In a generation where pulpits once blazed with divine fervor, an eerie silence now hovers over many altars. The voices that once thundered revelations are now murmuring doubts. The confession of _“I no longer believe God exists; I served Him for twenty years” by a weary servant like Abraham Daniel is not an isolated lamentation—it is the aching psalm of a disillusioned priesthood. The once fiery ambassadors of the cross are now shadows of their former zeal, staggering under the invisible weight of unanswered prayers, spiritual exhaustion, and the cruel irony of divine silence.
The fire on the altar is not quenched by sin alone—it is often drowned by tears unseen. Behind many polished sermons lies the quiet erosion of faith caused by unreciprocated devotion, betrayed loyalty, and the commercialisation of the sacred. The modern ecclesia has turned temples into theatres, pastors into performers, and miracles into merchandise. The sacred has been swallowed by spectacle. When the pursuit of God is replaced by the pursuit of applause, the heart begins to starve for authenticity. Even Elijah, under the broom tree, once wished for death after calling fire from heaven—proof that spiritual heroes are not immune to exhaustion.
Our age of religious industrialisation has replaced communion with competition. The man of God is now a brand, his anointing a currency, and his weakness a scandal to be monetised. Such a climate breeds cynicism. When the applause fades and solitude returns, many realise they have built empires for a God they no longer feel. The divine seems distant, the heavens brass. The Psalmist cried, “Why art thou cast down, O my soul?” (Psalm 42:5). Yet the silence persists. Faith becomes mechanical, prayer routine, and hope a rehearsed rhetoric. Thus, the altar becomes a museum—beautiful, but lifeless.
African spirituality once taught that the sacred flame must be fed with sincerity, not success. The Igala proverb warns, “He who stops fanning his ember will soon sit in darkness.” The same applies to ministers who mistake visibility for vitality. God’s flame is not sustained by noise but by intimacy. When prophets stop retreating to the mountain, they descend into performance. When intercession becomes intellectual, revelation dries. The fire dies not because God departs, but because men depart inwardly while still standing outwardly.
Yet, hope is not lost. For every fading flame, there remains a spark buried beneath the ashes. The same God who restored Peter after denial can rekindle weary hearts. The Church must return to the simplicity of devotion—to love without transaction, to serve without ambition. Faith must be purified of performance and anchored once more in intimacy. The fading fire of the clergy is not the death of God; it is the call for renewal. For though the altar smokes in silence, the breath of God still hovers, waiting for the contrite to whisper again, “Lord, light me afresh.”
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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