The Gospel of SELF and the Death of the Cross: A Final Trumpet to a Modernized Church

“But understand this, that in the last days there will come times of difficulty. For people will be lovers of self...” — 2 Timothy 3:1–2

The New Gospel: A Journey to Heaven Through the Self

A new gospel now walks among us—not preached from pulpits, but whispered from mirrors. A gospel that no longer cries, “What must I do to be saved?” but asks instead, “How do I look doing it?” It is a gospel measured not in repentance, but in waistlines. Not in holiness, but in hashtags. We are told that to ascend to glory, one must first ascend in self-esteem. That heaven begins with self-confidence, self-care, and self-expression. Oh, blind generation! Have you forgotten that he who would find his life must lose it? (Matthew 16:25) The true Gospel begins with death—death to self, not its elevation. Parable: A man dug a well, hoping for water. But he filled it with mirrors. He looked down and only saw himself—thirsty, beautiful, and dying.

Selfies at the Altar: When Vanity Wears a Veil

Look! The house of God has become a photography studio. Saints no longer kneel to pray—they pose to be praised. Holiness has been replaced by angles. Sermons are interrupted not by conviction, but by clicks. We once tore our robes in grief. Now we adjust our robes for likes. And what are these poses, these postures, this pouting and peacocking before men? It is Babel 2.0—a people building their image upward, hoping heaven will applaud. But heaven does not follow us. It searches us. And the Lord still looks at the heart (1 Samuel 16:7)—not the curated profile.

Sport as Sacrament: The Temple of the Body

Now we run, not from sin, but on treadmills. We sweat, not in intercession, but in saunas. The body, once a vessel of sacrifice, is now a sculpture of self-worship. We discipline the flesh for fitness, not for faithfulness. What was once fasting for power is now dieting for popularity. Even the elders chase protein shakes more than the power of God. The flame of Pentecost has been exchanged for the warm glow of tanning salons. Our abs shine—our altars are cold.

Parable: A woman sculpted her figure until it was admired by all. But when she died, her spirit was hollow, like a trophy—polished but empty. She had worshiped at the gym, but never met the God who made her bones.

Paganism in the Sanctuary: Birthday Cakes and Bridal Sorcery

Now we sprinkle glitter on sin and call it “tradition.” Bridal showers that echo the rituals of ancient temples. Birthdays that mimic Babylon’s star readings. Gender reveals celebrated like demigods are being born. Have we forgotten that God never needed a cake to give thanks? That Jesus never wore party hats, but a crown of thorns? Are we so desperate to appear "modern" that we invite demons to dance in our dining rooms? The Church now celebrates what once made Israel stumble. And all in the name of being “relatable.” Relatable to who? To the world that crucified our Savior?

Cosmetic Creation: Playing God in the Mirror

What madness is this—that clay corrects the Potter? We now purchase new skin tones, new noses, new hips. We alter the length of our limbs, the color of our eyes, the structure of our faces. We reject the blueprint of heaven and draft our own. Men now wear earrings not as a sign of servanthood, but self-expression. Women now tattoo identity over purity. We paint, cut, add, and inject—then post it with a verse beneath. This is not Christianity. This is cosmetology as theology. Are we so ungrateful that we spend heaven’s coins to declare, “God, you erred in making me”? Are we still Christians if we blame God for our form and then market the revision as “authentic”?

Modesty Mocked, Half-Naked Holiness Praised

We now preach half-naked. Sing half-naked. Pray half-naked. And call it “freedom in Christ.” But true freedom wears humility like a robe. This naked modernism is not revival. It is regression to Eden’s shame without Eden’s repentance. We wear tight jeans and tight consciences. Transparent blouses and opaque Bibles. We’ve learned how to layer style but strip holiness. And when rebuked, we say, “Salvation is inside.” Yes—but if the well is pure, should the water not also be clean?

A Name We Love, A Life We Hate

Christianity was once a shame. A brand that cost you your life. Now it is a label we wear on t-shirts, not a burden we bear on crosses. We love the name, not the life. We sing “Jesus is Lord” but live like Influence is King. What deception! We now carry the name that once made devils flee, just to gain followers on earth. But God is not mocked. He sees the disconnect. We are Christians in word, but not in walk. We keep the label to access the community, but walk the wide road that leads to destruction (Matthew 7:13).

The Prophecy Fulfilled: Lovers of Pleasure, Haters of Truth

Paul warned Timothy. The Spirit screamed through his pen: “In the last days…” And now, we are those days. Men are lovers of themselves, lovers of pleasure, having a form of godliness—a shadow gospel, a silhouette of truth—but denying its power. Try to correct a brother, and he’ll say, “Salvation is personal.” Try to rebuke a sister, and she’ll block you for “negativity.” They dress like Babylon, sing like Babel, live like Sodom—and call it grace. But grace that excuses rebellion is not grace. It is theater.

The Last Trumpet: Before the Door Closes

We are seconds from midnight. The Ark is open, but the animals are already gathering. The trumpet is rehearsing its final note. And too many are still distracted by hair dye, filters, spa packages, and sound baths. Parable: Five virgins heard the call. But they were still adjusting their makeup. When they reached the door, it was already shut.

Watchman, cry aloud. This is the last chance. Warn them: the door will not stay open. The Lord will not wait for Instagram to finish buffering.

Pilgrim, Be Grateful for Your Dust

Pilgrim, lay down your makeup. Lay down your posing. Lay down your enhancements, your trends, your opinions, your pride. Pick up your cross. Be grateful for your height, your tone, your nose, your scars. The Potter does not misshape. The Creator does not misprint.

Let the saints return to modesty, sobriety, simplicity, humility. Let us preach again—not in beaches and brunches—but in weeping and warning. Let us look forward—not to our next mirror session—but to the glorious revealing of Christ. For what is all this image, this glitter, this glow—compared to the brightness of His appearing? Repent, Church. For the door is about to close. Even so, Come Lord Jesus.