Sunday (A Song)

Sung to a bluesy gospel tune.


Oh Lord I’m here just searching for Sunday

Every week it seems to slip away

Everything that I took for granted

A firm foundation broken down with decay


It was Sunday you escaped those grave clothes

You drew new breath and left them behind

It don’t matter how I cry and struggle

I can’t shake off these dirty rags of mine


They went down early to go and anoint you

They went to mourn you and dress your wounds

Now I’m no Savior but Lord I’ve been broken

And I’ve got wounds that need tending too


Oh Lord I’m here just searching for Sunday

Every thread I counted on has started to fray

All my words are too quick to unravel

How can I find you if I can’t even pray?


Sunday was the day that Mary saw you

That bright morning she carried the news

Ol’ denying Peter, he couldn’t believe her

Took his shame with him to that empty tomb


On Sunday they say you won the victory

Conquered hell and took away death’s sting

That’s all good, I guess I should be grateful

But these days it’s life that keeps stinging me


Oh Lord I’m here just searching for Sunday

It always seems to be two days away

I try to be patient, try to find my faith

Maybe I’ll get there but it won’t be today


2 responses

  1. Thanks. I have missed your posts. I assume you wrote the song. I did not know you were a poet among your many talents. Very effective (inadequate word but I don’t know what word I am searching for). How much of yourself at this point in time does the song reflect?




    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, I am occasionally a poet 🙂 The answer to your question may be an odd one. When inspiration strikes, I write songs from the points of view of characters in my novel project (several of them are musicians/songwriters, which is an added challenge to the writing). This song does reflect some of my experience of losing faith in particular beliefs and ideology in part because that system couldn’t seem to respond adequately to certain types of life experience and suffering. The feelings are amplified here, though, because they are filtered through someone (fictional) whose suffering is greater than mine was when I was going through most of my own spiritual angst. (Yes, that probably sounds crazy).


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