I ate a sermon last night—
quick fried, dipped in clichés,
served with a side of “God is good”
and washed it down with “You’ll be okay.”
No chewing. No tasting.
Just swallowed it whole.
Because hunger’s loud,
and fast-food faith consoles the soul.
At least for a while.
I opened my Bible app,
skimmed Psalms like headlines.
No depth, just speed—
I mean, who has time?
A verse a day keeps conviction away, right?
I prayed too.
Well, I texted God… sort of.
Sent a 🙏 emoji
and told Him my WiFi was stronger than my faith today.
I even asked for a sign
while ignoring the ten already blinking in red on my dashboard.
But hey—
I serve in church,
I sing in key (most of the time),
and I repost Christian quotes on Tuesdays.
Surely that counts for something?
Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.
Because while I fed on surface,
my soul screamed famine.
And God?
He wasn’t fooled by my “I’m fine” or “blessed and highly favored.”
He knew my plate was full,
but my spirit was hollow.
Turns out,
Spotify worship playlists don’t replace secret place groanings.
And coffee devotionals aren’t what David meant by “deep cries to deep.”
I miss Him.
Not the Sunday version.
Not the shout-and-dance version.
But the real Him—
the whisper-in-the-dark, hold-you-when-you-break,
reveal-His-heart kind of Him.
I used to meet Him at 3am.
Now I just meet deadlines.
So here’s me,
tired of scrolling, swiping,
faking fullness while I starve.
Lord, forgive my microwave faith,
my diet of distractions,
my spiritual sugar highs
and intimacy lows.
Draw me back,
not to religion,
but to ruins.
Let me rebuild the altar I broke
when I replaced You with busyness.
Let hunger burn again.