A Personal Altar
The Christian life, at best, would be described as a walk or journey of faith. At few points are we invited to put down stakes into the ground and sit a spell. Instead, we move through seasons:
- - seasons of valleys and seasons of mountaintops- - seasons of plenty and seasons of drought
- - seasons of sunshine and seasons of darkest night
- - seasons of rain and flood, and seasons where we must prime the pump with the waters of yesterday to draw today's sustenance.
This journey has a map, to be sure, but the signposts can be confusing at times. Other times, we venture into places without seeming to find direction at all. But the destination is clear.
It is in ALL of these times that we must build, time and again, one of the most precious gifts God has given to man: the ALTAR.
Sometimes it's easy to get into the presence of God; other times, it's hard...whether from our own mental obstructions or spiritual hindrances we fight.
In my mind's eye, I picture myself--daily--taking out timber and nails, constructing this altar. It's all there.
Perhaps the nails are, setting the alarm a bit earlier or rising from sleep when it's chilly and I'd much rather nestle back down into the covers for fifteen minutes, kneeling in prayer before the rays of morning can be seen. Another nail. Another board.
It's in foregoing the coffee pot and that home-cooked breakfast for awhile in favor of a self-denying fast. As I push the plate back, I remind myself, "It's ok. I'm building an altar." Another nail. Another board.
It's setting aside the gas money and the time for a trip to the church house each Sunday and Wednesday night...because there, I might just get a blessing, or, even better, be one! Another nail. Another board.
It's standing to my feet to lift my voice with others during song service when I know I may not sound as well as some. Clapping my hands and dancing before my King when my body aches from the work of the week before. But, like I said, I'm building an altar. One nail. One board at a time.
It is not an altar that is fancy or outfitted with the accoutrements that would please man.
It is not a structure that would bring ooh's and aah's of the world with its glitter and its shine.
No, most of the time, others just walk on by and never notice it.
Honestly, in my mind's eye, I see it almost like a rustic, wooden bench, humble in appearance and tucked a bit back from the sight of others. The wood is smooth and uneven, having been worn away by elbows and tears. The edges are marred from the times it bore my weight during heavy storms. The grain is scarred from the times I clung to it in desperation.
And, yet, that old altar I would not trade for anything in this world because it is at that humble place that God meets with me, face to face.
Rev. Genessa Torsy
