Father Sean McGraw was late for Mass. And whenever he found himself late for Mass, he became very cross. And when he became very cross due to being late for Mass, he tended to lose certain motor skills. The simple act of putting on his trousers became a dance routine worthy of a Broadway production. Out his bedroom door he would pirouette, pulling and tugging on his trousers — across the hall, into his study, finally crashing into a desk before his right foot would pop through the cuff of his black pants.

His shoe laces, which after 35 years he had become quite proficient at tying, on these occasions would be like two angry worms trying to keep from the fisherman’s hook.

"Arrrrrrggggg!" Father McGraw shouted as precious minutes ticked by. "Stupid shoes!"

He grabbed his keys, dropped them as he tried to lock the door, picked them up, and darted down the 11 steps to his car in three giant leaps.

The town in which I grew up was not constructed for people who find themselves running late. There’s an oft-told story of the McKinley family, who, late for their niece’s baptism, took a wrong turn on Ralston Road and were forced into so many detours that when they finally arrived, the child was celebrating her confirmation.

Legend tells of retired plumber Edgar Stent, who went to K-Mart one day to pick up a prescription for his wife, Betty. Due to a construction project on 64th St., Edgar became stuck in traffic. Fourteen years have passed, and some say he’s out there still. Especially his wife, who Edgar continues to call twice a day to see if there’s anything else he can pick up while he’s out.

So, one can quite understand why Father McGraw was concerned about driving the 20 miles to the neighboring parish in the five minutes he had to get there.

He was not one to exceed the speed limit, to run a yellow light, or to pull away from a stop sign without first coming to a complete stop.

Since he wasn’t one to break (Bend? Maybe – if it was for the greater glory of God.) the law, Father McGraw stuck to his strength – a strength that had gotten him through many chess games with the bishop, not to mention more than a few parish finance council meetings with the notoriously nitpicky Mrs. Crabs. He strategized.

"Left on Wadsworth; NO! Left at the gas station, drive through the alley to Wadsworth; turn right on 38th; go through McDonalds parking lot to Carr St.; pretend to be in labor and have police escort through hospital zone…" And so on.

He also, of course, clung to his other strength – the power of a good and loving God who wouldn’t want his faithful servant late to celebrate Mass. Quoting his favorite movie, Father McGraw shouted, "Blessed Mother of Acceleration, don’t fail me now!"

She didn’t. For in three minutes – and without breaking a single law, without earning a single moving violation, and without having to pretend to be a pregnant mother – Father McGraw traveled nearly 17 miles.

Sighing heavily as he saw the familiar church tower in the distance, he whispered, "I did it." His hands were still shaking — his nervous tension wouldn’t leave him until long after Mass. "Two minutes to go."

He glanced at his watch and looked up at one more approaching traffic light: yellow … red … stop. Father McGraw stopped and nervously looked at his watch again. One minute, 45 seconds…44…43…42 ….

"HURRY!" he shouted angrily. The light finally turned green, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a teenager begin to cross the intersection in front of him. Surely he would stop, Father McGraw thought as he began to lift his foot from the brake.

"WHAT!?" Father McGraw shouted, his hands in the air. The teen was slowwwly making his way across the street against the green light. "What are you doing!? Are you crazy? I’M LATE FOR MASS, YOU … YOU…." Father McGraw slammed his hands against the steering wheel and lowered his head.

When he looked up, the young man, who was nearly -- but not quite -- out of his way, was standing in the road staring at him. The young man turned, took a few steps back the way he had come, stopped, did a full cartwheel in front of Father McGraw’s car, and took a bow.

Father McGraw couldn’t help but smile. Then he laughed. Then he relaxed. He pulled into the church, no longer in a hurry, no longer filled with tension, and suddenly realized that he had just re-written his homily.