A few weekends ago during a time with the Lord, I was weeping so hard and could not stop. It was a feeling from deep within the soul. I was overcome with a desire and longing to be in a church at an altar crying out in worship and praise to Him.

I was raised at the altar. My mother was what you might call a ‘holy roller’ so I was raised up in that environment. After the preaching there would be a time at the altar – honestly, I don’t remember us ever leaving church without it – the time at the altar. I was young, barely five years old. As I sat in the pews watching my mother, older sisters, and most of the other women in the church I wondered if I would become a holy roller and at what age that might happen. Most of the women were laying out flat in the floor before the Lord, some prostrate, others on their backs. The sounds of their cries was heavenly to me. Majestic words I could not understand rolled off their lips like how the R’s roll off a Frenchman’s tongue. Their voices fluctuated from soft and gentle to loud and adamant, but in either influx they sounded like angels’ voices trying to bring down the glory of heaven into that place. I couldn’t decide if the Lord was patiently trying to hear each of them in their own requests individually or did it reach His ears as a lovely concert from an orchestra of handmaidens. Well, it didn’t seem to matter to the handmaidens. Not one appeared bothered by the other voices, whether they were blending in unison or vying for His attention and they all continued to pray, praise, and worship Him in a somewhat chaotic acoustical union. To be fair, there were men at the altars too, but my focus was on my mother and her prolific accomplices.

“The need for an old fashioned church altar became overwhelming.”

I wondered back and forth in the aisle rubbing my hand along the back of the long pew in front of me, stopping occasionally to soak in the sweet spiritual aroma I was being engulfed by. At the end of the pew sat my daddy. I wasn’t concerned with why he wasn’t at the altar; I was glad he was there so I could ask him my questions. I was filled with enough curiosity now to go join them. But I thought it wise to have more information before I entered that sacred area between the front pew and the pulpit, now blanketed with wailing women. I sat down next to my daddy and ask him how I could do that? Could I be down there with them? Can I pray to God that way? In a soft whisper he briefly instructed me on prayer and praise. I acted immediately on his recommendations of a kind of first praise for a worshiper of my age. I began to say, “Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus.” I wasn’t crying or rolling around like the more seasoned worshiper down front, but I meant what I said, and I felt He was pleased that I spoke it aloud to Him. I was content – as content as a 5-year old could be. I returned to my journey back and forth inside the pew row repeating my praise – that was my first experience of prayer walking.

I finally did reach the right age and I found myself at the altar. Through the years that sacred ground has become a solid foundation to my faith in God and my prayer life. To always give Him praise, and always find an altar. The altar is such a sweet place to be. No, of course is does not have to be in a church, an altar can be as simple as on your knees by your bedside, but for me, there is nothing like being drenched in the magnificence of His presence through the sweetness of the Holy Spirit while on your knees, in church, at the altar.

The need for an old fashioned church altar became overwhelming. I felt the Lord nudge me and say go find an open church. I was impressed that when I found an open door I should go in and fall on the altar. I put on my shoes, grabbed my keys, and set out to find an open church with an altar – hours later, miles and miles of road, and a dozen or so of locked doors – I returned home and went to my knees beside my bed – weeping. I was heart broke, sure He had directed me in some sort of treasure hunt searching for an altar, inside a church. But there was none.

I ask the Lord why He had directed me to go find a church altar? And why did He tell me to find an open church door, He must have known they were all going to be locked? His answer was clear: He said He wanted me to feel what it will be like for the multitudes that will run to find Him in a church only to be stopped by a locked door.

I ask Him why all the churches were locked? He said they lock the doors to protect their treasure, but it is the wrong treasure. They have filled my house with silver and gold and lock the doors to keep the thieves out. But Jesus is the true Treasure – the only Treasure. If they will empty my house of their false treasures, they will be rid of those that seek silver and gold and I will fill their churches – with souls – souls hungry for Jesus. If all that’s in the house is Jesus, no need for locked doors!

I thought of a time long ago when we could go to church at any hour and spend time at the altars, the doors were never locked. Now, you are lucky to find a church door that stays unlocked all day on Sunday. I thought of how the church first started rejecting people to keep them out. Your hair is too long, you have tattoos, you can’t come in barefoot, there were a plethora of reasons and people began to get the message. I can remember a time when I, myself would not go to church because all I had to wear was jeans. First, we rejected the undesirable congregant, then we took out the altars and started using a side room to pray with people – so we don’t offend. We filled our little churches and had to build bigger ones. Big giant spectacles to make a statement of our success. And finally, we began to fill our churches with expensive things; gold candlesticks, expensive electronics and sound systems, and exquisite floral arrangements – all empty adornments requiring locked doors for protection. But those locked doors did more than keep the silver and gold safe inside – they kept the hungry, blue jean wearing, Jesus seeker safely outside.

Please, open your church doors pastors! Rid your church of the worldly treasures that require keeping your doors locked. Open your doors and make your altars available for the hungry at heart – those seeking the one true Treasure – let God fill HIS house!

“And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.” — Jeremiah 29:13