Saturday morning, my husband texted me that our credit card was no good and would be replaced on Monday. A full tank of gas and an unusual amount of cash on hand enabled me to check undue concern. As soon as I got home, I set the card aside so I wouldn't use it by mistake.

We didn't talk in detail about the cause beyond acknowledging fraudulent use online. The compromised card was itself fairly new, just recently switched from MasterCard to Visa, as so many other cardholders have. But after the many highly publicized breaches of security at well-known retailers had occurred. We could not guess how this happened.

Sunday morning, the intercessory prayer at church was for "victims of greed and violence," and I thought to myself, "Well, that's us." I'm not accustomed to intercessions at church applying to me. They're intended for others. But I took it this time.

Sunday Snippets

The first of the Lenten ecumenical services was this week during the noon hour.

I had to leave halfway through a Bible Study Fellowship seminar on "quiet time" in order to attend. It was a frustrating drive from Lincroft to Freehold because I got stuck behind a student driver whose only aggressive move was pulling out of the community college lot directly in front of me. After that, she didn't exceed 35 mph and I was trapped until Route 18 where Route 537 goes to double lanes.

Then a road crew was filling potholes at the end of Kozlowski Road and I made my own detour because none was posted. Between following the cars ahead and using my GPS, I got around the closure without losing too much time. Because, you know, I timed it down to the minute. And I am eager to let road crews fill potholes. Naturally, for all my efforts, the program began fifteen minutes late. Which messed up my afternoon's schedule.

While waiting, I checked Facebook:

And I'm like, "How funny, this is my view, too!"

The arrangement was luncheon before and after the service but I wasn't sure so I'd already eaten. As the pre-service lunch folks wandered out into the sanctuary, I looked them over good. Hoping to spot the non-Catholics. Expecting to see deformities: big ears, club foot, crossed eyes, withered hand. But, nope, nothing out of the ordinary. These were just regular people. I found myself smiling and greeting the women in Roman collars. I decided that if Episcopalians and Catholics can't get along, we're in trouble. The church website is more clear than it was over the summer announcing his arrival and installation: "he is married to the Rev. T. James Hargrove, also an Episcopal priest and hospice chaplain." He is an excellent preacher. And, you know, I prefer black vestments for Lent to purple. The black looked good.

The complete lyrics of the few hymns we sang were displayed on the screens. Many people didn't understand that Catholics only ever sing a couple of verses because our hymns are filler. Singing covers the procession, recession, collection and communion. When those activities are over, singing halts. How awkward if those things took place in silence!

I ran into some old friends and, when it was over, they invited me to the post-service lunch. I went for conversation and a drink. On the way, I spotted two old ladies trying to find their way to the lunch hall. They tried the first door of the many lining the back of the church - it was the confessional, clearly marked. I motioned for them to follow us out.

So I'm looking forward to next Wednesday's ecumenical service at my friend's Pentecostal church.

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