BLOG 1: ALTARS, ATTENTION, AND THE MOMENTS WE MARK

We don’t usually think of ourselves as people who build altars.

Altars sound ancient - stones, fire, sacrifice, something that belongs firmly in the world of the Old Testament, and certainly not in the middle of modern life, deadlines, meetings and packed calendars.

Yet, whether we realise it or not, we are constantly marking moments and raising altars. We bookmark articles we mean to return to. We save reels of babies and cats and random recipes because we find them mildly funny or interesting, rarely both. We take photos so we don’t forget special occasions, we celebrate milestones, name seasons and we are intentional about remembering turning points.

But, that raises an unsettling question: what if our photos, routines, and saved moments are just modern altars?

From the screenshot of that email you took when you received your first job offer, to the school yearbook kept in your room even though you left years ago. Maybe it’s your yearly traditions, anniversary dinners and holiday souvenirs or your conference lanyards, event wristbands and matchday programmes. The bluetacked poster of the Bible verse you glance at when in need of encouragement, the worship song on repeat when life gets heavy, the baptism towel or ‘I Have Decided’ T-shirt, or maybe just the tattered notebook from those early days of your faith. What if all these are simply quiet places where we decided that this is worth remembering? Moments that we refused to rush past…

This urge to mark moments is far from new, in fact, long before cloud storage and camera rolls, we see this instinct woven deep into the biblical story. Throughout history, God has repeatedly shown His people how, and when, to pause after decisive encounters with Him, not just as intentional memorials but as anchors for our faith.

In Exodus 17, Israel has just come through a battle they had absolutely no business winning.

The nation of Amalek attacks them unexpectedly, and the outcome of this battle hinges noton military brilliance, tactical mastery or commanding expertise, but on something far weirder: Moses standing on a hill and keeping his hands held up…

Verse 11 tells us that when Moses’ hands were raised, Israel prevailed, but when they dropped, the Amalekites gained ground. Eventually, Aaron and Hur decide to hold his arms up until victory is secured.

Only after all of this do we read:

“Then the Lord said to Moses, “Write this on a scroll as something to be remembered and make sure that Joshua hears it, because I will completely blot out the name of Amalek from under heaven.” (Exodus 17:14)

The narrative continues, telling us:

“Moses built an altar and called it The Lord is my Banner” (Exodus 17:15)

Jehovah Nissi.

These details matter.

Moses does not treat the victory as self-evident, but instead deliberately memorialises it. The altar he builds becomes a declaration: ‘this didn’t happen by accident and we cannot forget why it happened’.

See, altars were never about the materials used to build them, and, whilst it is tempting to reduce them to merely places of sacrifice, a closer reading of Scripture reveals something more formative: altars are often built after encounters, not before…

Noah builds one after deliverance following the flood (Genesis 8:20). Abraham builds them as he moves through unfamiliar land (Genesis 12:7-8). Jacob builds one after a dream (Genesis 35:7).

Over and over again, altars show up where someone has paused long enough to say: this matters.

Where ancient altars asked people to linger and remember, today our attention must do the same - carefully and deliberately, in a world designed to fracture it. Attention may be one of our most valuable currencies, and certainly one of the most contested.

We may not kneel before stone structures, but we constantly give our attention, energy and emotional weight to the things that shape us. Work. Worry. Comparison. Entertainment. Ambition. In fact, Jesus names this tension plainly:

“Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:21)

Altars, at their core, were about directing attention. They helped people remember who was at the centre of the story. Hence, Moses doesn’t name the altar “We Survived” or “Israel Wins Again”. He calls it Jehovah Nissi - “the Lord is my banner”.

As we continue through 2026, we are also invited to build our own altars - not of stone, but of attention.

Just as Moses paused to mark what mattered most, we too can pause to reflect on the year behind us: the moments of grace, provision, and perseverance that might otherwise slip unremembered. But, just as importantly, we can choose where we will place our attention in the days ahead. What will we lift as our banners this year? What will we choose to notice, nurture, and honour with deliberate focus?

In a world overflowing with distractions, these acts of intentional attention are the altars that shape our lives, guiding us toward what truly matters. The challenge, of course, is that this kind of intentional pause doesn’t happen by accident, it needs structure and rhythm in the middle of ordinary life. Just as altars stand as visible declarations of God’s faithfulness, we can also create room in our lives to keep this same faithfulness in view for ourselves too.

That’s where The SELAH Blog comes in.

The word ‘Selah’ itself is a Hebrew term repeated several times in the Psalms, not simply as a musical pause, but as a spiritual instruction to stop and consider. Scripture shows us that revelation without reflection rarely produces transformation, but when truth is given space to take root in our hearts, it begins to reshape how we think and live.

The Selah Blog exists not as more noise, but as an opportunity for digestible, 5-10 minute weekly pauses in the form of a repeatable rhythm of blogs, sermon notes, discussion pieces and short articles to recenter our hearts back to the Father, whilst filling us with wisdom for everyday life, and, hopefully (maybe) giving you something to laugh about in the process too…

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom”. (Psalms (90:12)

It won’t always hand you neat answers, neither will it tell you how much to save in your bank account per month or whether he’s really the man for you, but it will offer you language, Scripture and reflection that can be returned to again and again. Not because everything here will be new, but because remembering can often be just as powerful as discovering.

So, the hope is simple: that week by week, you might find yourself returning back here, not out of habit alone, but intention. Perhaps you’ll even build a few small, quiet altars of your own - moments where your attention is reclaimed from an incessant stream of digital noise and your perspective is reset, and, once again, you remember the banner that you live under.

25/02/2026