A Day of Rest?

I was always taught that Sunday was a day of rest. I never recall resting.  We all rushed around like a bunch of lunatics on Sundays.

All of the men in my family were clerics. My uncle had three churches to preach at every Sunday morning. By afternoon, he looked like someone had attacked him, but he had lunch, laid on the couch in his office for about 20 minutes and then he was off to the races again! He spent every Sunday afternoon, visiting the sick. Then he came home, ate supper and scurried off to the main church for Sunday evening service.

It never failed to amaze me when a minister would tell you that it was a sin to work on the Sabbath. Just what in blue blazes were they doing? I’m pretty sure that preaching was listed somewhere in their job description!

And what about nurses, firemen, police officers…What would happen if they were told by their minister that they were going to hell for working on Sunday? Where would that leave the rest of us that depend on those people being there when you need them?

Of course, if memory serves me, when I was growing up, everything was a sin! Those people made me a nervous wreck! Then there was my British grandmother who always seemed to be watching.  Her brilliant advice was that if I was enjoying myself to cease and desist immediately, because that was a sure sign that I was doing something that I shouldn’t be doing! “Cease” means stop and “desist” means don’t ever do it again or you could face legal action, but grandmother meant you could face the wrath of God or worse, the wrath of her!

Happy Sunday!