This is a small church. Pews, 11 on the left, an even 10 on the right. Exactly five women in the front left, three on the right. One guy in the last pew, in jean jacket and boots. He sat alone.
The skinny guy who handed out the bulletins strode to the front.
"Glad to have all of you," said the skinny young guy. Turns out he is the pastor. The Rev. Josh McClendon. Son of the Rev. Tim McClendon, who ran St. John's United Methodist Church in Rock Hill for decades.
"How's everybody doin?" he asked. Then Josh McClendon talked, wearing no robes, in the clothes of the common man, about helping others. "Shining the light" in neighborhoods just like the one where his church sits.
He taught about not asking for public validation for giving to those who need others in trying times.
Mike Jeter, McClendon's brother-in-law, played the piano. The eight ladies sang three songs, and the air filled with hope.
McClendon told these people to dig deep and find meaning. To help others, always. He said it will not be easy.
It is not easy anywhere, as so many in York County churches Wednesday became reflective, penitent, rededicated, with Easter looming in 46 days.
Because this year is a little different. Money, or lack of it, is in almost all conversations, even in church. Church attendance is up, with the economy a big reason, said the Rev. Steve Gaither, the pastor at India Hook United Methodist Church, where Ash Wednesday was a day among many where his church invites in other churches filled with people of all colors and denominations and means.
"The Lenten season is a reminder that what we have is not sourced from the stock exchange, the economy, politics," Gaither said. "Yes, we have young couples who have lost jobs. These are tough times for so many. But this is a time to remind all of us that God comes before dollars. It is a time to remind us to come back to what matters most."
Real people are worried about relatives and friends, or even themselves, who are out of jobs or have jobs hanging by the slimmest threads. Spin around in a church or anywhere and you can see somebody broke or on the brink.
Lent in this day and age is no longer the act of giving up ice cream, or candy bars, for seven weeks. Lent is now giving of yourself to keep people from despair.
And that despair spurred on the faithful this Ash Wednesday. They came to these churches to remind themselves of others who need them. To get the ashes, the dust of palms, on the forehead in the shape of the cross.
Gaither, the preacher at India Hook, said rituals are important. This ritual across the earth Wednesday was the ash cross.
Rituals give hope when there is hopelessness, said the Rev. Larry Parker of Woodland United Methodist Church. In this economy, Ash Wednesday gives people something to hold on to. That something is hope. And it can inspire people to "make sure we all go out and do something good for somebody else," Parker said. "The message is not just penitence. It is not giving something up. It is doing for others in this time people need it."
So at the end of the service at Bethel UMC, the eight ladies lined up for McClendon to give them the ashes. Joyce McElveen, then Darnelle Sweatt, then Ana Curry. Margaret McCarter, Mary Morton, Alice Bailey. Pat Gillian and Lib Amerson. Every single one of them helps with that soup kitchen out back, and more, for others.
"It is a time to stop, to think, about what is really important," said Darnelle Sweatt of Ash Wednesday and Lent.
All the ladies talked about living a life for others, each day, in the spirit of Christ. They talked about it because they do it.
"A reminder of who we are and should be for others in these trying times," Gillian said.
Each received the ash cross. Then up from the back row came Bobby Tinkler, the guy in the jean jacket. He bowed his head and McClendon painted the cross on Tinkler's forehead.
Then McClendon gave Jeter, the piano player, the cross. Then himself.
It was beautiful.
McClendon then led the confession, the ending, with his right arm raised. His forehead, his right thumb and forefinger, were dark with ash.
Then all in that church hugged each other.
McClendon then laughed.
"I forgot," he said. "Today is my birthday."
McClendon with so many others to help, didn't remember until after noon that he turned 27 Wednesday.
Then he left, they all did. With ash crosses on their foreheads, that anybody could see, to go out into the world and help save it.
