Altars were known to be sacred places of sacrifice, places where blood of animals were shed for the appeasement of gods and goddesses. It was a way of evening the score and to correct wrongs. When I grew up, the alter was The Great Untouchable. I remember going up to the alter for the first time during my Catholic confirmation classes. They showed me where consecration happened, upon a holy stone underneath the simple bleach-white linen overlay. It was stunning to me that something so simple as a cloth and some words would be so powerful as to change water into wine. Stunning, then confusing, then, eventually, just plain crazy.
It took me years to find a theological explanation of sacrifice that somewhat made sense to me. I knew that I was not a sinner, despite my catholic background. I didn’t believe in sin, per se; I believed in injustice based out of brokenness. I knew this because I have seen brokennness heal and justice served. The Jesus I knew had little to say about personal sin or what God thinks about any of us. Jesus was a Justice-maker. He cared about people’s brokenness because it affected the greater good.
As I studied, I started to understand my faith on a deeper level, I began to consider the altar again, conceptualized anew. I realized that to make my own altar, I reclaim my faith. It is not to be a place to make right any “sin” I’ve committed. It is a place to understand my life from an ego-free place, to give up—like Jesus showed us in the garden—my stubborn belief system or distracting desires. It is a place to lay aside my wants and to make peace with my brokenness, my humanness, in the millisecond of life I have here on earth. It is to commit to self compassion and self care. When I give away my fears or bothers, I free myself, and am therefore free— mind Body and spirit— for others. If I am Christian, then I follow The Way. This involves setting aside my desire to know, and instead honors the need to Be.
I created an altar in my sunroom. These days my alter looks out to the Lenten roses purfuming our garden. It faces east, the direction of newness and rebirth. When I light my candle there, i commit myself to that continual rebirth. I dedicate myself the great Creator within.
It took me years to find a theological explanation of sacrifice that somewhat made sense to me. I knew that I was not a sinner, despite my catholic background. I didn’t believe in sin, per se; I believed in injustice based out of brokenness. I knew this because I have seen brokennness heal and justice served. The Jesus I knew had little to say about personal sin or what God thinks about any of us. Jesus was a Justice-maker. He cared about people’s brokenness because it affected the greater good.
As I studied, I started to understand my faith on a deeper level, I began to consider the altar again, conceptualized anew. I realized that to make my own altar, I reclaim my faith. It is not to be a place to make right any “sin” I’ve committed. It is a place to understand my life from an ego-free place, to give up—like Jesus showed us in the garden—my stubborn belief system or distracting desires. It is a place to lay aside my wants and to make peace with my brokenness, my humanness, in the millisecond of life I have here on earth. It is to commit to self compassion and self care. When I give away my fears or bothers, I free myself, and am therefore free— mind Body and spirit— for others. If I am Christian, then I follow The Way. This involves setting aside my desire to know, and instead honors the need to Be.
I created an altar in my sunroom. These days my alter looks out to the Lenten roses purfuming our garden. It faces east, the direction of newness and rebirth. When I light my candle there, i commit myself to that continual rebirth. I dedicate myself the great Creator within.
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