Sundays and Jesus, Rev 1
Sundays always disappear too quickly. You sleep in, maybe just a half hour, take your time getting dressed and head out- with or without the dogs. Sunday mornings involved lattes and muffin crumbs in the car, a bit of grocery shopping and maybe breakfast.
When I was younger I went to church on Sundays, or rather passed through Sunday school on the way to Winchell’s Donuts with the boys, leaving an empty classroom for Jesus to stretch out in. We’d buy a grape juice and pretend it was wine, a faux communion. I was grounded from the youth group because I always took off. I wasn’t doing anything daring at all. I was just bored.In those days they tried to pretend we were in a coffee house instead of a church, the days before self realization. Some of our leaders tried out things on us, that I think they read about in a book. Unqualified but confident they were doing the Lord’s work. Guitars- acoustic of course- were always present. Walls painted black, with the Bible stuff hidden away in a cabinet. I can’t remember what they served to drink, it was probably soda or kool-aid- it definitely wasn’t coffee or booze. Teenagers didn’t drink coffee back then, at least not in public. I never wanted to either, and don’t recall anyone who did.
I don’t remember when or why I lost interest completely, almost rabidly, but my enthusiasm for participating in any sort of organized religion was crushed forever. Then belief systems like Buddhism and discussions about the nature of reality, Carlos Castaneda, and a little light weight experimentation with drugs, mostly pot, mostly because of some guy I had a crush on, was part of that time. Sex and smoking cigarettes also fell into the same era. This was a decade when I lost Sundays as fun days.
To be continued
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