Day of Rest:Sundays Will Never Be The Same
by
Wendel Potter
Remember "Pleasant Valley Sunday"? How about "Sundays Will Never Be The Same" or "Groovin' (On a Sunday Afternoon)"? Let's also not forget "Sunday Morning Coming Down".
These were all titles of songs - my kind of music - that were popularized back in the 1960s. Sunday must have been something worth singing about back then. I know it was always a day that put a song in my heart.
Sundays drew a different kind of attention in those days. I was pointing this out to my son last Sunday as we were pulling into the parking lot of one of our city's (and nation's) largest retailers.
As we walked into the store, my first inclination was to hyperventilate when I beheld the wall-to-wall knot of p-p-peo-ple! (I can barely bring myself to say that word out loud. I call it "the dreaded P-word".)
It must be obvious by now that I'm not overly fond of crowds. In my case, crowd means any assembly of more than two people.
Jesus said, "Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." WHAT IN THE WORLD WAS HE THINKING!!!
Speaking of Jesus, he was the reason Sundays were originally singled out from the other six days of the week as the Christian Sabbath.
And, as time went on, while not everyone would regard himself or herself as a churchgoer - or even a believer, for that matter - there was still a customary sacredness built around Sundays that was observed until sometime in the 1970s when suddenly "shop 'til you drop" became a yuppie battle cry and society spawned its first generation of mall rats.
The Day of Rest had become, for retailing institutions, the Day of Revenue. Before that, Sunday had served as a rather quaint religion in itself for the lion's share of Americans. Ah, those were simpler times.
Of course young people are traumatized when they hear that there were no stores open on Sundays in days gone by. When did you shop?, they wonder, and how did the sun still manage to come up on Monday?
American society just didn't operate at the fever pitch it does today. And when stores were open only six days a week, you were forced to build your schedule around that fact.
Also, in that time of great music, there were a lot fewer stores. We had fewer needs. (Needs being a mostly mental thing, anyway.) And there were fewer people, a fact that I delighted in. I figure, the fewer the people, the easier it is to all get along.
When I was growing up, Sundays meant going to early Mass. Afterward, Mom would fry up a skillet of bacon and eggs while the rest of us vied for our favorite sections of the newspaper.
After breakfast, we kids would retreat to the outdoors in warm weather or, if it was winter, we'd head for the basement where we'd play board games or operate our electric trains.
A chicken dinner was a Sunday tradition for our family, as well as for many others. In summer, Mom would grill the chickens outdoors.
"Another Pleasant Valley Sunday,
charcoal burning everywhere."
Afternoons were spent leisurely, at play or at the movies. Mom would read a book and maybe take a well-deserved nap. Dad would busy himself with his woodworking.
Sunday supper was usually soup and sandwiches and we ate on trays in the living room while we watched television -- "Roy Rogers," "Lassie," or "Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color" (which we watched in black and white, but it was still wonderful).
Later in the evening, we had Mom's home baked pie. What a way to top off a perfect Sunday.
In the course of it all, we never set foot inside of a store on Sunday. We couldn't, because they weren't open. We didn't need to. Our needs were filled right there at home.
By the way, the sun still managed to come up on Monday. And we were well rested.
Copyright 2009 Wendel Potter
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