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Sunday In The City by Fr. Joe Landi, Editor |
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Fr. Landi's story of conversion-- |
For Christians who attempt to keep holy the Sabbath, as dictated by the Hebrew Scriptures, the effort to decide what constitutes a day of rest to be observed weekly has always led to almost insolvable problems.
According to Jewish religious law, the Sabbath is the seventh day of the week. Under our Christian tradition, it has been supplanted by Sunday, the Lord’s Day, the first day of the week. During Jesus’ time, there were hundreds of rules about what could and what could not be done on the Sabbath. While Christ made exceptions of the Sabbath law as then interpreted, the Hebrew Scriptures (Old Testament) clearly indicates that there should be a day of resting from labor observed weekly (Ex. 23:12; 34:21), which is both a day of going to the sanctuary of the Lord and a day of rejoicing (Hos. 2:13; Is. 1:13). We have come a long way since the restrictions imposed by the “blue-law” thinking. It came to America with the Puritans from England and was based on The True Doctrine of the Sabbath, (1595), a book by the Puritan, Nicholas Bownde. The English Parliament passed the “Lord’s Day Observance Act” in 1781, which relaxed the rigid observance of Sunday. Still, in the United States, it wasn’t until the 1950’s that the mind set of the “blue-laws” finally disappeared. Life has become too complicated to think that we can pass laws that make people take a day of rest much less attend a church service.During my vacation, I had an opportunity to visit the most European of the Russian cities, St. Petersberg. I spent Sunday doing what many of the locals were doing—visiting churches. After doing the usual tourist tours—The Hermitage Museum, the Tsar's Winter Palace, and Peterhof, the “Great Palace” by the Italian Architect, Francesco Bartolomeo Rasterlli and its spectacular water cascade and the Samson Fountain, I negotiated a five hour tour of churches with a thirty-some- thing, English speaking driver, Sergei. He had an old but immaculate condition Mercedes taxi. He was also as interesting as the places we visited. His knowledge of the city he loved extended from architecture to getting us into the Museum-Churches, avoiding the long ticket lines.
A big attraction this Sunday in St. Petersberg is the boat races circling the island upon which is built the Peter and Paul Fortress. The abundance of water in the broad Neva River provides for water sports and an adornment for St. Petersberg by reflecting its magnificent buildings of three to seven stories—once excessively tall, now fully in accord with a harmonious, human scale.
Surprisingly, in the Church-Churches, there were many and mostly young worshipers. In the ornate Cathedral of St. Nicholas, we happened upon a baptism in the colorful Russian rite. In the simple and plain St. Catherine’s Catholic Cathedral (manned by the Dominicans), we sat on new pine wood chairs and listened to a soloist sing. The most ornate and stunningly beautiful church we visited is the Church of the Resurrection of Christ (aka, Our Savior–on-the-Spilt-Blood).“There are certainly a lot of people in church,” I remarked to Sergei. He replied, “It’s tradition,” an expression he used often. When I mentioned that in the not too distant past the Communists had closed the churches—religion being opium for the people—he replied with a smile, “It’s a tradition that’s fashionable again.” I was thinking about the three Hail Marys once prayed at the end of Mass for the conversion of Russia as he showed me a Miraculous Medal on a gold chain hanging around his neck.
Sunday in the little city
—Another memorable Sunday this summer was one in Rio Vista, California, attending the Alumni Dinner of my high school graduating Class of 1951. I also celebrated Mass for my deceased classmates at St. Joseph’s Church where I received the Sacraments of Baptism, First Communion and Confirmation. There is something pleasantly reassuring about starting Sunday with Mass. It seems to set the tone for the day of rest. Maybe it’s because some of my fondest memories are of Sunday Mass at St. Joseph’s with my mother. She has passed on. And a lot of water has passed under the Rio Vista bridge since graduation, but there are some things that have not changed—friends, family, God and Sunday Mass, for examples. I guess you could call them tradition, too.