Words: Idols of our Souls
I didn’t really know the power of words until Charlie Kirk’s death. Sure—I knew it up here (taps head). But not down here (taps heart). Not until blood stained the page of reality and words stopped being theory.
I’d heard the cliché—“The pen is mightier than the sword.” I’d quoted Proverbs 18:21: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” But knowing and bleeding are two different things.
Bruce Lee once said words are spells—we “cast” them when we spell them out. Cute. Occult-tinged. A little spooky. But he wasn’t wrong about this: every “I’m stupid,” every “I’ll never be enough” is a curse muttered into our own marrow.
Flip the coin: imagine Judas staring into his bronze mirror on betrayal night. He whispers: You’re your best self. You’re destined for greatness. Success is yours. His affirmations shine like fool’s gold. Words can’t rewrite prophecy. He still walks out that door carrying the title “Son of Perdition.”
See the trap? Words have power—but they aren’t God. Jesus proved it in Mark 11. Before He spoke to mountains, He said, “Have faith in God.” That’s the anchor. Otherwise your words are helium balloons—pretty, floating, and one day gone. Samuel’s words never hit the ground because the Lord Himself caught them mid-air (I Samuel 3:19). That’s the difference.
Bruce Lee could chant positivity in the mirror and flow through a kata. Next day—dead. Judas could pump himself with affirmations. Hours later—hanging from a tree. Words without God are empty shells. Beautiful. Hollow. Deadly.
Today, we’ve turned words into idols. Positive confessions. Mantras. Even Scripture treated like a spellbook. Christians swinging verses like witches swing charms. James warned: tame the tongue, tame the body—but no man can tame it. That’s why we build golden calves out of syllables. We want power. Control. To be gods.
The Serpent’s whisper never changed: You will be like God. Self-help sermons, corporate pep talks, “manifest your destiny”—all dressed-up snake venom. And what did Jesus say? He who finds his life will lose it.
Look around. Shelves sag under the weight of self-help books. Churches echo with “speak it, claim it, frame it.” The more we chase our “best self,” the more we slip into the grave. Lose your life, He said—and then you’ll find it.
Isaiah 55: “My thoughts are not your thoughts.” Translation: your self-improvement plan isn’t the blueprint of Heaven. God’s way is upside down. You lose. You die. You serve. And in dying, you finally live.
Paul knew. Pharisee among Pharisees. Perfect résumé. Perfect pedigree. He found his life. And lost it. Until Christ ripped it all out of his clenched fists and gave him something better: letters written from prison that detonated across centuries. Two-thirds of the New Testament birthed from a man who chose to lose so Christ could win.
So yes—words matter. The pen cuts deeper than steel. But only God’s Word holds the final blade. Isaiah said His Word never returns void—it accomplishes His desire, not ours.
Blessed are the poor in spirit. Not the power-brokers. Not the platform-builders. Not the vision-casters bulldozing people in the name of ministry. All that—Paul said—is dung. Trash. Flushed.
The choice is brutal but simple: find your life and lose it. Lose your life and find it. Are we losing ourselves within our ministries? Or are we building better versions of ourselves? I find that Christians often replaces those things used by the world to better themselves with the Bible. We use the Bible to become better. Yet in becoming better, we’re doing works. And works won’t get us into Heaven. Grace only comes when we give up, give our lives to Jesus Christ, make Him and His Word (the Bible) Lord of ourselves.
And why not? One-hundred-years after our deaths no one will remember us. Our great platforms. Our great ministries. Our great careers. Forgotten. And even if someone IS remembered due to being the leader of a nation, history tends to be rewritten by those in control of the “pen” anyway. So, there is a good chance Donald Trump and Joe Biden’s memories will be “translated” and “slanted” to read however the history professor desires. And in the end, it’s all dung. Vanity of vanities is life. A vapor, a breath. Here today, gone tomorrow.
So I’ll ask you flat out—how will you die today? How will you lose yourself to Christ so that, in the rubble of your own ruins, He can raise the only life worth living? (See the Apostle Paul and Judas Iscariot for details.)