S is for SUNDAY

Sunday was always a quiet day in our house. There were the usual routines, mostly revolving around church times and culminating in dinner together sometime around 1:30pm. By this time, we would have had breakfast, gone to Sunday School around 10:30am then on to church at 12 noon, before escaping at about 1:15pm, having lasted the whole sermon with only a Polo mint for sustenance. Mum cooked the dinner in the early part of the day, kept it in the oven while the minister orated and then it took just a few minutes to serve after we arrived home. Everyone helped with the washing up, dad included and then he found time for a long snooze on the couch while big sister and I headed off to Bible Class in what remained of the afternoon. After tea, there was usually time for a quick Bible quiz or a few gospel tracks from Jim Reeves or George Beverley Shea before Songs of Praise was given an airing on TV and then it was off to the local mission hall for another bite of enlightenment. That was the only time the TV got warm on a Sunday, a rule that mum had insisted on since she had got married. I can't say I wholly agreed with her decision, but dad seemed to be happy enough and I guess I didn't really miss out, except for possibly three or four World Cup Finals that always seemed to kick off about the time the mission hall started and, oh yes, Peyton Place, which everybody else in the world seemed to be watching. When I got tired of Jim Reeves crooning, I used to stick on an old Burl Ives record that he made with the help of the Korean Orphan Choir and for ages, as it played, I would just stare at these strange, smiling faces from the other side of the world. I wonder what happened to all of them?

Almost every Sunday, we would have somebody visiting. One of my dad's brothers,and his wife always came in the afternoon to see my grandmother who still lived with us and I looked forward to that visit because, for years, they always brought me a copy of The Beano and Diana for my sister. Also every few weeks, another brother and his wife would appear with a large tub of freshly made ice cream which was gratefully accepted. But most Sunday nights, our local caretaker, Billy, would cycle from his home beside the church and, along with mum and dad, would spend a couple of hours over supper, regurgitating and digesting the local news that everyone had collected. I suppose I didn't really appreciate it at the time, but Sunday in our house, was different to the other days of the week and while church was central, family time was also important and there was always a chance to recharge the batteries in readiness for the week ahead.

So church and family life is still important to me on a Sunday and although I haven't adopted all of mum's ideas about how to spend the Sabbath, I still find myself, reflecting on the fourth commandment and questioning the rights and wrongs of many activities that have become the norm in our society on the first day of the week. Essentially God tells us to keep His day holy and also to rest and I suppose I have come to the conclusion in my own mind, that when something begins to erode or constantly occupy the time I would devote to my faith and to worship of God on Sunday, and indeed to the time I need to rest, then I feel uncomfortable with where I am. Jesus reminds us that 'The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath,' and in that I find my answer, for God knows that I need a Sunday for my spiritual and physical well being. And if He doesn't occupy my thoughts on His day, it's unlikely I would find room for Him between Monday and Saturday. So I guess I'll continue my Sunday observance holding on to the past and securing my future.