Come Sunday

Come Sunday I goes and praise the Lord! Rain or shine, snow or sleet, my feet carry me through them wooden church doors same as they been doing for decades. Folks ask me why I don't take a Sunday off here and there, but they don't understand that my soul got roots in that sanctuary, deep as them old oak trees out front. Every step I take down that center aisle, my Sunday hat held high, is a step closer to glory, and I feel the weight of my mama and my mama's mama walking right alongside me.

When that organ starts humming I close my eyes and let the spirit wash over me like warm honey. These hands been through hard times - scrubbing floors, raising babies, burying loved ones - but when I raise them up in worship, they light as feathers and strong as steel all at once. And Lord, don't talk to me about sleeping in, 'cause there ain't no rest sweeter than fellowship with my church family, all of us swaying and praying together like wheat in the Lord's golden field. Every Sunday I'm here, every Sunday I will be, 'cause my faith ain't no sometime thing - it's my backbone, my breath, and my blessed assurance all rolled into one.

A timeless open edition work of art by Ernie Barnes. Offset lithograph. Image size: 18x13.5 inches. Paper size: 22.75x18 inches.