Their idols are silver and gold, the work of human hands.
They have mouths, but do not speak; eyes, but do not see.
They have ears, but do not hear; noses, but do not smell.
They have hands, but do not feel; feet, but do not walk;
they make no sound in their throats.
Those who make them are like them; so are all who trust in them.
If I’m not careful, what I make with my hands becomes my heart’s treasure and my soul’s captor. The idols I make in my own image and to my own glory unmake me. My eyes turn blind, hands numb, voice silent; I harden into stone, by all accounts dead to the world.
The real zombie apocalypse isn’t the special effects and make-up drama seen on big and small screens – it’s walking through this world untouched by its God given beauty and unmoved by compassion for God created others. And the worst part of this living damnation? It’s self-inflicted.