The god of silver wires

They exchanged the truth about God for a lie, and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever. Amen. - Roman 1:25

We built what we could see,

because the waiting was too heavy.

We melted our gold,

and called it glory.

Our hearts burned bright-

mistaking heat for holiness,

hunger for faith.

Every age has its golden calf;

ours fits in the palm of the hand.

We melt our hours,

and call it meaning.

The clock became our incense,

Our breath a chant of hurry.

We spent our years

like coins in a wishing well.

We lift small things,

high enough to block the sun.

We built a god of silver wires.

It spoke in our voice, 

until we forgot the sound of prayer.

We paint our faces,

our hearts,

our homes.

We pray for victory,

more than virtue.

We dress for worship;

jerseys in place of robes,

numbers with names.

The anthem becomes our invocation,

the scoreboard, 

our scripture.

We break bread in parking lots;

our communion,

Our offering?

Time.

Our children learn allegiance,

before prayer.

Blood stains the turf,

and we call it glory,

bodies broken,

martyrs of entertainment.

The game ends.

The god falls silent.

We know every stat by heart,

but not the Psalms.

We raise our hands for touchdowns,

for those gods we praise.

Our passion spent.

Our hours gone.

What altar have we built

but one of dust and replayed glory?