It is Sunday morning. As usual, I'm up at 5:30. I go downstairs, walk to the front door, and wait for the dog to stretch and shake himself before he comes over to me. I open the door, letting him go out first, and then I follow. He goes over to the grass and sniffs around, finds a strange scent, moves to another place, and continues investigating any and every strange new scent before he finally gets around to "doing his business." I walk over to the end of the driveway, pick up the Sunday morning paper, and head back into the house.

I open the door to go inside and once again wait for the dog to enter first. I go in, closing and locking the door; the dog returns to his resting place, or maybe he goes over to the stairs to wait for me to sit with him and give him a little attention before we begin our days. After I scratch his ears and rub under his chin, he gives a few big yawns before he goes back to lie down; I head to the desk to start my day.

I plug in my laptop's mouse, open the web browser [if it isn't already open], and check our website [www.truth-reason.com] to make sure the article file is open, as intended. Again, I read through it to see if I missed any typos or grammatical errors. Every once in a while [more than I'd like to admit] I find something I missed, so I have to go back in and edit. It's too late for the ones I've already e-mailed; I hope no one will notice [but someone usually does]. Next, I go to my Facebook page to view any news friends and/or family have posted; I check my e-mail accounts to see any new spam waiting for me today. I forward the junk to the government agency that is supposed to be working on cutting down on the junk that always seems to find me. I read the tech news; scan the electronics sales, and look at the news headlines to see if there are any relevant events about which I should be aware. Then I access my car news website for news, but weekends are slow.

When I feel satisfied that I'm up to date on everything, I pick up the paper and sort out the sales fliers: keepers on the desk, recycling in a pile. After scanning the front page of the sports section to see how the local sports teams fared last night, I set it all aside for later. I put some water on the stove so my wife can have her morning coffee, and I decide the kind of muffins we'll have today; will it be blueberry, chocolate chip, or cinnamon streusel? I usually pick whichever one is more plentiful and start making breakfast for the family. Retrieve the eggs and milk from the fridge, the green mixing bowl and measuring cup from under the island counter, and a fork from the drawer. If we're having blueberry muffins, I have to open the can, drain, and rinse the blueberries. For anything else, I start with the mix, then spray the pan and add the mix.

By now, the teapot whistle has reached a high pitch, and my wife comes downstairs to make her coffee. The dog greets her at the stairs and demands her attention for a bit, but he also knows what's coming. He watches and follows her to the kitchen, watching intently as she makes the coffee, anticipating the half-and-half, which he gets added to his dog food on Sunday mornings. I would say he waits patiently, but that would not be true. If he can wait long enough, I ask him if he is ready to go get the kids, and he bounds up the stairs to wake them. We go through each room and make sure each one is awake and out of bed before he bolts back down stairs to get his special treat. The kids, meanwhile, are wiping the sleepy out of their eyes as we meet for a morning hug in the hallway before they part to get dressed, and I go back down to finish buttering the muffins.

When I'm nearly finished, someone rings the bell for breakfast, and the dog dutifully--looking as pitiable as possible--heads for his cage where he'll stay while we eat. We enjoy the warm muffins and talk about what happened yesterday and what we're looking forward to today. When I finish, I head back to my desk to refresh my mind on the morning class material and texts before closing everything down and packing the computer to take to the building. When finished, I get dressed for the day, and then we head for the church building.

And that's where the morning ritual ends.

When we arrive at the building, my heart rate increases, the adrenaline starts flowing, and my mind prepares for the class I will be teaching. I have studied the material and/or text[s] and tried to anticipate questions and comments that may arise during the class. I have prayed for a right mind and that I have not inserted my own views into, or taken anything away from, God's holy word. I am excited about once again studying God's word with fellow believers and hearing what others have learned during their studies. I anticipate the worship because I thoroughly enjoy singing praises to my God and songs of edification to my brethren, even though my voice just isn't what it used to be. I look with solemnity to the memorial supper, when my mind returns to the crucifixion scene as I try to imagine the suffering our Lord must have endured. My heart is heavy because of how He suffered and died, but I also feel great thankfulness and joy that He did because I know it made my salvation possible. It is extremely difficult for me to become apathetic during this portion of the worship.

And when it's my turn, I walk as calmly as I can to the podium to begin speaking; but inside, my heart is leaping with joy and anticipation at sharing the things I have learned from God's word. My hope is that someone-anyone--will also be listening with anticipation, hoping to hear something inspiring from God's word--His will for us, instruction about overcoming difficult situations and living righteously, a retelling of the blessings we have in Christ and of those yet to come, or even what they must do to become a child of God. I am hoping to present God's word clearly and in a way that benefits those who hear. I'm also hoping the listeners are as excited about hearing it as I am about telling it. I hope that everyone is attending because they truly and deeply love God and are seeking spiritual maturity and strength; and I hope that somehow, my words will help them.

But I know that some are here this morning only because they feel obligated. Some of the older folks may be here because it's just what they do; they give it little thought--it is their ritual. They are following the same pattern they have long followed, but their hearts are not in it. During Bible class, they read the material or texts and fill in the blanks as someone else answers the questions. They have not taken the time to read, much less ponder the questions and their personal application. Any spiritual interest and/or excitement they might have had is long gone; now worship and Bible classes are just routine--ritual. Some have become like those in Sardis, who were reputed to be alive, but were spiritually dead (Revelation 3:1).

Some of the young folks who do show up are there because their parents make them come; otherwise, they would be home in bed or off at work. Some, I know, are not here because they are in bed or at work. I wonder why. I wonder if it is because they saw their parents approach spiritual matters such as the worship and service as a ritual instead of a true joy and privilege. I wonder if they see these things as mere rituals because what they see in the assembly certainly appears to be that and nothing more. I cannot answer why, but I can see results and it does make me wonder.

So, how does your Sunday morning look? Do you anticipate coming together with your brethren (Psalm 122:1), or do you think, "What a weariness this is" (Malachi 2:13)?