The other day, my daughter-in-law passed on to me a prayer that her grandpa had just sent to her. It was the Prayer of St. Francis that begins with “Make me a channel of your peace.”

I immediately started singing it in my head. This whole prayer was put to music in 1967 by a South African songwriter, Sebastian Temple. We sang it at high school masses, and it was part of our wedding music in 1972.

I thanked her, and said that it would be my daily prayer reflection. It got me to thinking about faith, family and Sundays. This near 80 year old California grandpa had sent it to a 41 year old Denver mom, who sent it on to me, a 71 year old Omahan.

In this mix, is a 20 year old daughter, a college sophomore who posts weekly from her church in Colorado a simple, joyous greeting, like “May the Lord be with you and keep you in His perfect peace today.”

This elicits uplifting responses from all ages. One, an 80 year old Phoenix relative regularly answers something like “Have a peaceful week”. It’s nice to see that connection.

Growing up, Sundays were about many things: rest, church, cinnamon rolls, and the comics, which we called the funny papers.

When we were very young and lived on a farm by Breda, Iowa, going to church resulted in a reward for us kids. I told that story in the following art piece:

Mom would make cinnamon rolls on Sundays. Now, we were living in Carroll, which meant we could walk to church. The older kids, (of which I was one, being the oldest), were allowed to sleep in, and go to late mass. When we got back, there was a warm breakfast of an egg and cinnamon roll.

In 1977, when The Commodores came out with Lionel Ritchie’s song, “Easy” (like Sunday Morning), I couldn’t relate. Sunday mornings were not about ease and relaxation. They were hectic, and filled with obligation, or guilt.

We had 2 little boys then, and went to mass separately. Later, with 4 children, we all got presentable and went as a family. It was frantic. Somebody always had a paper route, with an adult helping. Often, we were responsible for Donut Sunday (at St. Margaret Mary’s), which was fun to do, going downtown to Petit’s Pastry shop to pick up the order.

That presentable issue created challenges. Could the boys wear a tee shirt? Yes, maybe, but without slogans. A collared shirt was better. Were jeans acceptable? They were not, in the 1970’s and 80’s. There were definite rumblings among the parish members about these choices, almost like gossip.

In Mom and Dad’s time, of farm life and big families, they dressed up for church. My Aunt Jan tells me this story: “We would throw everything down the stairs on Saturday to prepare for Sunday mass, such as ironing the boys’ shirts and polishing the shoes. Near the finishing of that chore, Lenus would exchange his shoes for Dad’s. Then, Mom would say we missed polishing Daddy’s shoes.” He was a trickster!

One time, Mom and Dad were visiting us in Omaha from Carroll. On Saturday afternoon, we went to the Steamboat Bertrand exhibit at DeSoto Bend. The Bertrand sank on April 1, 1865, when it struck a submerged log in the DeSoto Bend of the Missouri River. The items recovered are what’s on display.

It was a very hot summer’s day. All of us were in shorts.

On the way home, Dad suggested going to the 5PM Saturday mass, fulfilling our Sunday obligation. He said it would be nice to wake up on Sunday morning and relax. I protested that we weren’t at all dressed for church.

We went and sat in a somewhat hidden side row, with me a little embarrassed, but happy to have an “Easy Like Sunday Morning” ahead of us.

If you would like to share any comments or photos from your Sunday mornings, please do!

Peace to you,

Shirley