“Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, and changed the glory of the incorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man…” — Romans 1:22–23
When man tries to take the place of God, his glory turns to ash—because without the Light beyond us, our own light fails. —D.
+ + +
When God is pushed out, something else always rushes in. And more often than not, it’s man—elevated, exalted, dressed in borrowed robes meant only for the divine. At first it feels strong, even noble: stories where sacrifice, grit, or sheer cleverness save the day. We eat it up, thinking perhaps we’ve outgrown the need for God. But then the credits roll, the page turns, and a quiet ache settles in. The room dims. Is this all there is? The answer comes—not with thunder, but with a hollow silence.
This is what happens when man sets himself on the throne. He might stand tall for a while, but soon the weight begins to press. The cracks spread. Societies built on human greatness alone always fall the same way—slow, then sudden. Without the sacred, the roots shrivel. Without the Light that shines beyond us, we flicker out. The glory we chase fades into something smaller, sadder—something we were never meant to carry.
Truth has not vanished. It’s only been buried—under slogans, screens, and the myth of progress. But deep down, we know. A man’s soul was not made to burn on its own oil. We were meant to draw light from the Source, to be kindled by something other, something holy. When we forget that, we grow dark. But when we remember—when we turn, when we kneel—the Light does not delay. It was never gone. We had only looked away.