Well, sinners though we are, Jesus again rose from the dead on Easter Sunday to save our pitiful selves. My gratitude knows no bounds.

Still, I feel compelled to say that it is a good thing that Jesus didn’t have me managing his schedule those 2,000+ years ago, for if it had been so, we might all still be flailing around in the throes of sin.

Our Mesa church has three Sunday Masses: a 7 o’clock, a 9 o’clock, and an 11 o’clock. Bill and I always go to 9 o’clock Mass. Since we moved here, on one occasion we went to the Saturday evening Mass at 4 o’clock, but other than that, it has always been the 9 o’clock Mass on Sunday morning.

That is the Mass I intended to go to yesterday as well. But since we were hosting an Easter extravaganza, suddenly Saturday morning it occurred to me that we perhaps should go to the 7 o’clock Mass so that I could be home early and begin preparing the meal. Bill agreed.

We set our alarm for 5:30, giving us enough time to have a cup of coffee before we began dressing for church. I didn’t think that the 7 o’clock Mass would be that busy, as WHO IN THE WORLD GETS UP THAT EARLY FOR CHURCH? If we left our house at 6:30, we would be there in plenty of time I said with confidence.

We arrived at church at 6:40, and saw that the parking lot was full. Hmmm. Of course, lots of people go to Mass on Easter that don’t otherwise go, so perhaps that’s the reason for all of these cars 20 minutes before Mass, I thought. Still, there were no people milling around their cars or walking towards the church. That troubled me.

We walked up to the church expecting to be greeted by the ushers, but the doors were firmly closed with no ushers in sight. We peeked in, and saw that the entire congregation was kneeling and Mass was clearly in session. At 6:40.

I don’t get it, I said to Bill. Even if Mass started at 6:30 (which, why would it?), it should just barely be started. It looks like they are over halfway through Mass.

We snuck in the back door to find that Mass was, indeed, half over. In fact, we arrived just in time for the Consecration of the host. Whaaaaat?

I was in a bit of a quandary, because at this point there was really no other Mass option. I had told company they could come any time after 9:30, so I needed to be there, and more importantly, have food prepared.

We snuck in and quietly celebrated the last half of the Mass. The saddest thing is that Bill didn’t get to hear what is clearly his very favorite hymn – Jesus Christ is Risen Today A-A-A-A-A-le-e-lu-u-ya! He had been humming it for two days in preparation.

As we drove home, I felt wholly dissatisfied with my worship experience, and said so. Bill reminded me that we had certainly had the best of intentions.

There was a moment of silence.

“Of course, my mom always said the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” he concluded.

So there you have it.

I got home in plenty of time to bake my wonderful French Toast Casserole that was sinfully good, my egg casserole that I thought was sinfully bad but everyone told me was good, and – most important – got my ham in the oven.

People came and went all day long, just as I had anticipated, as my nieces and nephews made their way to and from visits with the other side of the family. We nibbled all day long, watched the kids hide, seek, re-hide and re-seek the plastic Easter eggs I had bought at the dollar store. How much? One dollah! Got my money’s worth out of those babies.

All in all, though I could end up in hell, I don’t think it will because I miscalculated the time of Mass. By the way, when we got home, we checked online only to learn that on Easter Sunday, the 7 o’clock Mass becomes a 6 o’clock sunrise Mass. Who knew?

Nevertheless, despite my not being there to hear the Gospel read, Peter and the “disciple Jesus loved” did indeed run to the tomb only to find it empty.  He had risen.