The Things We Bow To

"The Things We Bow To" — A Story About Idolatry

Long ago, in a sun-scorched land, temples towered over the hills like monuments to forgotten truths. People came from all directions—merchants, mothers, shepherds, soldiers—each bringing something to offer. They laid their sacrifices before carved statues with eyes that never blinked and mouths that never spoke. Some were made of gold, others of wood or stone, each one shaped to represent power, beauty, love, or strength.

To the people, these were gods.

Among them was a curious boy named **Eli**. He had grown up hearing stories about the gods of thunder, the gods of harvest, the gods of fertility and war. His neighbors believed the idols were sacred beings, listening from within the carved forms. But something never sat quite right with Eli.

One afternoon, while helping his grandfather sweep the dust from their small porch, Eli asked, “Why do they bow to stones?”

His grandfather, a quiet man who had lived long enough to see the rise and fall of kings, paused, looked out toward the setting sun, and said, “Because they want to see something in the stone that they think they can’t find in themselves. Strength. Safety. Meaning.”

Eli frowned. “But they don’t talk back.”

His grandfather nodded. “Exactly.”

The Rise of the Heart’s Idols

As Eli grew older, he traveled beyond his village. He met people from far cities, across rivers and mountains, and noticed something: the idols looked different, but the worship was always the same.

He met warriors who idolized their swords, believing victory alone gave them worth. He met merchants who bowed to silver, convinced that wealth was salvation. He met poets who worshipped fame, their identities tangled in the cheers of strangers.

Each of them had given their hearts to something—something they believed could save them, or make them whole.

And yet, the same emptiness lingered in their eyes.

Then one day, in a dusty market, Eli heard a voice shouting over the crowd. A prophet.

“You fools!” the man cried. “You carve wood with one hand to warm your fire, and with the other you make a god to bow down to! Is your god so cheap that it can burn or rot or be broken?”

The people scoffed. Some threw stones. But Eli listened.

This prophet spoke of a **God Most High**—invisible, eternal, uncarved and uncontained. A God who did not dwell in temples made by hands, who could not be reduced to image or statue, who demanded not sacrifices of grain or gold, but of the heart.

That night, Eli could not sleep. He began to wonder: *Have I, too, made idols without knowing it?*

Idolatry: More Than Just Statues

Years passed. The temples of Eli’s youth began to crumble. Kings fell. New gods were sculpted, new prayers whispered. But the idea of idolatry stayed with him.

He came to understand that idolatry was not merely a matter of **sculpture**—it was a matter of **priority**.

It wasn't just bowing to statues. It was **placing anything above God Almighty**, anything that ruled the heart more than the Creator Himself.

This truth hit Eli hard: *Anything—anything—can become an idol.*

Not just false gods, but good things, too. Family, success, knowledge, comfort, even love—when elevated above God—became idols.

He remembered the prophet’s voice: *“You become what you worship.”*

The City of Hidden Altars

Eventually, Eli moved to a bustling city—its skyline lit by glass towers and electric signs, its people driven by speed and ambition. There were no carved gods in the streets, no temples burning incense. But the worship was everywhere.

He saw people bow to **money**, giving every waking moment to chase more of it.

He saw people sacrifice truth for **status**, twisting their morals for applause.

He saw young people shaping their lives around **approval**, curating images of themselves for strangers to like, heart-react, and adore.

He saw lovers worshipping each other, forgetting themselves in the desperate need to be seen.

No one called these things idols. But Eli knew.

They were things people **ran to when they were afraid**, **built their lives around**, and **sacrificed their peace for**.

Each one, an altar. Each one, a god.

Wrestling With His Own Idols

Eli wasn’t immune.

He realized one morning, as he sat staring into his own reflection, that he had begun to **idolize being admired**—to crave the respect of others more than the presence of God. He had worked so hard to look righteous, wise, and good, that he had forgotten to *be* those things in secret.

That day, he knelt—not before a statue, but in a silent room—and whispered, “God, strip the idols from my heart. Even the ones I’ve grown to love.”

It was painful.

Letting go of an idol is like pulling out a thorn buried so deep, you think it’s part of you. But he began to feel free.

He wrote in his journal:

Idolatry is not just ancient. It is now.

It is not just golden calves. It is golden dreams.

It is not just temples in ruins. It is temples within the heart.

And anything—*anything*—that becomes more important to me than God Almighty…

That is an idol.”

A Final Lesson From the Past

Years later, Eli returned to his childhood village. The temple steps were still there, but the idols had long been toppled, worn by time and rain. Children played where people once knelt in fear.

He sat beneath the same tree where his grandfather once told him about the stone and the wind.

Now older than his grandfather had been then, Eli smiled, realizing the wisdom passed down was not just about stones—but about the **human heart**.

He gathered the village’s youth and told them stories—not of gods in stone, but of a **God who sees**, who listens, who cannot be shaped by human hands.

He told them, “You will be tempted to worship many things in life. Not all of them will look evil. Some will look beautiful. Some will feel good. But if they take the place of the Almighty, they are idols.”

A boy asked, “How do we know when something has become an idol?”

Eli looked around, then answered, “When it owns your heart more than God does. When you can’t imagine life without it. When it shapes your choices more than His word. That’s when you know.”

Conclusion: The Battle Within

Idolatry is not merely a problem of ancient religions. It is the ongoing human struggle to place God in His rightful place—**above all things**.

The idols of today may not be golden calves or stone gods, but they are just as powerful and dangerous: fame, fortune, relationships, comfort, fear, self.

And anything—**anything**—can be considered an idol **if it becomes more important than God Almighty**. That’s the heart of the matter.

Like Eli, we are all on a journey through a world full of altars. But there is only one altar that leads to life, only one throne worthy of worship.

So the question remains:

What do you bow to?

And is it worthy?