Look at the world.
The stadium shakes every night.
The concert hall dazzles without fail.
Award shows pour millions into a single evening.
Every detail flawless. Every second intentional.

And tomorrow? They’ll do it again.
And again. And again.

The world never stops giving its best.
For fading crowns.
For applause that dies by morning.
For gods that cannot save.

But the church—the Bride of Christ—
too often walks in like a widow.

Where is the fire?
Where is the passion?
Where is the honor?

We rehearse harder when the bishop is coming.
We decorate brighter when the crowd will be large.
We polish our best for anniversaries and Christmas.

But on the Lord’s Day?
The King Himself walks into the room—
and we yawn through worship.
We mumble prayers.
We drag our feet.
We give Him scraps.

This is not weakness.
This is not culture.
This is insult.

God Does Not Accept Leftovers

Malachi 1:8:
“You bring me blind animals for sacrifice—is that not wrong?
Try offering them to your governor! Would he be pleased with you?”

If a president or celebrity walked into our service,
we would practice until midnight.
We would dress to perfection.
We would pour every ounce of excellence into that moment.

But the King of Kings is in our midst every Sunday,
and we dare to give Him half-hearted worship.

Church, hear me:
This is not worship.
This is blasphemy.

The Cross Was Not Halfway

Look again at Calvary.
Jesus did not give part-time blood.
He did not wait for Easter Sunday.
He did not hold back until the crowd cheered.

On a random Friday,
in front of mockers,
in sweat, spit, and blood—
He gave EVERYTHING.

No shortcuts.
No “special occasion” sacrifice.
He poured out His excellence until He cried, “It is finished.”

And we dare to offer Him leftovers?
We dare to treat Him as worthy only when the program is big?
We dare to give Him less passion than the world gives its idols?

Hell laughs when we do this.
Heaven grieves when we do this.

The Bride in Shame

Picture a bride who only bathes, dresses, and perfumes herself on anniversaries—
but shows up filthy on ordinary days.
Would you call that devotion?
Would you call that love?

That is what many churches look like before Christ.
Dressed up for programs.
Dirty the rest of the year.

And we wonder why the world does not take us seriously.
We wonder why souls don’t run to the altar.

It’s because they can smell when honor is fake.
They can see when fire is occasional.

Selective honor is DISHONOR.
Part-time passion is REBELLION.

The Final Cry

Church, wake up.
Stop playing games with God.
Stop rationing honor.
Stop treating the King like He should be grateful for scraps.

Excellence is not seasonal.
Excellence is not optional.
Excellence is not about the crowd.

Excellence is about HIM.
The Lamb. The Lion. The Bridegroom.
The One who gave His all.

When we give Him less than our best,
we preach a louder sermon than our words:
“God, You are not worth it.”

But when we give Him our all—
not on anniversaries, not on “big days,”
but every single time—
the world will tremble.
The lost will come running.
And heaven will open.

So enough of this part-time honor.
Enough of this Sunday laziness.
Enough of this staged worship for men while despising the King.

Give Him your best.
Your all.
Your every breath.
Every day.

Because He gave His best—His life—
for you.

And if that doesn’t shake you,
then nothing will.