Church of the Almighty...

A legacy of the Worldwide Church of God

Everyday the people could be seen entering the temple for worship. The girl on the sidewalk could tell they must be very spiritual by the way they all talked. Their tone was one of hushed reverence that often brought responses of great emotion. She knew she would never be like them. She wasn’t even allowed into the temple, though she longed, out of curiosity, to see the inside.

A single act of blasphemy years ago had banished any chance she ever would have had of joining in their fellowship. And although she sat outside the temple every day, none of the priests or lay-members would so much as look upon her. Sometimes she would wander down to the end of the street to see them coming from their magnificent homes. There were others like her along the way but none were shown any sort of pity. The brethren from the temple regarded their worship as far too important to stop and talk to the outcasts.

Once, she had been bold enough to stand on an old tree stump and listen at the bottom of one of the huge windows. The worship service was beginning and she could hear the congregation repeating the incantations of the priests; “worthy, worthy, worthy, art thou our great God, who hast toppled the empires of the earth”. She knew their God must be very strong, for in His name many people had been cast out, their lives reduced to nothing. She had been one of them. And it had been decreed by the Council that her sin was so great that her punishment would be visited on her children and her children’s children “even unto the fourth generation”.

Today, as she stood in the rain, she was very cold. Two men approached the massive stone staircase that led up to the temple’s entrance. She timidly asked if one of them could spare a little money, just a little, so she might buy some soup. One of them hesitated but was quickly grabbed away by the arm. “There are agencies for such things. Go through the proper channels!” the other spoke. His voice was harsh and stern. She apologized, her face turned toward the ground. She knew it had been wrong for her to speak to them. They had important offerings to lay on the alter. God must not be kept waiting. There was no time for mercy. She understood.

Another time she had stopped a woman who was going in. She asked if the woman might offer a prayer for her in the temple. She had not answered, but stood, looking shocked that one like her should have been addressed with such a trivial matter. The girl’s shame weighed greatly upon her shoulders and she cried quietly. Why could she not be righteous like the temple members?

But tonight, she had promised herself, she would sneak into the temple and seek forgiveness at the altar. Then they might accept her and see that she could be as good as they were.

She sat in the dark of the early autumn night and listened as the evening service came to a close. A slight breeze rustled the drying leaves scattered along the ground. Through the window came the endless prayers. “Holy, holy, holy”, intoned the priests, the congregation reverently repeating. As the brethren dispersed she could see it must have been a very moving service. Some of the men, even, were weeping tears of gratitude. She longed to know God as they knew Him. Surely such an all powerful One could find a way to forgive her.

When the last of the men and women had left and the caretaker had closed the big double oak doors, she emerged from the shadows and approached the stone steps. She looked around carefully, for she had once been severely rebuked by one of the elders for even touching the great edifice. Looking behind her, she climbed the steps cautiously. The huge doors were in deep shadow between towering columns. Once at the top step, she would be unseen from the street. She had to stop and take a breath, and to realize the moment. She had never been inside the temple and now she stood at the very doors. Her heart pounded as she reached for the latch. With a loud click the door slowly gave way.

Even with the dim interior lighting she was almost overcome by the grandeur. She had heard the people say that God’s house must be built of only the finest, most precious material, and constructed by the most skilled craftsmen. A thick carpet of velvet ran the entire length of the massive chamber dividing down the center two sections of pews. There were candles and incense burners at the end of each aisle, and pieces of fine crystal displayed on the walls. Small, soft satin benches permitted the worshippers to kneel comfortably while the priests carefully went through the ancient rituals. And there, at the head of the chamber, elevated so all could see, was the altar. It shone like pure gold. It took her breath away.

She desperately wanted to approach it and make her intercession but she was sorely afraid. What if someone came in? What if God himself consumed her for desecrating this, His home? She would have to risk it all. She wanted to be happy, like the others. Happy and unencumbered by the suffering of her own kind. She began the long walk up the aisle. The faint smell of incense lingered as she passed by the ceremonial goblets. She knew she would be put to death if she was caught now. But there could be no turning back. The only doors were now far behind her and she would be trapped if any of the elders or deacons should come in now.

At the foot of the altar she became unsure as to what to do. Should she kneel as she had seen some of the brethren do at the foot of the outdoor steps? She noticed that the elegant carpet was slightly worn around the sides of the altar. She walked around it and took the small step upward that gave a slight elevation to the altar’s pinnacle. This must be where the actual worship takes place, she thought. There were stools for the priests to kneel on. And there, just within reach, at the summit of the platform, was the object of their attentions. A small jeweled box. She knew from the talk of the others that the box was only opened seven times each year and that God himself appeared at these times giving strength to all who saw his Holy image. Did she dare touch it? She had come this far and she knew there would never be another moment like this. Trembling, her fingers stretched upward and toward the glimmering gemstones of the lid.

But in being overly cautious, she tensed and jerked her hand at the last moment, knocking the lid right off the box. Precious stones clattered down and across the gold leaf surface and she cried out in fear that God would send a fire to devour her on the spot. She froze, holding her breath; God must be waiting for just the right moment to destroy her in utter humiliation. Gazing up at the jeweled container she agonizingly awaited her death. The entire temple was deathly quiet.

Summoning what little courage remained in her heart, she decided that as long as she was to die for her desecration, she would first gaze upon God Himself, then let Him do His worst. Grasping the top of the altar she pulled herself up from the crouch she had been in. Then, holding the gem box firmly at it sides, she tilted it toward herself and peered into its opened top. And there her eyes rested. She saw their God and all at once she knew His power and His strength and the spell He cast over the brethren, the elders, the deacons, and the priests.

There, at the bottom of the box, lay a single dollar bill.