Higher praise
A dear, Jewish friend from New York called to wish me a happy Easter. She jokingly asked if I was going to church on Sunday.
“God, no. I just found a new yoga instructor I like and her only class in Pasadena is Sunday at 10:30 a.m.,” I replied.
She began laughing hysterically. I didn’t understand. She knows the last time I was in a church was for my nephew’s Christmas play in 2003. My brother called the church and requested structural reinforcement prior to my arrival.
“Marna, you know you’ve been in California too long when you seek out yoga instructors like messiahs,” she explained.
If church strengthened my back and improved my flexibility and breathing, I’d go more often. Then again, I’d go more often if they had pizza and beer in the narthex instead of coffee and crumb cake.