Monsignor

Tuesday I decide to take advantage of an unexpected day off and visit my grandparents. Since they only live about an hour and a half drive away, I plan to head down after the "noon Mass."

Father Check has the 8 o'clock Mass on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. Which means that Monsignor DiGiovanni, the pastor, has the "noon Mass" on those days. The "noon Mass" begins at 12:10pm, but we still refer to it as the "Noon." Everyone knows, though, that if Monsignor is saying Mass, you CANNOT BE LATE. Because if you're late, you'll miss it.

Seriously. The famed Borden Express at TAC is nothing compared with Monsignor's daily Mass. It's beautiful, it's reverent, and boy is it over quickly!

So Tuesday. Noon Mass. It's Monsignor. I can't be late. And I plan well. I won't be late. Drop off my stuff at the dry-cleaners, fill the tank with gas, save the bank for later because I don't want to be late.

Then the I-95 nightmare: traffic. Ugghh. So I creep along for about two miles, then decide on an alternate route. But someone must have programmed all the red lights for me on these back roads. I go 70mph between lights when I can--Monsignor himself told me that I should only worry about the imperfection of breaking the speed limit if I am endangering lives, so I make sure it is a safe 70mph. Besides, I am trying to get to Mass.

The lefthand turn arrow flashes green. I forgo leaning on my horn as the car in front of me sits absolutely still, the driver obviously rendered temporarily colorblind. Finally he sees it. Yellow...I screech into the intersection--I should remember to tell Joe to look at those tires when he does my trip-check on Friday.

I jog/speed walk toward the entrance. I check my watch: 12:11pm. Not bad. It will be 12:13 by the time this old man ahead of me gets up the steps, though. He graciously opens the door for me, and I glide in, catching up some holy water on the way.

Monsignor is just finishing up the First Reading. I re-check my watch. Yup, only 12:13. I silently chuckle as I slip into the pew, trying to catch the last few phrases.

Uncharacteristically, there is no homily. Maybe it's the heat--it's sweltering in the church, especially with the humidity. But this means that the poor old lady who wanders in "7 minutes late" is just in time for Consecration. The distribution of holy communion starts at 12:23pm. "Thanks be to God" and the Saint Michael prayer all finish before 12:35. Monsignor sprints off, altar-left, and my Thanksgiving almost doubles the amount of time I spend in the church.

This evening Father Check came to Frank's parents' house for dinner, so the whole "family" was there (including me).

Frank to Father Check: "Father Check, if you're running late and you get to Mass after the Gospel reading, can you still receive communion? I'm talking about daily Mass, not Sunday."

Father Check: "ummm, WEeelll..."

Frank: "--you really try to get there, but you know, unforeseen circumstances--"
Me: "...or it's Monsignor...".

Father Check chuckles and shakes his head: "I don't know how he does it," he marvels. "As long as you don't make a habit of it," he concludes.

Sharon and I try to aim for noon, especially when we know it will be Monsignor.


Maybe that's why they call it the Noon Mass.