I shuddered as I approached the old church, felt the fear prickle up my back and neck. The sound of thunder in the distance only intensified my uneasiness. I took a deep breath, urged myself forward. Clutching my Bible in one hand, my wool skirt in the other, I made my way across the lawn.

“Keep off the grass!” A worn voice from across the pathway intoned. A gnarled old woman emerged from the clouds. “The pathway is there for a reason.” The lines etched in her face suggested years of frowning sternly at the likes of me. I nodded, took a step back involuntarily. “Well, Mass is about to start. You want to be late to your first Mass with us?” I shook my head quickly and followed the woman into the cavernous belly of the House of God.

“Dearly Departed, we are gathered here today…” I bowed my head, my Bible slick from my sweaty palms, as I made my way to a relatively empty pew near the back. The choir of angels frowned at me from their place near the organ. I blushed.

The Mass for the Dead in Heaven began.