I watched the clip—again and again—Steven Furtick laughing, giving some guy a piggyback ride in what he calls a church. The people around him cheering, clapping, filming on their phones like the presence of God is some novelty sideshow act. Honestly, this stuff just makes me sick. It should grieve us when what is meant to be holy is dragged through the mud and turned into a circus.

There was a time when men trembled to enter the sanctuary and especially when one took the pulpit. When the thought of the Most High, holy and righteous God stirred awe and fear in their bones.

Some accounts, whether true or not, claimed that even the priests would tie cords around their ankles before entering the Holy of Holies because the holiness of God was so consuming that a single misstep could end their lives.

But now?

The pulpit has become a playground. The sanctuary has become a stage. And men like Steven Furtick dance before a crowd that no longer knows the difference between worship and blasphemy.

The prophets warned of this. “My name will be great among the nations,” says the Lord of Hosts, “but you profane it when you say that the Lord’s table is polluted.” (Malachi 1:11–12).

God’s name will not be mocked forever. He will not tolerate this cheap parody of His glory—a gospel reduced to catchphrases, an altar reduced to a show, a Savior reduced to a stage prop for men drunk on applause.

I look at what Furtick has built with his own hands and see the caricature of a bride, not clothed in righteousness but in glitter and lights. The Scriptures call her what she has become—a whore, chasing after lovers that flatter her and feed her vanity. This is what happens when men trade the fear of God for the favor of man. When they decide it is better to entertain goats than to shepherd sheep.

There is no trembling in that place. No repentance. No weight of glory. Just laughter, noise, and a preacher carried on the back of another man while the people clap as if heaven were clapping too. But heaven is not clapping. Heaven is silent, watching as men who claim to speak for God turn His house into a carnival.

The great preacher Charles Spurgeon spoke of this too, but even he had no idea what we were in for in our day. He said “A time will come when instead of shepherds feeding the sheep, the church will have clowns entertaining the goats!”

God is patient, but His patience has limits. The fire on Mount Carmel still burns, and it will consume the false altars again. When He comes to cleanse His temple, He will not come with applause. He will come with a whip, overturning tables and judging those who mock Him.

And I fear for them. For all of them who confuse excitement for the Spirit and amusement for anointing. The laughter will die out. The music will stop. The lights will go dark. And then they will see Him—not as the harmless mascot of their circus religion, but as the Holy One of Israel whose eyes are flames of fire.

The question that lingers, heavy and unshakable, is this: how long will He let His name be carnivalized before He stops the show?