“Hypocrisy is not the disparity between what we are and what we long to be. It’s the gap between our public appearance and our private allegiance.”
 — R.C. Sproul (1939–2017)

I stand, coffee in hand, heart cracked but not broken,
And I say to greed — you slick, shiny joke — 
You slink through the pews, all gold-plated grin,
Dressed like salvation, but you’re cloaked in sin.

You whisper,
“More coin, 
more power, 
more me,”
Turned the pulpit into a slot machine spree.
I see you, greed, with your collection plate swagger,
Promisin’ heaven while you make souls stagger.

You’re raw like a wound, but not the healing kind,
A leech in the church, suckin’ hope from the mind.
You flash diamond crosses, but faith ain’t for sale — 
I’m callin’ you out — your gospel is stale.

I believe in a church where love doesn’t cost a cent,
Where grace ain’t a loan with a ten percent dent.
You strut in, greed, like a preacher’s side hustle,
But I’m tearin’ your mask off with a holy rustle.

You’re the wolf in the flock, countin’ sheep for the bank,
While the poor pray for crumbs and their hearts just sank.
I spit truth like venom: God’s house ain’t your mall,
His love doesn’t need your ATM call.

I rise with my sass, my soul’s got a spark,
I’m kickin’ you out where the light fights the dark.
This creed’s my rebellion, my tea-steeped decree:
The church is for souls, not your greedy spree.

I stumble, I sway, but I’m free in this fight,
With Jesus beside me, I’m claiming the light.
So take your gold lust, your cash-hungry plea,
This church is for healing — 
not your greed, you see.

Author’s Note
This creed is my raw, sassy take on calling out greed in the church. It’s messy, it’s real, and it’s got a smirk — because truth is not for sale.
“Freely you have received; freely give.” — Matthew 10:8