Stop the world, I want to get off! If you needed one more nail in the coffin of Western civilization’s utter moral bankruptcy, look no further than the Golden Globes, where Jonathan Van Ness, a “Queer Eye” male star strutted down the red carpet in a gown that would make the Book of Leviticus weep.

This was quite the spectacle—a declaration, a neon-lit billboard screaming that we are not merely tolerant of sin, but in full on celebration of it. Romans 1 warns of God’s judgment, but it also documents it.

This?

This is the modern-day version of our nation being handed over to the desires of our hearts. The judgment isn’t coming—it’s sashaying down the runway, and we’re applauding it as if it were salvation.

A nation that once claimed to be built on the foundation of God’s truth, with the Ten Commandments lining the corridors of our courts, and God’s grace asked for at the commencement of our public gatherings, now drapes itself in the filthy rags of rebellion, calling it couture.

The image of a man parading in a dress on one of Hollywood’s most public stages isn’t progress nor is it a fashion statement—it’s a spiritual autopsy, a grotesque inversion of God’s created order. We’ve traded the glory of the immortal God for the fleeting applause of the queer mob, exchanging truth for lies and decency for debauchery.

And we dare call this enlightenment? If this is progress, it’s progress like leaping off a cliff is progress—sure, you’re moving forward, but gravity is about to have the last word.

This, of course, is the horrifying irony of God’s judgment in Romans 1: He doesn’t need to hurl lightning bolts or open up the earth. No, He simply steps aside. He “gives them up” to their passions, letting sin devour its own.

Lust? Take it—and watch as it hollows you out.

Lies? Believe them all—until truth feels like a foreign language.

Celebrate the creature instead of the Creator? Fine—watch as the creature consumes itself in confusion and chaos.

What the world celebrates as freedom is actually divine abandonment. The sin becomes the judgment, and the deeper we sink into it, the more we applaud, blind to the fact that our very clapping is a dirge for a culture marching a gold-paved path to Hell.

What can we do but throw up our hands in despair? Stop the world, I want off! When a man in a dress at a Hollywood gala becomes a symbol of our nation’s “progress,” it’s clear that we’re no longer climbing the ladder of civilization—we’re sliding down the greased pole of destruction.

God hasn’t changed, we’ve just turned our noses up at Him. As a nation, we’re idolaters, self-worshipers seeking the highest praise of anyone who will give it to us.

If there’s any hope at all, it’s not in new laws or moral outrage but in falling to our knees in repentance. Without God’s mercy, this world is careening toward ruin, and our applause only quickens the pace.

God help us. Literally—God help us.