On Sundays

I come from a long line of midwestern church-going folk. Sunday was church. 9 am Mass, 9:30, 10 am. Whatever mid-morning Mass the Parish du jour offered, that was the one we went to.

I hated Sundays. There was nothing worse to me than having some place to be on the weekend which required uncomfortable clothes and sitting still for an hour. I resented being bound by obligation. I resented flushing one of my weekend mornings.

I wondered, does God really want us to do this? Doesn't God get bored of hearing the same things over and over, repeated by every Catholic on the planet, every damned day? Repetiton bores me, and my intelligence is finite. Surely God must be bored.

Sunday is still, in some ways, my day of worship. I long ago left Mass behind me, long ago left a belief in the Judeo-Christian construct of "God" behind me. But on Sundays I use my talents in ways that, if there is a God, I think God would like. If I am one of God's creations, I bet he likes to see me rowing. I'm pretty sure of this, since, having lived in Boston, where the rowing community is such a part of the aesthetic of the city, and having seen how the city enjoyed seeing us on the water in the morning as the city woke up, I have to believe that God enjoys me being a part of the aesthetic of the waterway.

I spent about 45 min on the water in the single today. I took out the new racing single, and vortex edged sculling blades rigged a little heavy on the outboard. I cruised along at about 18 strokes per minute. The heavy oars meant I could really load up and drive, and then take a long lesisurely recovery up to the next stroke. Splash (drive) Thunk. 1 (relax). 2 (relax). 3 (relax). 4 (relax). Splash (drive) Thunk. 1 (relax). 2 (relax). 3 (relax). 4 (relax).... I rowed square blades for a while on my last lap of the creek. I was technical, powerful, graceful. That was my "church" for the day.

And I'm un-learning some bad notions. I took out the nice boat and the nice oars, because I'm worth it. I had a good day.