Sunday Alive

I was heading out to buy some books from the bookshop at Word Alive a couple of days ago. With my bag on my shoulder, I was readying to load it with precious tomes. My chalet-mates, aware of my Sabbatarian views, pointed out it was a Sunday, and off went the bag. The books could wait. Here at Word Alive, all the days merge into one, and Sunday feels like an ordinary day. I do not like this, normally. I keep Saturday as my day of rest and Sunday as my day of worship, but here at a large, Christian gathering of 5000 souls sharing a luxurious Pontins holiday camp, all days are the same. Daily, we join for worship, teaching, fellowship and food. All days are Sundays here, periods of blessed rest and godly instruction. A foretaste of heaven, I daresay, when all days are sacred, not one or two in seven.

Sweet is the day of sacred rest,
no mortal cares disturb my breast;
O may my heart in tune be found,
like David's harp of solemn sound!

-Isaac Watts