It’s Not My Fault

I can count on one hand how many Sunday Masses I have missed in the last 10 years. I still have a couple fingers left for the next ten.

I hate the thought of missing Mass. It is the pinnacle moment of the human experience, to be in the physical  presence of God Himself. Who would want to miss that? It sets the tone of my weeks, my days, my life. I measure time from Sunday to Sunday, it’s really important to me.

I missed Mass today. I am ashamed.

I forgot to set my clocks forward.

Dangit, I hate being such a scatterbrain. But I’m quite sure it wasn’t my fault.

You see, it really is the fault of my parish council. They order this fancy calendar for the parish every year and hand them out every January. We of course grab two, and that is our calendar for the year, our entire lives are carefully plotted out on these calendars, amid the feast days of the Church.

Was “change your clocks” on the calendar? Nope. It should have been there, not my fault.

Did I mention I was supposed to read the readings at Mass today?

That I was supposed to help with the new catechumen’s scrutiny ceremony? Maybe the leader of the RCIA team could have called me and let me know. I bet she remembered.

Someone should have let me know.

The whole dang world has decided to arbitrarily change the time of day, and no one called me.

You know, I’ve never really understood this whole daylight savings time thing. What the heck is the point? Isn’t the time just the time? If you want to work earlier or later, can’t you just do so? Why do we have to have a statewide movement to actually change the time?

Okay, I won’t blame anyone else anymore. Truth is, I’m just sad.

I really hate missing Mass.

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