We define On Time a bit differently, and in the years of our wedded bliss, I have found myself altering my definition. If we’re walking in during the entrance hymn, I can now still call myself On Time. If, however, everyone is seated (as in after the processional), then we’re Late.
I wonder if Mary ever struggled with this in the mornings when it was time to go to the temple and worship. I get up plenty early, and usually so does my husband. But at some point, the ability to manage our precious getting-ready moments slips right through our fingers. Maybe it has to do with the snuggling toddler; maybe it is a function of weekend wallowing with each other; maybe it’s just poor time management.
We spend all week managing our time, getting the most out of every hour, multi-tasking until we collapse in our bed at night. It seems that Sunday, as a day of rest, should be exempt from that.
But then we’re Late for Mass.
I see Jesus, hanging there on the cross, and feel like I have really let him down by being late to this Banquet Feast that I so need, that I spend the week yearning for. I see the assembly, I hear the music, I feel myself, once again, coming home…but I’m Late.
I have resigned myself to thinking it’s not the end of the world. There are worse things than being a wee bit Late to Mass (like not being there at all, the Voice-that-sounds-just-like-my-husband in my head pipes up).
Even so, my Advent resolution is to be On Time (or, dare I say it, Early) for Mass. If that means I rouse the sleeping hubby twenty minutes earlier, so be it. If that means I don’t get online first thing (*pause for gasping breath*), there will be time later.
After all, Mass won’t wait for me. I have to get there to receive the graces I need to get through my week!
We were late to mass this week also. Not a proud moment. It seems like the little things are what make us late for mass. Older sister was trying to find the perfect pair of shoes for the occassion, younger sister couldn’t get her seat belt buckeled, some one “opened the flood gates” on our street and I couldn’t get out of my driveway without waiting for each car racing around the corner. God wants me there safe, I think I should wait for the cars.
At our church usually the only open seats are the first row and the first row on the side. I think they set it up that way so that EVERYONE knows your late!? Not really but it makes me more aware of my timing when entering the church. Lucky for me at our church we have 5 masses to choose from. If I feel like we are running late we have the option of going to the next one. As long as I don’t aim for the late one first!
God knows you are there, early, on-time, or late. At least you are there!
The good side to being late is then I make resolutions. I know a lot of people who sit up front because then their kids can see what’s going on. In fact, I may soon be brave enough to try it myself. I can just see young Babby running to the front, though, and joining Padre on the altar (which he WOULD NOT mind, but would put me into coronary arrest), with jubilant cries of “Hi, Wa-wee!” She has started praying and kneeling with everyone else (not holding my breath on that), though, so maybe I need not fear…
I think God understands our INTENT too. I think he’s glad we want to join him, and maybe being late is a lesson, for me, of humility. (Again!? I need lots of these lessons, it seems! And I do, really I DO!)
Sheesh, Im’always late for Mass and it bites because I love the Mass. With two toddlers it can be a real challenge some Sunday mornings…but I’m thankful for the nursery so that the hour I spend at Mass on Sunday really is refreshment 🙂
It appears, Mikala, that I’m not alone in my “Late” struggles! I can’t imagine two toddlers single-handedly. You’re working on your cause for canonization, sistah!
We were later than normal because our son was fussy and had to sit on the opposite side of the church than normal.
Good luck, Sarah, with getting hubby up earlier. I fight that battle with the guys every week!