What We Lost When We Started Shopping On Sundays

I have to make a confession, to all of you. I was raised in a small, rural Alberta town. Our closest city was thirty minutes away and held only about 40,000 people at the time. When I grew up, Sundays were still sacred, not just for church-goers, but as a culture, nearly across the country. There was still, regardless of your faith tradition, a sense that Sunday was set apart for rest. I remember clearly the year that a few select stores decided to keep their doors open on Sundays, for shopping. The "Sunday Shopping Scandal" hit the headlines. You all know the evolution of this and need only look at the parking lot of any store in the city to see where this has taken us. Well, I have tried, over the years, to maintain that "consumer fast" on Sundays. I can say that I have, for the most part, failed in that fast. But, this past Sunday, I hit a new low in my lack of vigilance. I went shopping. But not just any shopping. I shopped at Walmart on Sunday. But not just on Sunday. I shopped at WALMART on SUNDAY, before eight o'clock in the morning! Gah! Honestly, I did it to avoid the insane line-ups we have all experienced this year. (Let me jump ahead by telling you, I still waited in line for nearly fifteen minutes!) But the point of my story is not the loss of our Sundays to consumerism. Rather, it was the four people I encountered this past Sunday morning, in Walmart.

I encountered the first man (and his wife and two kids looking on) in the kitchen appliances aisle. It was 9:05am. It started with what seemed a simple interaction between this man and a female Walmart employee. But, shortly, the man escalated to yelling and brashness. It revolved around his desire for a particular product that he insisted he get, for Christmas. The women, to her great credit, tried to be helpful and calm. But for five minutes this man blew up on her, over a product, for Christmas, ON SUNDAY, nearly before breakfast. My heart really did break as this poor lady went to her last resort and called a manager.

Upon entering the checkout line, I observed a fifteen year old young lady, leaning against the counter, dark and brooding, hoodie pulled up. Her mom was unloading the cart. A silver haired man, unsmiling and walking briskly, brushed past me, holding two copies of the latest DVD release, "Superbad". (NOTE: Superbad, as quality family viewing goes, is at the bottom of the barrel. Put it this way, if you were to remove every reference to either teen sex or the consumption of alcohol from the movie, you'd be left with about eleven minutes of footage, including credits.) They were, as the conversation between father and daughter revealed, two different versions of the same flick. He had run to get these for her while they waited in line. Upon his return, it was apparent, in her dark and brooding way, that she didn't want this movie and, in her dark and brooding way, told her father so, with a disgusted sigh and a snap of her head. Dad, in his frustration, slapped the videos down and began to vigorously and angrily unload the clothing from his cart, throwing each item on the conveyor. The rift between them grew, over a garbage movie at Christmas, ON SUNDAY, shortly after most people got out of bed. My heart really did break for the story of this family.

And, I guess, it just sent me to wondering. What the hell? Where did we go wrong? And I count myself well among that number. Sundays. Christmas. Families. Media. Son of a gun, we're really missing the mark. As I told this story to Judy and my kids, I just came to the conclusion that all I really want to do in my walk on this Earth is love people and maybe make a difference to one of them.

The moral of this story? Well, what do you think?