Spiritual Altars are collapsing in Nigeria—not from the weight of time, but under the pressure of sin. What was once a holy ground, trembling with divine fire, is now casually trodden by unrepentant hearts and ceremonial egos. The sacred theatre where divinity once thundered now groans under the weight of moral pollution. Lust has crept in like the foxes that spoil the vine. Fornication, adultery, covetousness, incest, theft, pride, and unholy ambition now dance before the veil. These are not sins from the outer court, but stains of the priesthood itself. The place once feared like Sinai is now mocked like Market Square. Theatrical stages, auction platforms, and political podiums are merely surface symbols—beneath them lies deeper apostasy. A space meant for sacred dialogue with God is now possessed by dragons of flesh. This is no mere decline—it is a theological rupture of prophetic proportions. If the altar falls, what then remains of the Church?
In the Old Testament, Uzzah touched the Ark irreverently and died (2 Samuel 6:7). Nadab and Abihu offered strange fire and were consumed (Leviticus 10:1–2). But today, strange fires burn unhindered, and irreverence is institutionalized. The sanctuary no longer trembles—it entertains. Ezekiel once saw elders worshipping idols inside the temple, thinking no one saw (Ezekiel 8). Nigeria’s temples, too, host hidden abominations—secret lusts, covered scandals, financial extortions dressed in the garments of prophecy. Friedrich Nietzsche foresaw the death of reverence—not in atheism, but in apathy. Rudolf Otto’s “mysterium tremendum” has been replaced by motivational speech and polished charisma. The sacred is now staged.
The altar has become a platform of performance. Ministers rehearse sermons like monologues, draped in designer garments, feeding off applause. The choir stirs bodies but seldom awakens souls. Services are choreographed down to lighting and camera angles, but hollow at the core. The Word is no longer a hammer that breaks the rock (Jeremiah 23:29); it has become a cushion for carnal comfort. American theologian A.W. Tozer warned that worship loses its essence when it reflects culture more than Christ. That warning is no longer distant—it is fulfilled on Nigerian altars every Sunday.
But perhaps most grievous is the altar’s complicity in blessing what God forbids. Abominable marriages are now paraded before the Lord without shame—marriages born in rebellion, sealed in lust, and divorced from Scripture. The altar, once a threshold of covenant, is now a platform of compromise. Pastors officiate unions forged in violation of pastoral counsel, in disobedience to the Holy Spirit, and in defiance of sacred order. Marriages between believers and unbelievers, between predator and victim, between status and convenience—are solemnized with song and celebration. These are not isolated misjudgments. They are systematic desecrations. Like Judah in Malachi 2:11, the Church has profaned holiness by marrying what God calls foreign.
It is not merely about who marries whom—it is about what the altar affirms. When the sacred is used to validate the profane, we do not only grieve the Spirit—we become adversaries of His design. These marriages, some rooted in adultery or abuse, invite spiritual contamination. The marriage bed, once to be held in honor (Hebrews 13:4), is now made a stage for deception. Jezebels are crowned queens in Zion. Samsons blind to covenant are led to Philistine altars. These desecrations do not just produce broken homes—they breed broken churches.
The spiritual implications are eternal. For beyond the glamour of the altar is the gravity of judgment. Heaven is real. Hell is real. Jesus is not a metaphor—He is the resurrected Christ, the Judge of both the quick and the dead. And judgment, the Scripture says, must begin at the house of God (1 Peter 4:17). The altar is not only a site of blessing—it is a courtroom of eternal scrutiny. Every oil-pouring hand, every prophetic voice, every officiated union, every sermon preached must give account. What we do at the altar echoes in eternity. There is no theatrics in the Throne Room. No fog machines before the Lamb. The fire that falls at the altar is either purifying or consuming.
The tragedy deepens in silence. Silence from spiritual fathers who should speak. Silence from watchmen too weary or too compromised to blow the trumpet. Silence from congregants who cheer at desecration because they no longer discern the sacred. The veil is torn—but not by Calvary. It has been shredded by compromise. And like the sons of Eli, the Church honors her children above her God (1 Samuel 2:29).
Yet, the Lord still reserves a remnant. There are Samuels in hidden chambers. There are Isaiahs with burning lips. There are weeping priests between porch and altar (Joel 2:17). There are Josiahs ready to tear garments and restore the Book (2 Kings 22). History teaches us: desecration often precedes reformation. When altars are rebuilt, fire falls. When tears soak the threshold, glory returns.
Let us return to the altar—not for aesthetics, but for atonement. Let our pulpits be purged with holy coals. Let our oil be from crushed olives, not commercial bottles. Let our marriages mirror Christ and the Church—not Egypt and compromise. Let the Word thunder again. Let shepherds tremble again. Let the sanctuary shake—not with bass and volume, but with the weight of glory.
For until the altar is holy, the nation will remain unhealed. And until we repent at the threshold, we will continue to mistake noise for revival and activity for intimacy. May God restore our altars, revive our priests, and reclaim His Church—before the fire falls in judgment, not in glory.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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