I missed last week’s posting because of a computer malfunction. I really felt like Dave in 2001 – A Space Odyssey since hal.dll crashed. Hal is a little file that allows the hardware to be accessed by the computer and one cannot boot the computer if it does not work. I reloaded the Windows software and reestablished all of the needed connections to my network and the internet. So now I am back on line and ready to preach via my father’s sermons.

Why go to church?

I am a product of my parents’ belief system. I am a cradle Episcopalian and feel strongly that I need to attend church each Sunday. I guess it mostly is a routine for me, but I also receive comfort and solace from listening to the lessons and Gospel message each week. I have learned through years of indoctrination that God does exist and that no one who declares faith in God is conservative or liberal politically. We are children of God and must take care of each other. So I go to church to reinforce my faith and atone for my sins of the week previous. I understand some people will guffaw at this, declaring my idiocy and naivety of how the world works. Well, I live in this world but I am not of this world. I have been taught to treat others as I wish them to treat me. I will continue with this ethos for the rest of my life. So read what my father preached about a man who had a weekly habit of his own which others found to be peculiar.

“The Only Day He Had”

They were all so amazed – so taken back, so completely astounded that no one said a word. They just looked at the man and wondered what had come over him. What sort of queer Homo Sapien could this male individual be to react in such a fashion? It was a new experience for all of them. The man was definitely peculiar.

Yet all he had done or said, however, was utter one short statement. He had replied to their urging: “This is the only day I have.” Then he left them with a kindly greeting, and wended his way to church.

The rest of the group started on their way to fulfill their plans for the day. They were going to the golf course. Or was it to the club to spend the day smoking and chatting with old friends? Or was it a business deal that was to be considered? Or were they wending their way to the lake to fish or to the fields for hunting? Or was it company at home to entertain? Well, it is inconsequential anyway, what these men were going to do with their day. Our thoughts now are with that rather peculiar man who made the very strange remark. He was going to worship God. It was the only day he had.

That statement was literally and absolutely true. Early Monday morning you could see him at the factory where he had a position, or in the fields, at mill, the bank, the store—it really makes little difference where. There he toiled on faithfully until Sunday. Every evening he was tired. Je occasionally went down to the lodge rooms or the club to talk with some of his friends. But usually fatigue united with chivalry and prompted him to spend the evening quietly with his wife, who, by the way, was also worn out because of the home cares and looking after the children. When he did have the energy to go out in the evening, his first thought was to see if he could not persuade his wife to go with him to the movies or to call upon some friends.

All week long his mind was on the duties of his work. He thought about shafts and pistons and cog-wheels and merchandise, and finance, and welding, or any similar thing that he had to look after. The hustle and bustle of his work was with him day after day. He had the usual difficulties in getting careful work from many of the hands employed there. Anxious problems were constantly before him in one form or another.

And now it was Sunday. He was going to Church. He told his friends that morning that this was the only day he had. And what was it that prompted him to this unusual determination?

Well, he was no different form the vast majority of men and women in this wild world of ours. The years had been crowding upon him, and he had spent many evenings in deep contemplation. He had thought about conscience, and God and eternity. He knew that bodily existence was not very many more years for him, now that he had reached his particular age. What about the hereafter? There was a question he could not put aside; it kept thrusting itself upon him week after week. He had pondered it carefully, and facing boldly the query of what was to be left for him when life was over he had reached at last a firm decision.

And that decision was this: he was going on Sundays to the house of Prayer. It was the only day he had.

