A Different Kind of Sunday Morning Coming Down

When I first heard that rough, suffering and knowing voice of Johnny Cash singing “Sunday Morning Coming Down" (1970), something deep within me stopped to listen. The lyrics and music, written by Kris Kristofferson and first released by Ray Stevens in 1969, stopped a lot of people, I think. More than a dozen recordings have been made over the 5 decades since.

The way the song touches so many of us may be summed up by what Cash said about the song in an introductory monologue during a taping of The Johnny Cash Show: “… many … are searching for self-fulfillment, or understanding of their life … trying to find a meaning for their life … and many …. including myself … have found themselves no closer to peace of mind than a dingy backroom, on some lonely Sunday morning, with it comin’ down all around you.”

Sunday mornings can do that.

Sunday mornings can also be mystical and magical and stop us to listen in other ways.

Sunday mornings are not one way.

My Sunday mornings are generally spent expecting worship, but not expecting worship in one way or in one place. I’ve found (or rather have been Given) worship in a wondrous array of powerful experiences. The same can be for you.

Many of us may think of grandeur on Sunday mornings. Something bigger than ourselves. I’ve found that grandeur in worship in the cathedrals of The American Church in Paris and in Central Presbyterian Church on Park Avenue and The Riverside Church in New York City, where I’ve ascended as my husband Frank felt grounded in spirit.

But, I’ve also felt the grandeur of Easter Sunday on Easter Monday in Colorado Springs, Colorado. I’d gone to church on Easter ready to worship and be filled. But the parking lot was full. I ended up a bit angry, and left. Ridiculous, I know. But honest. I headed for the nearest mountain top, looking for … something … longing for a new vista. Again, the parking area at the trail head was full, teaming with happy people and children and dogs. Again, I left.

Easter Monday morning was another story. My loaner Jeep Cherokee was the sole vehicle in the trail head parking lot. Bliss. I made a solitary hike to the top of Mt. Cutler. Worship and praise happened, and I was filled.

I’ve worshiped and been filled by an Easter Sunday sermon silently preached by a solitary Bloodroot beside me as I sat by a pond on a stone step of my family’s log cabin in upper East Tennessee. Another memorable worship happened with spilled communion wine and a view out my window of a woman walking, hands raised overhead in victorious praise during the zoom church trend of COVID-19.

Worship has happened for me over the simplest of meals given in pure generosity of spirit by the Taize community in rural France. Worship has happened in the Rotary House hotel adjacent to M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston Texas, as I, alone – but not alone - in the room, experienced the hope and promises of the Living God with Third Day’s King of Glory.

All this is to say that the longing of a Sunday morning may come from a need to connect to the Someone greater Who pursues us with His Love. It's also to say that the longing of a Sunday morning may also be the need to connect with the people of the Church, where ever it may be.

Perhaps a place to start listening - or to continue listening - and connect is with Tiara Talk’s Chapter 1 about our relationship with the very King of Glory.

To Dance and Praise with Song and Timbrel: An Easter Monday Chronicle

Mt. Cutler Hike in Colorado Springs - Day Hikes Near Denver

Johnny Cash - Sunday Morning Coming Down (The Best Of The Johnny Cash TV Show) - Bing video