A Sunday morning reflection on Sunday mornings

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Eigenheim Mennonite Church, ca 1950

Exodus 20: 8-11: “Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work. But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God, in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy …”

I sometimes think about this on a Sunday morning when I’m all dressed and ready for church, sitting in my recliner with a hot coffee on one armrest and a bowl of oatmeal on the other and the sun streaming in across the carpet and the Post Office closed, Bigway closed although the Coop Gas Station will undoubtedly be open. And I know the Seventh Day Adventists hold Saturday to be that seventh day and so gathered for worship yesterday and observed in their way what they understand is meant by “the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord.” And I did some Spanish study preparatory to a month in Mexico and learned that Saturday in Spanish is Sabado.

In German, the seventh day of the week is Samstag, or more familiarly to my language heritage, Sonnabend, or in Low German, Sonnovent. Sonntag being Sunday, the Saturday name is Sunday-eve day, like Christmas Eve is the heralding day for Christmas proper. A bath and shoe-polishing were markers of the Sunday-eve of my childhood.

The enacting of a Lord’s Day Act in Canada in 1906 brought with it complex problems of deciding what was lawful to do on that day and what wasn’t. “In 1937, when Captain Archibald Pither of Toronto was convicted of buying a package of tobacco on Sunday, he commented, ‘Overseas I had to fight as hard on Sundays as any other day.’ Sentenced to a two-dollar fine or a day in jail, he took the jail time.” (Never on a Sunday - Canada's History (canadashistory.ca))

Harvesting crops on a Sunday was a question for debate in the 1950s and 60s, but the Lord’s Day Act as a national law wasn’t being enforced, at least not as far as farm operations were concerned. The conundrum for my Mennonite father circled around Sabbath-keeping as understood from the Old Testament injunction to “do no work.” The enforcer in his case was the frowning of fellow church members should he start up his combine on “The Lord’s Day.” Cows, of course, had to be milked, fed and their barn cleaned Sunday as every day. 

It was Palm Sunday recently, the day of commemoration of Jesus’ heralded entry into Jerusalem on the colt of a donkey, a milestone day in the Lenten observations of Christian Churches everywhere. The arena area of Second Avenue was a three-block parking lot of cars and pickup trucks; many fellow citizens were benefitting from a “do no work day” to enjoy another sports event. I can empathize with them; as a teenager, attending predictable, boring church services couldn’t hold a candle to the Sunday afternoon softball scratch games.

The Supreme Court struck down the Lord’s Day Act in 1985 declaring it in violation of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. (Sunday Shopping | The Canadian Encyclopedia) Seen through the eyes of multiculturalism as a national policy, one might wonder why it took so long. Matthew 12 is helpful in understanding the difference between the sabbath as a set of legal obligations, or as an admonition recorded for our benefit: a  regular day of rest, of renewal, of reflection. “Then Jesus said to them, ‘The Sabbath was made to meet the needs of people, and not people to meet the requirements of the Sabbath.’” (Mark 2:27, NLT)

Perhaps a Sunday afternoon round of golf or a rousing hockey game is the exact “rest and renewal” some of us need, both in body and soul. Re-creation takes many forms. Maybe even a sleep-in instead of church. In any case, for me the judgment that those cars and trucks parked at the arena should be parked at church is a fleeting consciousness that I’m trying to suppress; more in keeping with The Word would be a gratitude that I’m able to experience my renewal and rest with two hours in the company of my church community … and perhaps a leisurely lunch and animated conversation with a few at the Grill after. And later, perhaps, a good book, a movie … or maybe writing a blog post like this one.

I’ve long since traded my golf clubs for a walking cane.  

 

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