He had a pretty clear idea of the benefits to be gained from the services of worship. He was going to get nearer to his God. He wanted to arouse into life and into activity the instincts of his immortal spirit. He knew how the full, busy routine of his job was benumbing these better qualities of his nature. He wanted to stir up his nobler impulses once a week, at least, by singing with the congregation the old familiar hymns of childhood when his heart was tender and plastic, when he had for others a sympathy and fellow interest, which business cares had begun to dull within his breast. He wanted to get back once more to what he felt was a lost quality of self within him. He felt, too, that it would do him good just to listen to the reading of the Bible lessons, just to look around the church and see the symbols of the Gospel faith. The very sight of the Altar and Chancel, he thought, would be something to his tired brain and elevating to his soul. All this would take him into a new atmosphere, so different from any surroundings that were his on week days. He had a mute feeling that it would do him just to breathe this churchly atmosphere for an hour or so on Sunday. He had half resolved that he would go forward to the Holy Communion at 8:00 that morning. He recalled how he used to do this side by side with his father and mother in former days which now were getting dim in his memory. He remembered the services for this sacrament; and somehow it had a hold on his heart. He recalled how in Sunday school days the Lord’s Supper was taught to be man’s “spiritual food and sustenance.” And he felt he needed some sustenance for his spirit, when this lasting part of his being was so neglected all week.

He was not so sure that the preaching would especially benefit him. The clergyman was not very gifted, so everyone said. But he was a good man. His face glowed with sincerity. And he determined that he might at least look up towards the chancel, feel something of the holiness that prevailed in this sacred place, and so be invigorated in his soul through the quietness of his own reflections. In fact, he did not go to church to hear a sermon. He went to worship God, to get nearer to inspirations that are holy and uplifting to the spirit. It was for something more than a mental stimulus or intellectual gratification that he drew nigh to the Sanctuary of the Divine. He knew he had a soul, and it was to feed and nourish and satisfy the inner longings of this eternal nature of his, that he wanted to be with the congregation, even if he did not remember a sentence spoken in the pulpit.

Then, too, he knew there was a God. He knew that God’s hand was upon the destinies and fortunes of this world, trying to guide humanity aright, and trying to make amends for the errors of man’s misused free-will. He felt he owed an obligation to his Heavenly father, — felt that his influence and his example ought to count on God’s side, and not against Him, in the keeping of His Holy Day.

He had, too, a sense of gratitude in his being. He felt he ought to be polite enough to his God to thank Him on Sunday for health and home and friends and all the many blessings he enjoyed. And for doing this in the Church, Sunday was all the day he had.

Was the man something of a fanatic in the stand he had taken? No one who knew him would ever have thought this of him. He was most companionable in his nature. He could jest and laugh and was well equipped with a fund of good stories to tell his friends. He whistled and smiled and tried to make things run smoothly when something went wrong on the job. After the service on Sunday, he was ready to go out for a walk with his family, or to take a ride in his automobile. On holidays he and his children had many a fine time picnicking, going to the lake, being the mountains, or many other diversions.

Indeed, he was no narrow-minded man of just one idea at a time. But he did determine on Sundays to cultivate and strengthen that part of his being which alone would be left when earth’s joys should grow dim and its glories pass away. And Sunday for this noble purpose was all the day he had.

When he uttered his peculiar statement that Sunday morning to his companions, it is not strange that they stood amazed and speechless and looked at him in wonderment. They had never heard that remark applied in that way before. They had all, many, many times, said that they were going to the lake because it was all the day they had. They were going hunting or fishing or motoring on the, the only day they had. They were going for a game of golf, Would work in the garden, would clean the house, sleep late, or this or that, and had excused their act by speaking of how they were tied down with duties all week long and this, poor souls, was the only day they had.

But this other man going to Church, — going to honor his Creator and thank Him for the manifold blessings he enjoyed. He was going where he could quicken the better impulse of his heart and so live a better life. He was going to strengthen and invigorate and prepare for eternity his immortal soul, — all that would remain of him in a few short years. He knew that the that the worship of the Church, its surroundings, the solemn stillness and reverence of the Holy Sanctuary, and all the impressive ritual would help him to this worthy end. He knew that he could in some measure feel, and breathe in, the beauty of holiness there.

And Sunday, for all of this, was the only day he had.

Reverend Norman Stockwell – Navy Chapel – June 24, 1945, Moscow, Idaho and Palouse, Washington – September 29, 1946, Palouse, Washington – May 30, 1949, Twin Falls ,Idaho – April 5, 1956