As I write this, it’s Sunday morning. This is no more a holy day to me than Monday through Saturday . . . because they’re all holy. Yet, for me, Sunday is a particular day for a particular practice.
There’s a movement afoot . . . nothing new, but the numbers seem to keep going up. It might be called It-Doesn’t-Exist or I-Don’t-Need-It or I-Can-Do-It-By-Myself. We’re talking here about the spiritual dimension of life. If that term is not amendable, pick another one. We’re talking here about something humanity around globe has recognized since we began to recognize things, namely, the reality of something at the core of our being that guides and strengthens the estimated thirty-seven trillion cells that constitute our physicality. Perhaps every living being has this; human beings consciously perceive it and have the capacity to explore and develop it.
Acknowledging and attending to the metaphysical aspect of life can be done in a plethora of ways on any day of the week. I’ve been doing the church thing for over seven decades, and it’s intrinsic to my way of acknowledging, exploring, and developing this core of being. The mental part has not happened in a vacuum, and putting my realizations into practice – daily living - does not happen by myself alone. Others chart different courses through the spiritual seas, but the commonality is knowing we’re all afloat and need sextants and compasses for the journey.
Although my one hour on Sunday is not unimportant, its value is primarily because what happens there primes one for the other one hundred and sixty-seven hours in the week. And if one’s weekly/daily spiritual disciplines are not appropriately applied to our relationships with one another and the planet on which we live, one might as well take that hour and go fishing.
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