The Means to an End

It's 7:30 AM at Corpus Christi. My dear friend Rhonda and I have just gone through the line to receive ashes on our foreheads, and you can hear the sound of a camera clicking over and over as the Mass progresses.

Rhonda (out of the corner of her mouth): Angie...
Me (whispering): Hmm?
Rhonda: Angie, why do I have a feeling that we're going to be on the cover of the Salem Sunbeam with the headline reading "Methodist Sighting at Catholic Church"?
Me: Come on, Rhon, what's the likelihood that out of all these people, we're the ones who would be photographed?
Rhonda: Angie, out of all these people, we're the only ones under 80.

I can't predict what will appear in the Salem Sunbeam (or whether or not they even spell "Wednesday" correctly, for that matter) but I can tell you that this year's service was delightfully uneventful. Like I said, I went with my friend Rhonda and her very presence made all the difference in the world from last year's incident. Rhonda grew up Catholic but currently attends the Methodist church that I do. During the Ash Wednesday service, I'd like to think that she was the Sacajawea to my Lewis & Clark expedition through the Catholic liturgy.

As we, the parishioners, gave our responses to the priest's lines (I'm at a loss for a better word), I sat beside my supportive friend and looked across the sanctuary to see the Old Lady Nudger of Ash Wednesday 2011. She was sitting serenely, black kerchief pinned atop her head, and looking so much like my Aunt Lori that I actually felt a wave of joy at the sight of her. Seeing this lady reminded me of my childhood church, First Assembly, where everyone was my aunt, uncle, or grandparent; literally and figuratively. I remembered that last year, I specifically sat next to her because of this resemblance. ...but then of course, I carried Jesus' body back to my seat and lost her favor.

When I walked out of the service at Corpus Christi, I looked across the street and there stood First Assembly of God, looking exactly the same as it did when I was a kid. I was literally and figuratively in between the two distinct worlds of family and tradition that make up a good chunk of my faith. To be perfectly honest, I didn't go to Church this morning because I find this particular sermon riveting and the smell of mushy ashes appealing; much like I don't light the Chanukkah candles and make charoset for Passover each year because I think that these actions define my relationship with God. These are just motions, just...religion that, left on its own, does not mean anything. To me, religion is a means to an end, not the end itself.

And then there's Rhonda standing next to me, cracking jokes, praying, speaking, and just being the lovely supportive person she is. She's family to me, just like First Assembly was my family when I was a kid and how Sharptown Church is now. But again, on their own, these people are just people. People are very limited, very broken, and very flawed. But when you put these people in the context of God, you've got more than just a bunch of messed up individuals, you have a community. A family. And I'm just lucky enough to have a very big one. So here's to the next forty days and all that they will entail. Let me just say in advance that I know for a fact that I wouldn't be eating canned beans for six weeks without God's help and my family's support.