Sundays are different

Sundays are different. 

Not that I have ever known the difference.

For most people, Sunday is a day when one can sleep in later, have a little more relaxed breakfast, and late morning perhaps take in an engaging spiritual message before retiring to a large Sunday dinner, some shared family time, and the mysterious realm of Sunday evening punctuated by left-overs and old movies. 

I have never known that kind of Sunday.  As long as I can remember, Sundays meant getting up at or before the usual time, being especially cleaned-up, and being off to prepare the way for others' Sundays.  I grew up in a household which took church attendance to the extreme.  We were part of the "first-to-arrive, last-to-leave" group.  My mother would be running the Sunday School, my father would be setting up chairs or tidying some corner.  After all the events of the Sunday classes and services, there were supplies to be put away, dishes to be washed, and chairs to be stacked.  This pattern also ensured that we were not ever going to have that big Sunday noon dinner, nor ever attend a Sunday brunch.  (Now, lest anyone think this means I must have grown up in a Fundamentalist tradition, this was in a Universalist Unitarian congregation.)

But, to redeem the day, the evening was often spent at my maternal grandparents' house, where a multi-course meal would be served (we were always assured that if Pillsbury had introduced a new refrigerated dough treat, it would be on the table) followed by a chance to see favorite programs on TV that could not be seen on our set because we lacked the attic antenna which my grandparents had.  

This pattern continued through my teen years as the church became one of my main social connections.  And into college, when the local UU congregation was a warm, welcoming community even through a few groggy mornings of mine - the promise of an invitation to someone home for a home-cooked meal was a bonus.  

So, it is probably not surprising that I heard and answered the call to ministry, the call to not have the same kind of Sunday that others had.  

But, this is what I have found in a life-time of having that different kind of Sunday.  That the people I serve on Sundays (and all the other days) as Chief Spiritual Officer are more like family to me than I could have ever predicted.  As I watch the rows slowly fill with people before the service, it feels like a gather of "my people."  And it is usually at that moment each Sunday that I think about how different my Sundays are, and how blessed I am by the difference. As I will point out later today in my sermon,  one can be assured that one is never alone.  Sundays are the ceremonial reminder of this. 

Sundays are different because, if we let them, they remind us of our place in community, chosen community, covenanted community, blessed community.  And I wouldn't want to miss that for all the opportunities to sleep late, browse the paper slowly, or even an all-you-can-eat brunch.