Monday, Monday

Bah-da bah-da-da-da

Bah-da bah-da-da-da

Bah-da bah-da-da-da

Monday, Monday, so good to me

Monday mornin’, it was all I hoped it would be

Oh Monday mornin’, Monday mornin’ couldn’t guarantee

That Monday evenin’ you would still be here with me

This day is called “Bright Monday” or “Renewal Monday” in the Eastern Orthodox Church and Byzantine Rite Catholic Churches. It is the day after Easter when we get to live into the reality that Christ is (still) Risen. It is the day when the glory and wonder of an empty tomb meet rush-hour traffic, a job we may hate, a dying parent, another damnable school shooting, or a broken heart. It is the first day of the new creation—the moment in time when our faith in the Risen One is on full display for a watching, wondering, and often very skeptical world. And just as often, our skeptical selves.

I woke up well before dawn today with the ba-dah, bah-da-da-da of John Phillips’ “hit tune” from 1966 echoing in my head. The nasally and mildly irritating voices of the Mamas and the Papas, the folk-rock/psychedelic pop group from the 60s, were a surprising wake-up call. I didn’t like the Mamas and Papas as a boy whenever I heard them blare from my radio. Now that I am in my 60’s, they still don’t suit my tastes. Even so, the words came to me this morning:

Every other day, every other day

Every other day of the week is fine, yeah (yeah)

But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes

A-you can find me cryin’ all of the time

Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day

Monday, Monday, it just turns out that way

Oh Monday, Monday, won’t go away

Monday, Monday, it’s here to stay

Oh Monday, Monday

Oh Monday, Monday

Mondays are relentless. They roll in like the tide—powerful and unyielding, determined to erode whatever stands in its way. It is no wonder Sunday comes around once a week. We need at least that many reminders that there truly is goodness, hope, beauty, love, resurrection, and a wonderfully kind God active in the world—after being repeatedly hit with the blunt instrument of Monday.

Yesterday, we worshipped with a new congregation in a place we do not live. We were visiting family and ducked into the 9:00am Easter service. The room was full of faces we did not know. The songs were unfamiliar. The preaching and worship style differed from what we were used to and might prefer. Even so, it was all so heartwarmingly familiar. We were among those who “know that which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched.” (1 John 1:1). Once again, I experienced the truth of Matthew 18, “where two or more are gathered in my name, there I am with them.” Indeed, Christ is Risen. I know because I saw Him yesterday.

At the conclusion of the pastor’s genuinely good sermon, he said he would pray, recognizing that people came to the service from many places. Some may have been coerced into coming, others with loads of questions and sincere uncertainty about faith, God, and religion. Others came because this is their way, truth, and life. He encouraged all—wherever they were—to join him in praying for themselves, any of the words they could with integrity. Simply, he said “yes” to God—asking for all the love, grace, forgiveness, courage, strength, and faith needed to live as a follower of the Risen One. It was a prayer I remember praying over 40 years ago for the first time, and I have prayed many times since. With my whole heart, I entered into that prayer with the pastor and felt a renewing wave of mercy wash over me and tears of joy welling in my eyes.

As he closed the prayer, the pastor asked everyone to keep their heads bowed and eyes closed (which has always puzzled me. I think this is a weird feature of US evangelicalism that makes faith a personal, somewhat secretive deal between God and an individual—but I digress…). He then asked if anyone was praying that prayer for the first time, would they raise their hand and look up at him?

Given what I just said, it may not shock you that I did not have my eyes closed. Scanning the room, I looked about and saw about six to eight hands raised, including one by a young man just a few rows ahead of me. I felt immediately drawn to pray for him—his hand tentatively reaching toward the sky but his eyes cast down to the floor. The pastor looked his way, but the young man never looked up. He just kept his arm raised slightly above his head, half-cocked at the elbow.

Everything in me wanted to get up and lay my hands on him to let him know he was seen and not alone. I wanted him to feel the power of belonging and community. But I did not. As the service ended, I thought I should approach him and say, “Trust the prayer you offered today. Remember the commitment you made this day.” But he immediately walked in the opposite direction with the three people he was with—none of whom, as far as I know—had any inkling about his decision to say “yes” to Christ.

As my wife, daughter, and I walked out of the building, I told myself that it was probably better that I did not approach him. You never know how people will react to strangers these days. I could have been seen as a threat. Two possible “headlines” came to mind:

Well-Meaning but Misguided Visitor Shot by Armed Usher in Easter Service Misunderstanding

or

Socially Inappropriate Quaker Minister Arrested on Assault Charges

But in all seriousness, I feel like I failed that young man. Had we been home, I would not have hesitated. But yesterday, I did—and it has bothered me since. I thought about him all throughout the three-hour drive home on Easter afternoon. He stayed in my prayers much of the evening and came to mind when the sound of Monday, Monday came lilting into my pre-dawn awareness. On Monday—today—he was going to come face to face with the reality that can grind down our souls and, if not nurtured, can cause the glory of the Easter moment to fade. Risen, Living, Ever-Present One—remind that dear young man that yesterday was more real than anything an otherwise God-forsaken Monday can throw his way.

Now, at the end of his Bright Monday, I am praying he too will learn to know, hear, and see the Risen One, not just on special days of celebration but in the muck and mire of Mondays. For as much as He once rose, He is still risen. May this and every Monday be bright for you, as well.