At our house, we save our most ungodly behavior for Sundays. We don’t do it on purpose, of course, because we begin the Sabbath as we do every day, with noble intentions.
But by the time we’ve coaxed every child out of bed, convinced them to wear “nice” clothes, sent two out of three back inside for Bibles and argued about the best way to drive the six miles to church, we’re all behaving like we’re traveling first class on the Hell Express.
Maybe you’ve committed some of the Seven Sunday Sins.
Pride: In my unenlightened high school days, I viewed the communion walk as a convenient fashion runway upon which people paraded so I could covertly rate their outfits. Now that I shop for my kids more than myself, I’m like Ma Walton with the one faded Sunday dress. And I’m not all thankful that I have it, either.
Greed: I’m stingiest with my time, which is especially evident when I’m so busy rushing to get to Mrs. Winners before the drive-thru line gets long that I blow right past the new joiners without even saying how-do.
Envy: Please. I’ve envied the Kennedy-coiffed couples who pull up to the sanctuary with their big black sunglasses and the spit-shined Lexuses. I’ve envied the folks who know all the words to the hymns and sing in tune. The list is everlasting.
Anger: Driving on Sunday morning at Concord and Franklin roads, hereafter known as the Saints Highway, summons up the Pharisee in all of us since there are three churches battling for the right of way. Now they've added two traffic lights to help Brentwood Baptist and Fellowhip Bible folks get out of my way. And yes, you are the bigger heathen if you honk at the guy who cuts you off in the church parking lot.
A friend confessed that she tuned out most of one Sunday’s sermon because she was angry that she was forced to stare at the bare back of the teenage girl in front of her through the entire service. Guess that teenager’s mom forgot that the 11th commandment forbids backless dresses at church.
Lust: See above.
Gluttony: Only you and the Lord keep track of how many free cups of church coffee you take. But those of us who homestead the good seats on the aisle are little Sunday morning piggies, too. One time our church lot was so full I parked in guest parking. I had three kids with me, so I rationalized that God would rather I park in guest parking than skip church altogether.
Sloth: Sleeping in? Check. Sunday morning golf game? That counts. Mouthing the words to the processional hymn? Check. Forgoing Sunday school for Starbucks? Hmmm.
At least I don’t make change in the collection plate.
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