The Dust We Left

The holes in the door were filled with spider webs and insect eggs. As I approached, the doors grew in stature. Splinters fell to my feet as I moved into the open barren sanctuary. Dust covered every surface, even the light coming through the stain glass windows felt muted. I walked down the aisle, looking down every empty pew. The high vaulted ceiling begged for voices to be raised. In response I began to sing, My inner man heard the choir’s voices being lifted and the organ beckoning the angels to praise our creator. I continued to walk among the pews and dust but as I drew closer to the alter even my once vigorous singing became muted, mirroring the dust on the bibles, pews, windows, and alter. Nothing is more frightening then an abandoned alter and more intimidating then the unused elements sitting complacently upon it.

“In Remembrance of me”

“In Remembrance of me”

“In Remembrance of me”

My eyes and my body drawn to these words etched into the table near the alter, I get on my knees and stare directly at them as if they wish to whisper something to me. I nearly jump to my feet as the jar of anointing oil falls over and spills onto the table. The stream of liquid slides down the surface and leaks off of the letters of the word “me.” From the moment I saw the rotted doors, my heart had been asking where were you? Just as the bread, and the wine, and the oil, and the bibles had been here, He had been here. We were the ones who left this place, not Him.