It’s Sunday “Funday,” right?
Cleaning. Cooking. Getting things lined up for the week in a way that would either make your mom proud or keep your Drill Sergeant from losing his mind.
We call it part of the weekend, but Sunday is never meant to be the end of it. Sunday is the first day of the week. It’s the time to pause, reflect, remember what you believe, and reset for the week ahead.
For most of the Christian world, Sunday is church day. That rhythm matters. But too often, we spend more time wrapping up last week than preparing ourselves for the next one. Sunday isn’t just about looking back. It’s about steadying yourself again.
The Army’s Version of a Reset
The Army understood the value of Sunday in its own way.
In Basic Training, Sunday was reset day. You cleaned the barracks. You waxed the “Kill Zone.” You handled your laundry. You squared away your gear. Even the dining facility was easier — name and serial number, move on. No branch creed. Sometimes they even let you have dessert. You’d pay for it the next day, but for a few hours, you could breathe.
It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t wrapped in spiritual language. But it was intentional. Get yourself right before the week starts again. Learn how to breathe, let things go, and reclaim a little control. Sundays were fun days…
When Deployment Blurs the Days
Deployment changes that rhythm. Time blurs. Days stop having names. Especially in high-tempo units, Sunday often became just another day to maintain equipment, clean weapons, and prepare for whatever was next. If you made it to chapel, you were fortunate. If you didn’t, you told yourself you’d catch it when you could.
In Iraq, I never once made it to a chapel service. Not because I didn’t want to — quite the opposite. I spoke with the chaplain there, but I never felt he was the chaplain for me. I thought he was arrogant and disconnected from the needs of soldiers trying to serve Christ in a war zone.
My team leader, Timmie, and I did what we could. We read Scripture together. We talked through it. We compared what we had been taught growing up and how it applied to where we were. We didn’t argue — we learned. We listened. And we kept coming back to the same understanding: the Gospel is about salvation, and that truth doesn’t change just because your surroundings do.
Faith Without a Building
I’m Missouri Synod Lutheran, and I never found a Lutheran service anywhere I served. I attended Roman Catholic Mass at times. Anglican services when they were available. Communion wasn’t something I could participate in, and that was difficult. Confession with the Catholics was different from how I was raised, but it made me think more deeply about responsibility — personal sin versus the realities of military life.
Church became less about the building and more about the discipline. Still, when I am home, church is home. It’s where the week starts and gives perspective on the days to come. Church elsewhere can feel cold and distant. Your mind expects one thing, your body another, and sometimes the two can’t reconcile. Especially in a war environment.
Holy War
Baghdad sits between the Tigris and Euphrates, in a region people associate with the beginnings of civilization — even the Garden of Eden. You wouldn’t expect a sacred place to feel like it had been abandoned, but in reality, you could feel the presence of darkness. War changes a place. It presses on you. It exposes weakness in ways you don’t always see coming.
Weakness isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s exhaustion. Sometimes frustration. Sometimes it’s letting your mind drift into things it shouldn’t — porn, rage, gluttony, anything that pulls you off mission and survival. Left unchecked, complacency sets in. You stop caring whether you live or die. That’s weakness.
When Sundays rolled around, they became a place to run to and reset your mind. Difficult, yes, but necessary. Day 1 of the week is meant for that reset. Day 7 is meant for reflection, repentance, and hope.
What Sunday Really Means
That’s why Sunday — the Sabbath — stayed important, even when it didn’t look traditional. Sometimes the Sabbath was a mission day. Sometimes it was a few minutes with a Bible in a plywood room. Sometimes it was a quiet prayer while cleaning your weapon.
For me, Sunday has always been about that reset. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just intentional. Cleaning what needs cleaning. Preparing what needs preparing. Taking a moment to realign before the week begins.
It’s less about how Sunday looks and more about what it does inside you.
Sunday isn’t the end of the weekend. It’s the space where you steady yourself before moving forward.
