24/06/2025
A Cry from the Altar
What my eyes have seen among ministers of grace,
My lips can scarcely utter—it's a bitter, burning taste.
Disgust wraps my soul in grief so deep,
The altar now groans while heaven weeps.
Old lives transferred to sacred space,
With untamed hearts behind holy face.
That stubborn nature, uncrucified,
Now sits on the altar, glorified.
A pastor with alcohol on his breath,
Sneaking through doors of adultery and death.
Church scammed with "prophetic" 419,
Where is the circumcision of the mind?
My heart is bleeding, O God, it's torn—
Because secrets now parade in scorn.
Social media sings the shame,
While the world mocks His holy name.
Ministers tie charms beneath their robes,
The line between prophet and herbalist erodes.
Soaps for thieves, incantations for power,
Witchcraft dressed in a preacher’s tower.
Clerical collars hide their spell,
Yet the stench of sorcery is easy to tell.
Inside I scream, ashamed to kneel,
The altar is filthy — Lord, help me heal.
But there is a call…
Come out of darkness, return to the Flame,
To the First Love — Jesus, that sacred Name.
The Bridegroom comes, His steps are near,
He comes with reward — and holy fear.
He says, "Behold, I come quickly, and my reward is with Me,
To give every soul what their works decree."
So where will you spend eternity’s light?
Turn now. Be saved. Step into right.
Repent, O preacher. You’ve strayed too far.
Come back to the Cross, not just the collar you wear.
The time is now — don’t wait for the fall.
The Master is calling… will you heed the call?
Abiola OlaOluwa
Poet & Author