Deep down we wish we were so full that our lives were a constant spring of life-giving water satisfying the needs of others. But instead we are confronted by the puny reality of our anxious, covetous hearts. Most of the time people are obstacles to our feeble pursuits of pleasure or threats to our fragile peace of mind. Rarely do they find us so content that they can drink from the overflow of our joy. Because all weekends are imperfect.
Vacations cost money and come to an end.
The Christmas tree dries up. You don't hear from your friend for another year. The problem for all of us is that the fullness of joy and the freedom of love which we crave won't ever come until we can be absolutely sure that the best and happiest future imaginable is guaranteed for us. The fact that we can all be happier and kinder on Friday ought to teach us that joy and love are impossible without hope. And the fact that all weekends peter out into Monday ought to make us Christians.