When the Briefcases Came

It was a prayer week
And then came Sunday.
The pastor, steady on the altar,
When they started to enter.
Ah, yes—they came with briefcases.

But those briefcases, they held no Bibles,
No hymn books tucked inside.
No, no—they carried money.

The pastor smiled, as if knowing,
The hour had come at last,
The hour for "kingdom financiers."

He welcomed them with open arms,
Blessings spoken soft and sure.
But what he didn’t know, my child,
Was that he welcomed more than just briefcases—
He let in strange ways, foreign behaviors.

Those money bags, oh, they changed him.
He no longer preached the truth he once knew.
He became like the others.
The world crept into the pulpit,
And the pastor we loved was gone.