Ah, shor-an-begorra, ye've witnessed the legendary Irish Mass. Twenty minutes, in and out, and yer' ticket t'heaven's been punched. Me not-so-sainted father preferred the Irish Mass, taking the seat nearest the door to be in and out faster than the rest of the congregation. We cremated him when he died, and me sainted mither had the priest put the ashes right by the door for the mass.
Yes! Father C. was as Irish as a thick wool sweater!
Are you serious about putting your Dad’s ashes next to the door? That’s a little funny! :)
That’s a great story. The cool part is that heaven isn’t like any service anyone would want to escape, it’s so awesome it can’t even be described or we’d lose our stuff! And your Dad is just getting started on enjoying it.