Why I Love Sunday Mornings

It’s 4 a.m. Monday. Lee and I went to bed at midnight, and I have been lying in bed, awake, for the past four hours. The alarm clock is staring me right in the face, and feeling hopeless, I get up. Maybe doing something will get me sleepy again. Monday is my “get things done day,” so it is frustrating to know that I’m going to be tired today—I won’t be as productive as I want to be.

I tap Lee several times on the face, hoping he can’t sleep either. But, no, he’s sound asleep (sometimes, he’ll say to me half-conscious, “Can’t sleep?” And part of me feels better for winning his sympathy. He is, however, incapable of uttering a word tonight). It happened once this past spring: I was having one of my usual insomniac nights, and coincidentally, so was he. At 5 a.m., both of us get up, eat breakfast, brew coffee, and talk until morning—it was beautiful. Marriage and its beautiful snapshots.

When I’m not too tired, I love Sunday mornings. Like yesterday. Lee and I got up before the alarm clock went off—surprisingly, he popped out of bed before I did—at a quarter to nine. Lying in bed, I hear the sound of cereal hitting a bowl, and then typing. A few minutes later, I join him. We accompany each other during these quiet few minutes in our living room—he’s updating the softball website; meanwhile, I have the laptop open and I’m doing my Church History homework (this week’s lecture: The Elizabethan Puritans). I turn to him, “You want coffee?” which I know I don’t have to ask, because his answer will always be “yes.”

I sit there in front of the laptop, realizing how much I love the solitude—with him in the same room as me, both of us silently working away, sipping our coffee. Forty-five minutes later, he tells me he wants to hit the gym before church service begins at 11:30. While he's gone, I complete my history assignment.

11:15 a.m.: Under the scorching sun, we hold hands, walking to church. It’s about a ten-minute walk from where we live—and I consider the walk to the church part of the beauty of it—this companionship, this peace, this sense of rest, this anticipation to be moved by whoever was to be preaching that day.

We sit down. The worship leader sings his solo. We’re sitting on the balcony, so I scan the pews below us. Sometimes, I like watching all the different people that are in the worship—those scattered throughout, with their hands raised, eyes closed. Different races. Different faces. Same God. It’s beautiful.

Reverend Charles Price’s sermon this morning is entitled, “How Jesus Viewed Rest.” Based on Matthew 11:28-30.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

The main point was that we, humans, need rest—first, for the body, and second, for the soul. Often, we make the mistake of thinking that by resting the body, the soul will take care of itself. Not so.

Price tells the story of two woodsmen. Both of them work hard to chop wood. One of them rests continuously. In the end, however, the woodsman who rested finishes his work before the one who did not rest. This latter woodsman therefore asks him: “How did you finish your work so soon?" And the former woodsman answers: “You didn’t know—that while I was resting—I was sharpening my ax.”

How nicely put. How much we need to refresh our body and our souls so that we may proceed in our work all the more prepared, sharp, and eager?

Why is God’s yoke easy and his burden light? The “yoke,” as I learned today, was fastened on oxen so that they could carry a load. An animal could be yoked with another animal so that they could share the load. The yoke could be adjusted so as to distribute the burden of the load. You could yoke a strong oxen with a weak oxen and then adjust the yoke so that the burden could be distributed fairly—the stronger one carrying the heavier part of the load.

God’s burden is light because we are the weak oxen and He is the strong. When we synchronize our life to God, our burden becomes easy to carry. We just have to work hard—but our burden will feel light because the burden is ultimately on God’s shoulders. Look at all the figures in the Bible who have gone beyond their own capabilities. When we take his yoke upon ourselves, the impossible becomes possible. His strength is therefore made perfect in our weakness, as it is stated in the New Testament.

How tempting it is for us humans to carry our own burdens—when resting—in God—is what really matters.

Don’t think of resting as doing nothing. Think of it, as Price paints the picture, of driving down the highway at 100 km/hr, your hands are at the wheel, but you are relying on the engine running under the hood.

Why do I love Sunday’s? Because it is God’s day. I am reminded of beauty on this day because the mornings signal rest—whether I’m consciously or deliberately doing it—I am preparing my heart for worship. Holy expectancy. And today—listening to the sermon, with my husband sitting beside me—I am inspired.