“I know that is a luxury of being single.” As I said it I wondered if it were needed. A luxury of being single – I felt like I needed to defend my Sunday coffee shop visits to my mom friend. I know that moms do a lot, and can be under-praised, but did I need to justify reading at Reverie on a Sunday afternoon? (To clarify, this mommy friend of mine did not imply or insinuate that I needed to defend myself, I felt compelled to.)
Why did I feel this need to justify my Sunday liturgy? The rhythms I have honed over the last few months, the repetition of practice that has lead me out of my apartment and into the warm embrace of Reverie and books, followed by the gathering of the Saints at the Source. This habit has brought silence before songs of praise, coffee before sermons, and Bible study before fellowship. And here I was feeling guilty for this beautiful and generous season of life.
This “luxury” that singleness brings is not always so joyous. The rituals that I have embedded in my life are to make the loneliness livable, to draw my neighborhood into my circle, to make my Church my community. The silence of my apartment is not as alluring as the scent of fresh brewed beans or the sounds of hand drums mixed with pre-service chit-chat. These moments in my Sunday liturgy lead me to the Lord, they lead me to community, they lead me to hand over my loneliness the Great Comforter.
This Sunday ritual is not a luxury, it is my necessity. Growing up the Sunday routine was something I did with my family, then in college with friends, then with roommates, and now that I live alone for the first time in my life, I live in a new(ish) city, and I am making this single life bearable. I am doing this with coffee, and books, and pottery classes, and church – places I meet with the One who walks with me and will lead me into the next season with no need to feel guilty and call it “luxury.”