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November 07, 2010

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

Sundays are, according to the Protestants, a day of rest. We practice this in many ways. For one thing, we do not have to leave for church until 9:20, which means we get an extra hour of sleep. At least, we men do. I have heard a rumor that the womenfolk habitually get up very early to 'do their hair' or some such nonsense. I have no idea what this means, but it sounds like an ancient pagan rite of passage. We men have been wondering if we ought to organize an expedition to verify if the rumor is true and, if it is true, to find out what it means, but so far we have been busy sleeping. Though I am far from a fair advertisement for it, I am a firm believer in beauty sleep. This Sunday was especially special, because Daylight Savings Time gave us another hour of sleep in addition to our Sunday extra. I do not fully understand how Daylight Savings Time works, but based on my experience with it last night, I am sure it is a gift from God.


And so we piled in our three vans and drove to church. The women's hair looked lovely, soft, and pagan. Along the way, my van discussed current immigration policy in the United States and Canada, the contrasts between the two, the cultural response to illegal immigration, the implications of proposed policy, and the possible solutions. I am afraid that, when I return to the swamps of Cajun Louisiana, the weekly pilgrimage to church will be a less edifying experience. If I am not smart when I return home, I will at least be much less stupid.


We attend Grace Church in Pagosa Springs, and though I think this morning's sermon is worth pondering, I cannot do it justice summarizing it here. However, this will not stop me: it was good.


After church was over, we drove to a nearby park, and from there several groups embarked to the four corners of Creation for coffee and free wi-fi. Luckily, my coffee shop is near a City Market, so I went there to get Golden Delicious apples. On my way to the checkout, I noticed a very odd looking orange fruit covered in spikes. It is called a 'kiwano,’ and it is best described as a demon-possessed melon. I stood, carefully examining my find, and after a solid four minutes, I decided to buy the darned thing. It looked adventurous. I then returned to the coffee shop and, in a particularly daring mood after buying my devil fruit, flirted with the cashier and wrote a letter. After everyone had fed their itching facebook addictions, we journeyed home to the hills for a hot meal.


This evening we had Mr. John Stonestreet for class, and we wrestled with our own ideas about culture and how it ought be approached. Again, it was good. After class, a clod of students formed around Stonestreet, and a conversation broke out. It seemed to be the kind of conversation where everyone gets comfortable and actually listens. But I would not know: I was on the other side of the room writing this article.


But the evening is when the real learning happens, because that is when we put to practice what we have learned. The couches around the fireplace fill themselves with occupants, conversations flow smoothly, and in the backs of our minds God speaks. This evening, like every other evening, God points out to me what I need to work on, things that I will call spiritual maintenance. It is through this that God speaks to me, shows me where my character is lacking, and teaches me what to do. This is where I learn the most. As Sertillanges said, “Let us not forget that most understanding begins with misunderstanding.” One must learn to treat every man as a friend and to put one's friends first. If one can do that, one comes closer to being the slave in Christ one was born to be.


And that was our day.

Blogger's Bio: “I enjoy writing and have a feeling I am supposed to write a book,” Walt says.  He is also looking at seminary so he can “study the Bible in depth and be more intimately introduced to all the theological debates and issues that have arisen amongst Christians.”  After hurricane Katrina, Walt was placed in a school where he was of “the only white kids to attend in a decade or so.”  This experience has shaped the way he looks at the world.  “I am now more comfortable with being real.”

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