‘Day of Rest’ Is Now Another Round on the Hamster Wheel

The Bible reports that God rested on the seventh day, but that’s only because grocery stores weren’t open on Sundays back then.

If God were working on creation today, He’d spend Saturdays running the kids around, and on the seventh day He’d wake up knowing He had better get to the grocery store before the bell clanged for work on Monday. Heaven knows, it’s too tough to get that chore done during the week.

While He was out, God might drop by the mall to pick up some birthday cards (all from the section marked “Belated”). And He might see if He could find a little something new for Himself.

God would probably fill the car with gas and make a pass at the ATM machine on Sunday, too, so He could get a running start Monday morning. There also would be a stack of mail and paperwork that had collected all week, not to mention laundry. And if He didn’t get to the yardwork, it would have to wait another week.

I’m sure God would want to sanctify Sunday and keep it holy. But my guess is, all sorts of chores would get put off until Sunday, and it would be more of a deadline day than a rest day.

Most of us, I think, would love to spend Sundays the way God intended: church, breakfast out, an afternoon of reading the paper, napping and hanging out with the family. If Dad felt ambitious, he might tighten a doorknob or two. If Mom had energy, she might make a roast for dinner.

But basically, Sunday would be set aside as a day of rest and reflection. A day to restore the physical and emotional energy that the week has drained from us.

I don’t think God had in mind long lines at the grocery store, indoor soccer leagues and recreational shopping when He hallowed this day. Of all the days of the week, Sunday has gotten the most out of hand.

Sunday actually began as Saturday. That is the Sabbath in the Jewish tradition, and the early Christians adopted it. Gradually, Christians began to set aside Sunday as “little Easter,” and in AD 321, Rome ordered that Sundays be an official day of rest.

Something happened between 321 and the repeal of the blue laws. Though some small merchants had always been open Sunday, by the mid-1980s, it was official: Business was business as usual on Sunday. I’m not sure what offends me more, that stores are crowded or that kids have Sunday game schedules.

Like everyone I know, I am caught in the swift running current of activity that has now slopped over into Sundays. I see more people I know in the grocery store on Sunday than I do at church. But there isn’t time to catch up with their news. Sunday is as rushed as any other day.

I want Sundays to be the way they were when I was a child. My sisters and I would return from Sunday school to smell my mother’s Sunday roast. My father would be listening to music on the radio and reading the paper.

There was nothing worth watching on TV until “The Wonderful World of Disney,” so I would fall asleep reading a junior biography of Marie Curie or somebody. Or I would take the dog on a run through the woods.

I would return home flushed and breathless, to a Sunday night supper of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Bedtime came in due course. It was not a finish line for which I desperately lunged.

I think a day like that is what God had in mind when He told Moses to “remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy.”

If I had my way, His Eighth Commandment would be law, and everyone would be so grateful, no one would violate it.