For me the gap between Sunday and Monday is incomprehensibly wide.
On the Sundays when I am preaching I engage the greatest gift I have, sharing it with the church and with the world. I am fully alive. I’m doing the most good for the most people. And I am feeling almost inexpressible joy. Even when I’m preaching only to a camera it still is an amazing experience for me. It’s like being surrounded by God’s presence.
Then comes Monday and I drag myself out of bed at 430am to go to That Place. No joy. No gifts engaged. No sense of purpose. Deadness is what I feel. The sensation feels like the way the opening scene of Les Misérables looks.
It would be different if the work I did felt like it had meaning. But it doesn’t. I am not involved in patient care. I’m not saving any lives. I’m not giving any comfort. I’m just asking annoying questions to people in pain. “Do you have your insurance card?” “What’s your phone number?” “Can you please sign the documents so the hospital doesn’t get into legal trouble for treating you?” “You have a $200 emergency room co-pay. How would you like to handle that today?” And if I don’t get the answer to these questions before people leave I get in trouble. What a sucky job this is.
To make matters worse, Monday always brings an avalanche of patients. And we are always short on staff on Mondays. The best part about my Monday workday is that it only lasts 10.5 hours and then it ends.