An Altar and a Rose

The somber members gathered After Jesus’ death of woe. With downcast eyes, they questioned Why their Savior had to go. At their first church meeting Since the ill-fated event. They always gathered secretly, With Roman soldiers evident. “Look!” said a humble lady, Pointing to a new altar. Embarrassed, she sat down quickly Riveting eyes made her falter. This altar, so remarkable For a church of but one room, Was adorned by a long-stemmed rose. In full and delightful bloom. A man let his hand glide across The altar’s glistening wood “Such smooth and polished grain.” Craftsmanship he understood. A girl said, “This pretty rose Has such deep red so pure, And its lingering fragrance Is one I surely adore.” The gray-headed pastor smiled. And said, “A man came in today, And offered us this altar Replacing ours with no pay. “I felt good about this man, So I looked in his oak-wheeled cart. And under wraps of old robes He showed me this work of art. “After the Crucifixion He took the cross to his shop, And cut the rough wood in planks And smoothed them from bottom to top. “His heart was bursting with love As he built the altar with care, Then polished it to a sheen, With an artistic flair. “Then,” the pastor continued, “A sweet lady rapped on the door With a great story to tell. About this lovely rose we adore. “She had seen the Crucifixion, And stayed until all had gone. She wept at the foot of the cross Where laid thorns worn by God’s Son. “She’d not let the shame of these thorns Be seen. For this she would guard. She took them home with her And buried them in her yard. “Three days later, a rose sprung up In the exact place she chose. Now, she felt compelled to bring us Its very first blooming rose.”