Our granddaughter, Hannah, is turning 18 this week and I want to recognize her by posting a muse she wrote several weeks ago. Hannah graduates from high school this year and her career goal is to become a political journalist. Currently, she is in the process of applying to colleges, SAT’s, and, and a week of semester exams! Happy birthday, Hannah, my beautiful!
Sundays, or as my Grandmother would call them “Sondays” because you’re suppose to rejoice and draw close to the Lord. Sundays are lazy, boring, and, almost sad to me. Everyone wakes up early, cleans up, gets dressed in a nice outfit, and drives to church. So, we get to church, we stand up and sing, bow our heads, pray, nod and listen. But, do we hear?
We get comfortable and it’s almost as if we’re in a trance and everyone seems obligated to listen and soak everything in. As the preacher is speaking you feel as though everything he’s saying is directed towards you and you begin to let it surround your thoughts and contemplate it. Then the last song is finished and you walk out of the building.
I’ve noticed that people don’t take anything with them after that, they might discuss it on the ride home but that’s it. We all come back to the stresses, nuisances and anxiety, it is as though we’ve left our safe place and entered the real world, back to reality. People are back to their ways, they nag and pick at each other, quarrels happen abruptly and it’s like we never even went to church.
Sundays for me have always been going to church, coming home/going out to eat lunch, watching football and just slowly coming back to reality. Today, during service I didn’t want the sermon to end, the last song seemed so short. As the preacher was closing I said to myself, “I could sit here and do this all day, just keep preaching and singing, please.” But then he said “Amen,” and we stood for the last song.
Church is my safe place, I forget everything and I am overtaken with the message and the songs. It’s as though everyone has a big force field around them and nothing can hurt you. Walking out of church, I remember that I have to go to work, I need to finish all my assignments, I have to clean my room, and I need to study. Maybe that is what is suppose to happen, I don’t really know. Church is our pitstop, our checkpoint, our intermission for the week. You go to church, you think about everything that happened, you pray about it, sing about it, and listen to it. When I was little I use to almost not want to go to church but now that I’m growing up, I’ve come to realize that I need church.
The many faces and graces of Hannah – happy 18th, my heart!