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Sunday in the Monastery

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I like Sundays. They are always special: filled with special sights and sounds, special tastes, and if we are lucky enough to have Mass in the oratory as distinct from the parish church, special smells, too (incense, in case you are wondering). There was once a Jewish rabbi who spent the whole week preparing for the Sabbath. If a good book came his way, he put it aside to be enjoyed on the Sabbath; if some good food or wine arrived, he stored it for the Sabbath. I suppose we do something similar. The parts of the Office that we chant on weekdays are sung on Sundays; we try to make space for more prayer and reading and keep household tasks to a minimum (bad planning on my part means I am always Sunday cook!) But this delicate balance is easily upset. Our 24/7 culture means that people are quite likely to want to transact business on a Sunday, or call in "on the off-chance" to discuss some project or other, and it can be difficult not to let one's disappointment or irritation show. One of the hardest things about Sunday is trying to keep it holy, so no wonder God made a commandment about it.