A Sunday of Sleepy Prayers and Hungry Guitars

Sundays have their own rhythm. Today mine began slowly, almost lazily, with no deadlines or alarms chasing me out of bed. I just stayed in the present moment, arranging little things in my room. Somehow moving books, folding shirts, and clearing the desk gave a calm, pleasant start to the day. It felt like putting my mind in order too.

By noon, I went to Vadipatti Matha Church, my regular stop for Sunday prayers. There, as usual, my mind betrayed me by wandering off into literature. While the priest spoke, I caught myself remembering Charles Lamb’s essay Sir Roger at Church. It was funny to realize how close I was to his description half attentive, half lost, and secretly fighting sleep. Prayer is holy, but my drowsy eyelids clearly didn’t agree.

After church, I visited my friend at the seminary. He handed me a guitar, and we tried to make sense of some chords. Let me admit the guitar made more noise than music under my fingers, but it was still fun. My friend played like a saint, while I strummed like a sinner trying to repent.

By the time I reached home, I realized I had not eaten for nearly 18 hours. Hunger hit me like a hammer. The first bite of food tasted like a festival. Every spoonful was music to the stomach, better than any hymn or guitar note I heard earlier.

Finally, I surrendered to the sweetest blessing of the day sleep. After prayers, guitars, and food, sleep was the perfect ending.

So that was my Sunday sleepy prayers, clumsy music, holy hunger, and heavenly rest. Sometimes ordinary days carry their own comedy, and today was one such story.

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