The Altar
The Altar
By Timothy A. Edward
In the heart of a tranquil village, nestled between rolling hills and emerald fields, stood the old stone church. Time had worn its walls, but its altar remained unshaken - a beacon of hope, a place where the weary and broken found solace. Within its humble confines resided an elderly missionary couple, John and Miriam Thompson.
For decades, they had been the village’s guardians, offering warmth to the forsaken and forgotten. Their love knew no bounds, and though their means were meager, they never hesitated to share the little they had. Children found sanctuary in their embrace, the hungry were fed, the suffering were comforted, and the sick were helped. Through their prayers and unwavering faith, many hopeless souls found hope. Miracles flowed freely in the holy ground. Stories were told of how a deaf child who had once gained her hearing after prayers at this altar. How a child with a heart defect got completely healed after prayers at this altar. Many stories were also told of desperate couples who had been blessed with children after many years of marriage. Those were real stories where these miracles have been permanent.
But then, a discovery shattered the peace. Beneath the very ground where the church stood lay veins of gold and precious stones for which this region was well known. Glistening riches that sent whispers rippling through the land. Soon, the eyes of men turned greedily toward the sacred soil.
A legal battle ensued, one that dragged on for years. John and Miriam fought not for the gold, but for the sanctity of the altar, for the lives that had been touched by its presence. Yet, money and influence weighed heavier than the call upon this land. They were forced to leave, their life’s work torn from their grasp.
As John and Miriam stood before the altar on the eve of their departure, the candlelight flickered against the weathered stone. Miriam’s voice trembled, though she willed it to remain steady.
Miriam: "John… how do we leave this place? It’s been our home, our refuge… our calling."
John gently clasped her hands, his aged fingers rough from years of labor and prayer.
John: "We do not leave it, my love. We carry it within us. This altar was never just stone and mortar - it was about the presence of God, the faith of the people, the hope of the broken. That… cannot be taken from us."
A soft sob escaped Miriam’s lips as she turned to the pews where children once laughed, where the sick once wept in prayer, where miracles unfolded before their very eyes.
Then, a small voice called out from the doorway.
Emma (the deaf child once healed): "You can’t go!"
She ran to them, tears streaking her youthful face.
Emma: "What if the miracles stop? What if no one prays for us anymore?"
Miriam knelt before her, brushing a thumb against the girl’s damp cheek.
Miriam: "Miracles were never just about this place, Emma. They happen where there is faith. And as long as you believe, they will find you, wherever you are."
By now, a crowd had gathered - the village, once vibrant, now standing as silent witnesses to an injustice none of them could prevent. Among them was Thomas, the man who was authorized to lead the charge to seize the land.
His face was grim as he stepped forward.
Thomas: "Please do not curse us. We are only doing what the courts have ordered us to do. We never meant for this to happen…"
John looked at him with tired but forgiving eyes.
John: "We never fought for land, Thomas. We fought for its purpose. And though this place is lost, our work is not finished. It will continue."
With John and Miriam’s departure, something shifted in that atmosphere of that little town. The altar, once a conduit of divine interventions, lay barren. The organ that played beautiful melodies suddenly fell silent. The glory departed from this place.
And as the old church crumbled, the glory it once carried found a new resting place elsewhere, where hearts were pure and hands were untainted by greed. For some, it was merely a coincidence. But those who had seen, those who had experienced the miracles of the altar, they knew the truth.
John and Miriam, though displaced, continued their mission faithfully elsewhere until their last breath. But the village, once thriving, had a long dark shadow above it. Years later, as people stood amid the ruins of what had once been so luscious, a song came floating in the wind whispering these words from a long distance –
'God sent His Son, they called Him, Jesus; He came to love, heal and forgive; He lived and died to buy my pardon, An empty grave is there to prove my Saviour lives!
Because He lives, I can face tomorrow! Because He lives, all fear is gone; Because I know He holds the future, And life is worth the living!'
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