The thought flitted through my mind as I sat on the front pew waiting for the morning worship service to begin. A large black scuff ran horizontally across the creamy white altar, just to the left of the pulpit, clearly visible for everyone to see.
“Bad spot,” I thought casually. Then the prelude ended, and any thoughts of scuff marks were lost in the joy of leading music for a congregation that loves to sing (a little foretaste of Heaven, in my opinion).
The following week, however — same time, same pew, longer prelude — I noticed the mark again. And this time, with the morning sun shining brightly through the sanctuary windows, I realized it wasn’t just one mark but dozens. A veritable spider web of shadowy marks crisscrossed the altar wall, some faint, others darker, some even leaving a scar in the drywall.
“What in the world?!” I wondered to myself. “Looks like the preschool class did a craft project up there.” I briefly pondered whether I should let the trustees know the wall needed to be painted. Surely, a dirty altar wasn’t the message we wanted to communicate to first timers. Then, the prelude ended, and, once again, the altar wall was forgotten as the worship service began.
That morning we experienced a particularly moving service, with an emphasis on salvation, both in music and preaching. The sermon delivered a clear presentation of the gospel, both to those yet to accept Christ and to believers, reminding us of what the Savior has done in our lives and the responsibility to share our story with others. The presence of the Holy Spirit was palpable!
As the invitation hymn played, the altar filled. And then it crowded again a second time when we prayed over student summer missionaries headed around the globe. As people squeezed together, boot soles kicked, jeans scuffed, watches scraped, buttons clinked, and tears ran freely. Suddenly, I knew the source of all the strange marks on the altar.
The following Sunday, as I waited for the service to begin, I thanked God for the opportunity to be part of a church with a “dirty” altar. For some reason, the marks I previously found distracting now held a strange beauty.
“Please give me your eyes, God,” I begged. “Forgive me for being distracted by things that do not matter and help me see clearly what is important in light of eternity. And, please, help us always to have a dirty altar.”
About the Columnist: Eric K. Thomsen has been the managing editor of ONE Magazine since 2005. He is the worship leader at Bethel FWB Church near Ashland City, Tennessee.
