Easy Like Sunday Morning
Easy like Sunday morning…
What does that even mean these days?
Sundays haven’t been easy in a long time
Somewhere between obligation and vocation
Between commitment and rote memory
Easy slipped away snatching a bit of joy with it as it went
Right through my fingers, rolling off of my Hallelujah falling thud to the floor
Sunday mornings haven’t been easy in a long time it feel like
Or maybe I pushed it away, told easy it wasn’t welcome
Put it in a box, tucked it away for safekeeping until I needed it in a crunch
Locked away on display in a china cabinet between family heirlooms and childhood trophies
Something for visitors to be impressed with, to ooohhh and ahhh at
Something that begs passerbyers to ask, “Tell me the story of your easy”
But now I can’t find the key
Or maybe I rubix cubed it along the way
Made it more puzzle than it needed to be, more puzzle than it asked for
Needed it to be brain teaser to make struggle be more struggley
Make sure to get my How I Got Over girl scout badge more honest
Ministry cred real like
More anointing evident cause of the war story that comes with difficulty
I just want my easy back
Not duty free, not absent of obligation, not vocation light
But with the settled assurance that Sunday morning serving still means something–
Is worth it
Want my easy on the wings of the morning
Blowing in from the four corners of the earth or wherever She comes in from
Want to drink in my easy mouth open wide
In the hum of prayers offered at the altar
With the call to enter in with thanksgiving
Want to rediscover my easy in between “Thine the glory” and “Amen”
In the breaking of Bread, in the troubling of waters
In the rocking of pew
In the memory of early days
When truly one thing I desired, when only one thing I wanted to seek
The kind of easy that embraces the complexity of Sunday
Made more strange by the happenings of the week
The kind of easy that got eyes open, heart attuned
Present in this world and seated high too
The kind of easy that transcends understanding
Easy like that kind of Sunday morning.
© 2018. Charisse Tucker.
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