Sundays

It's Sunday afternoon, and I am watching tennis. It's the men's championship with Nishikori and Djokovic. I like Sunday afternoons. It's a good time to watch sports. I go to mass on Saturday nights, so I can sleep in on Sunday mornings. 
After a breakfast of waffles or pancakes, I am ready to do my morning routine. I read my bible; right now I am reading Leviticus in the Old Testament and The Acts of the Apostles in the New Testament. You know, as a reader, I have to say there are some very good stories in the bible. Stories of deceit, greed, murder, sex and conspiracy. To those of you who go to a bible teaching church, you know what I am talking about. To those of you who don't believe or don't go to church, all I can say is you don't know what you're missing. 
I just joined Prince of Peace Catholic Church. I was baptized, confirmed and received first communion at the Easter vigil a week ago. This was after 7 months of instruction in the adult catechism class. Every Wednesday night for a hour and a half. My teacher, Sean is quite good. His passion for the church is quite evident.
Another reason I love Sundays is I get my weekly phone call from my dad. My parents divorced when I was 22, which was about the time of my first hospitalization. He stayed in PA for a couple of years, then moved to his new wife's home town in Michigan. I have to admit, I wasn't very close to my father as a teenager. He didn't understand me, which is fine because I didn't understand me. But, when I was about 25, I decided I wanted a closer relationship with him, so I started writing him letters. Then, I started calling. My father is famous for his short conversations, 2-3 minutes tops. But as we talked more, he began to open up more. Our average conversation consist of the weather, what I've been doing, his dog and gardening. It lasts anywhere from 5-10 minutes, which is a long time for my father. The calls last even longer if I am upset. My father has become one of my strongest allies in my fight against mental illness. He knows what to say in his firm but consoling way. Every conversation ends with "I love you". Which is a very big deal for him. He hardly ever said before as I recall. But neither did I as I was growing up.
When I was little, my mom had to force me to go to church. We went to the Emmanuel A.U.M.P Church. It was a black church with an off key choir, ushers in white, and a loud but eloquent minister who preached hell-fire and damnation. I was scared to death. I saw God as a vengeful, punishing person that did nothing but send you to hell if you did the slightest bad thing. So, as I got old enough to resist, I stopped going. 
I didn't find Jesus until one Easter Sunday when I heard the voice say to me "go to the church". I was living in Jacksonville, FL at the time. So, I found a local baptist church not far from where I lived and went and got saved. I was baptized at that church a month later. (They never answered my request for my records, so I was baptized again at Prince of Peace). It was another black church, where the fashion was more important than  the Word. I soon found out the pastor was having an affair and his kids were into drugs. So, I left there. Plus, there was an unending request for money for this and that fund, as well as tithes. Tithing I get, as God asked the Israelites for a 10th of your first portion in the book of Malachi. But ended up doing the same thing there as I did when I was little; counted and appraised the hats that the women wore. I met a what I thought was a nice man at that baptist church in Florida. He was a well-respected man in the community, a local football coach. We shared a few phone calls, and during one of these calls he asked me to go away with him to Tampa. When I asked about the hotel arrangements, I was told "we'll be in the same room, you're single and over 21 aren't you?" I was stunned, this supposed pillar of the community, a church going man expected me to sleep with him right away. Well, needless to say, I said no. I didn't hear from him after that.
At Prince of Peace, I find peace, love, forgiveness, and kindness. God is not the all powerful wizard, ready to rain down brimstone upon everyone, but a god who is all knowing, all loving, and forgiving. He never abandons you, never asks for more than you can give. Most of all, you can wear nice jeans and t-shirt to mass, and there are no church-ladies in over-sized hats desperately fanning themselves in the South Carolina heat. No body falls out, having been "overcome" by the Holy Spirit. Nobody stands up shouting Hallelujah at the top of their lungs. I find Catholic services are a humbling, solemn service, but there is still a quiet feeling of overwhelming sense of joy. 
Well, those are some of my experiences on Sunday. Novak Djokovic won the match by the way. I think we are watching golf next. I like golf too. It has an easy grace and precision to it. I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow. See ya!!