It is Sunday

 

 (and they say we should be taking our children to church.

 “They” are many people including our own conscience,

our own feelings of inadequacy as parents. 

My wife wouldhavesaid we should be taking our children to church.

She said so in a more sure tone: her mind made up to this. 

But she was also prone to fads,

herbal remedies,

exercise programs,

and chiropractic health.)

 

What is the problem I am having with church? 

What about it, besides the added 3-5-hour a week commitment fills me with dread?

It is not the sermons. 

I usually enjoy the intellectual play in the sermons. 

It could be that...

that I have never embraced what they are selling and

find I have to play

an extensive intellectual translation

to sit there and happily nod my head

behind the walnut and the carpeting

the molded hymnals

organ pipes straining to the ceiling

deacons nodding over wrinkled Old Spice necks

and hats veils and gloves with the sweet smell of old wool and moth balls.

 

An empty bowl sits on my desk.

 A present left no doubt by one of my children. 

I wonder what was in it? 

I pick it up to look closely to see if it has any clues. 

None.

Only the hint of a smear in the bottom. 

I take it downstairs and get more coffee.

 

Then, passing my son’s room,

I hear the faint yelps and oof’s of someone being killed on the play station,

while Schumann plays on my radio.  

 

Perhaps the church thing

is that Sunday will be church no matter what you do.