From the pastor

October 26, 2003

Alison and I watched a documentary last night on Antarctica. I woke up at 1:59 a.m. shivering. After I fussed around a little, threw a thermal blanket over the bed, and lay back down, it occurred to me that the rules of daylight savings time were kicking in. At 2 a.m. we were supposed to turn our clocks back and live the last hour over again. I like to sleep, so this notion of repeating that hour put me in a good mood.

As I awake to a new day, temperatures in the 30s, wetness, and wind still leave me chilled to the bone. But life is complex. The cold simply magnifies the exquisite feel of fingers wrapped around a hot coffee cup, the delightful sight of sunlight dancing in orange leafed trees, and the comforting sound of the furnace’s steady hum.

I have been reflecting lately on what "Sunday" means to me.

When I was growing up, Sunday was always anchored by two events: going to church all morning, and engaging in Sunday dinner through a great part of the afternoon. I don’t remember whether I complained about the routine, but I do remember that I liked it and that it gave me security. (As an adult, I have discovered that complaints are as likely to arise in the presence of something important as they are in the presence of something wrong.)

It was on Sunday that I saw the clearest division of labor between my parents. My father (the pastor) was in charge of the morning, and my mother was in charge of the dinner and the afternoon. Things I loved about going to church: the attention I got from adults, seeing my friends, exciting Bible stories, singing, getting to usher or ring the bell. Things I didn’t like about going to church: tight clothes, long prayers, being on my best behavior since I was the preacher’s son, people who took themselves too seriously. Things I liked about Sunday dinner: getting invited to other people’s homes (especially when they had ‘real’ butter), my mom’s fried chicken, seeing my dad relax in the living room while he read the Sunday paper, planning an afternoon ball game with my brothers, the feeling of time off. Things I didn’t like about Sunday afternoon: when my mom fixed roast beef (our butcher have used the scrawniest cows in Northern Illinois—and my mom always bought the cheapest cut), my dad in a bad mood if a parishioner had been rude to him that morning, the Cubs blowing another game.

I wish we could do our part to recapture the gift of "Sunday." I wish we’d all take more time for Sunday dinner—and share it with each other in our homes—not restaurants. And I wish folks would just come and spend the morning at church: worship, Sunday School, and fellowship hour. We are making efforts here at Grace to make Sunday morning more and more attractive to people: worship, small groups, and fellowship. Starting next week, we will be expanding our fellowship time from 9 a.m. until 11 a.m.—so people can come and go. We will also be providing light breakfast food so people can share a meal and fellowship together. (A donation basket will help us defray the expenses.) It will be designed to help people get to worship and Sunday School on time as well. Let me know how you like it—or if you would like to help us by setting up or cleaning up. ---Mike