45 Minutes
Shortly after my ordination to the diaconate something
caught my eye at the end of one of my first Masses. You can’t help but notice sometimes. An older couple that was seated near the back
of church got up and, seemingly in a hurry, they exited out of the back of
church. Their sudden departure concerned
me and I hoped that everything was good with them.
The next time that I served as deacon at Mass I
noticed the same couple, seated in the same pew near the back of church. At about the same point in the Mass I noticed
that they, once again, got up and hurried out the back of the church.
Over the next few months, I came to the conclusion
that leaving at that point was habit with them.
I tried to not notice them, but I found it hard to not look their way
when they were the only people who were standing. I began to wonder what their story was.
A few months later my wife and I were asked by the
pastor if we would coordinate the marriage prep program for the parish. We enlisted the help of several other couples,
and that’s when we met Harry and Carol.
It was during some social time after one of our training sessions with
them and the other volunteers that, quite out of the blue, Harry asked me a strange
question. “Say, when you’re up in the
sanctuary do you ever notice an older couple that leaves in a hurry before the
Mass is ended?” I replied that, actually
I had noticed them. “I wonder what their
story is?” Harry chuckled a bit and then offered, “I’ll introduce you sometime,
and you can ask them. They’re my
parents!”
A few weeks later there was a church social. I was talking with someone else when Harry
came up to me, grabbed me by the hand and walked me over to his parents. “Deacon this is my father, Don. Dad, Deacon Dan was wondering why you always hurry
out of Mass before it’s over?” I suspect
that my ears were a bit red as it seemed like an embarrassing way to meet
someone. But Don seemed unphased.
“Well, we lived most of our life in Gresham, do you
know where that is?” I assured him that
I certainly did know the area well. The
town has two dams on the Red River and I had fished the ponds a number of
times. And, down below the second dam
where the river is allowed to run free again, it’s a nice stretch to paddle. “The main problem with Grasham is that there
really is only one really good restaurant.
The second problem is that the Lutheran church service gets done at that
same time as the Catholic Mass ends. See?”
Don could tell, probably because my jaw was likely
dropped and my eyes wide, that I wasn’t making the connection fast enough. “If we waited for Mass to end we had to race
to the restaurant to get a table before the Lutherans got there.” Now that the connection was made for me, I
don’t think it helped my jaw and eyes any.
“That’s when I decided that I was giving Father just 45 minutes. You don’t need more than 45 minutes to get
the important stuff done.”
In my mind facts were blurring through my consciousness: But, this isn’t Gresham; this is Green Bay; there
are lots of restaurants in Green Bay. Don
interrupted my thought train, “It’s a good plan.” Now he was pointing at the middle of my chest. “You need to know Deacon that you got 45
minutes. After 45 minutes, I’m leaving.” Don was about as firm as hardened cement.
Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I just had to ask. “So, Don, what are you going to say when you
get to the Pearly Gates and St. Peter throws his arms around you. He then invites you in. But as you take those first few steps into
Heaven, behind you, you hear St Peter say, “Don, you’re most welcome, but you
only have 45 minutes!”
Don didn’t answer the question. But, it must not have rattled him too badly,
because he still leaves Mass every Sunday after 45 minutes.
His Peace <><
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