The Lord's Day
When I was growing up -- which is a phrase I find myself using more and more often the older I get -- the phrase "The Lord's Day" was interchangeable with the word "Sunday". No one questioned what it meant. It was understood and obvious. No one said, "Oh, wait, which day is that again? Is that Thursday?" The Lord's Day was Sunday.
And The Lord's House was our church building.
And The Lord's Church was our brand of church.
There could be no mistaking these things. They were portions of our common vocabulary, and, as such, they created a sense of community and belonging when used properly.
But what are the implications of these statements?
Having a day that is The Lord's leaves us with six others for our own use, right?
And giving him a house meant he didn't have to live at ours.
And branding ourselves his church allowed us to treat other churches with disdain.
Clearly, this wasn't the intention when the phrases were first coined, but the implications were inevitable.
God has his day, and as long as I honor him on that day I can do pretty much whatever I like on my days.
God has his house, and as long as I don't run in it or shout in it or build a kitchen in it (though building a bathroom was acceptable) we'll know where to find him when we come to visit him on his day.
This makes life easier to manage -- cordoning off portions, reserving sections for various purposes, allowing God to have a place but not to have run of the whole place.
But what if there is no set Lord's Day? What if, in fact, every day is The Lord's Day?
What might be the implications of that idea?