On a Sunday Morning

This week, I have two posts set to publish on Wednesday and Saturday. How exciting–two posts in one week! Both posts are on the same topic, but one is an essay and one is a poem. I hope they both encourage you to take your thoughts captive to Christ and to worship God in a way that honors him. Today’s post is a poem.

***

On Sunday mornings, when I wake up,
I wonder what I’m going to wear:
The orange dress with the white flowers,
Or the fuscia dress with the rouched-up sleeves?
Then, it’s on to hair.
Up or down? Should I wear my black barette,
Or my giant turquoise claw?
My kids are next:
Breakfast, backpacks, off we go.
I love to watch the landscape pass
Through the car window.

We sing beautiful songs at church;
They start out low and grow,
Reaching the high notes with a crescendo.
I feel each note echo around my head.
I almost have them memorized,
Simply based on how they feel
As I form them like a true artist.
They are old friends,
And I hope my voice sounds good today.
It’s important that my voice sounds good today
So everyone can hear it.

Who will I talk to after church?
And what in the world am I going to say?
The sermon drifts by,
But my ears are plugged,
Unhearing, uncomprehending,
Closed off to the light of illuminated Scripture
Like the blind man before he met Jesus.
I pull myself back,
Then I let go again.
My thoughts are not the thoughts of heaven.
Before long, we’re driving home.

What if, instead, I woke up and wondered
“How will I worship God today?”
Will my first emotion be
Joyful humility or reverent awe?
Will my heart tremble as my pastor reads the law?
Will it soar as he reminds us of God’s grace?
Will I be present in this time and place,
Smiling at my children,
Enjoying our breakfast together,
Leaving the house in peace,
Anticipating rest forever?

What if those beautiful songs
Reached to the depths of my soul?
Rather than feeling my voice,
I’d feel the words in my heart, hallowed-out,
Waiting to be filled
With stories pointing to the love of God.
Wouldn’t that be odd?
Imagine a Sunday morning
In which my focus stays perfectly clear,
In which I prepare my mind
For the words God knows I need to hear.

I’d catch each line of the sermon,
Mingled with the morning light
Pouring through the stained-glass windows,
And I would find delight
In God’s Holy Word.
The Holy Spirit would teach my heart
And Jesus would open my eyes
Like the eyes of the blind man.
I’d be able to see again,
And I would know what matters and what to say.
May it be this way
On a Sunday morning.

Featured photo: Tamara Bellis
Bottom photo: Aaron Burden on Unsplash