,
nostalgic for a world that no longer exists,
as if the best days of Your Spirit’s power
were already behind us.
And when the Spirit longs to move us forward,
we slam the brakes,
crying, “We want it the way it has always been.”
We resist You, Lord,
and then wonder why we wither.
And while we resist You, Lord,
the world is starving for the truth
and they don’t even realize that it is You they hunger for.
But when they look at us,
they see no difference between Your people
and the world around them.
Our witness is tainted.
Our salt has lost its savor.
Our light is hidden beneath compromise.
Divorce is as common in the pews as in the streets.
Affairs, slander, gossip, laziness, hatred, jealousy
every sin laid bare,
and we excuse it with shallow words.
No wonder they cannot see Christ in us,
for we have blurred Your image with our sin.
Then You sent darkness
thick, heavy, a darkness that can be felt.
For three days Egypt sat in the suffocating shadow,
unable to rise from where they sat.
But in the homes of Your people, there was light.
Lord, let there be light again in Your church,
even when the nation stumbles in darkness.
Expose our half obedience,
the bargains we offer You,
the “almost” surrender we call faith.
Where we have grown lazy and complacent,
wake us from our slumber.
Where we have expected pastors to do the work of the whole body,
teach us again that every member
must carry the cross.
Where we have tolerated sin in the camp,
purify us with holy fear.
Better an empty sanctuary filled with Your presence
than a packed house in the dark.
Better a trembling remnant clinging to Christ
than a multitude cheering for lies.
Keep us from the plague of a hardened heart,
the blindness that refuses to see Your hand.
Let every loss, every shaking, every judgment
press us deeper into the treasure that cannot be taken.
Pry from our hands the idols of comfort, applause, and compromise.
Do not let us perish as a church that lost her first love.
In the name of Jesus,
the Light in our darkness,
the Bread for our hunger,
the Lion who will roar again from Zion,
Amen.