Nothing can ruin a wedding if the heart is right.
Nothing can help a wedding that is a military drill Relax.
Be here. Notice each other. You could walk through fire together!
I also advise them to go to the bathroom one last time before they make their public appearance. I am a practical man.
–
And sure enough, the wedding did not go according to plan.
Jonathan surprised everyone, including himself, by choking up with tears in the middle of his vows, but it was also no surprise or violation of protocol for Mary Carrie to wipe his tears and comfort him. It was OK. As was Mary Carrie’s laughter during her vows. I’m never sure who is going to do what, but tears and laughter are welcome in a ceremony.
Which is why I always ask someone in the wedding party to carry a couple of handkerchiefs. It’s just too embarrassingly funny for a groom to wipe his tears and runny nose on his cuffs.
Amateurs under emotional pressure at great moments often lose their composure and do what people do then—cry, snivel, sneeze, bawl, giggle, yawn, laugh, hiccup, go mute, get sick, pass gas, or pass out. I have been present as the 911 officer when all these things have occurred during weddings. And not only on the part of the bride or groom. I’ve found that almost anyone present can react in such a fashion—and that sometimes it’s catching, especially tears and laughter. And there is extraordinary humor close at hand. Some other time I will tell you in detail about brides in huge dresses getting stuck in small bathrooms.
GIFTS
The earliest evidence of wedding rings dates back to around 2800 B.c.E. in Egypt. Well over 4,000 years ago. In the year 860 the Roman Catholic pope, Nicholas I, decreed that an engagement ring was required of those who agreed to marry. A simple band, preferably of gold, should be given by the man to the woman to wear on her finger, and if either violated the vow to marry, he or she was subject to excommunication, or the woman could be banished to a nunnery for life.
I wonder what Pope Nicholas would have thought of the bicycle chain Jonathan gave to Mary Carrie?
The practice of giving tokens other than rings within the ceremony is also a tradition that goes way back into human history. Anything used or exchanged within the ritual context takes on special meaning—and may become part of the covenant.
Jonathan’s gift of a flute, Mary’s gift of the family cradle, are just two examples of many I have seen: seven fruit trees—one for each star in the Pleiades; something secret in a small box to be opened on the couple’s fiftieth anniversary; a locket containing a picture of the groom and a snip of his hair; a pocket watch; wildflower seeds; a kayak paddle; even a gift certificate for matching tattoos. Who is to say what shall have meaning for others? Who is to say what shall have lasting value?
My own wife didn’t want a diamond ring. As a sentimental joke, I went ahead and bought a simple, stylish ring with a knock-your-socks-off stone. The best stone (glass, actually) that Woolworth’s had: $2.98 plus tax. I put it in a box finagled from the best jeweler in Seattle and gave it to her on the day of our wedding. She was nonplussed.
But when I gave her the sales receipt in case she wanted to return it, she all but bowled me over with a laughing embrace. She loves that stupid ring as much as if it were real. And it is real, isn’t it?
She wears it now on fancy occasions. People are always impressed. It’s hard not to crack up when someone admires her “diamond.” We always confess and pass on the story. The story shines. The actual ring is nothing. But when she wears it on her finger, we are bound together by the memory of its meaning, and that is everything.
Just recently, her mother gave her a lovely gift. The wedding ring her husband had given her. She had a copy made for herself and gave the original to her daughter. Since I think her folks have a great marriage, I, too, really like seeing my wife wear that old ring—it’s a good omen for all four of us.
GOD
We’re worried about God, and worried about praying in the service,” said Mary when I met with her and Jonathan and both sets of parents. An awkward silence in the room. “Jonathan and I don’t belong to any church in particular, and our parents and friends are a mix of everything. We’re still struggling with what we believe. We don’t want to offend anybody, but we don’t want to say things we don’t accept. We want to have the service be as inclusive as possible, without being wishy-washy or patronizing or dishonest.”
The parents were still quiet. Jonathan spoke up. “Very few people at the wedding will know the same prayers or hymns. It’s going to be awkward. And isn’t God everywhere all the time? He doesn’t need to be sent for or have anything explained to Him, does He?”
The families had openly discussed almost every detail of the wedding. They had been careful not to get too far into religion. Or maybe it wasn’t religion they were avoiding, but a complex mix of ingredients stuck to the core of religion: tradition, custom, habit, language, theology, reputation, and desire. And most of this was unexamined—they’d never thought about it much or questioned it; it was too close to their very identity.
Everybody was clearly deeply concerned about how to handle this. And nobody had any enthusiasm for unloading and sorting out the whole freight-car load of religious differences before the wedding. They all looked at me.
–
Here’s what I said, and what I believe.
More often than not, it’s our metaphors that separate us—our choices of analogies for what cannot be named or spoken or expressed in any correct way in human language.
God, that name we use most commonly for the Ultimate Ground of Being, is everywhere at all times, and though we think of God in many ways, there is nowhere God is not. No matter what is or is not said at a wedding, God is there and may be summoned or experienced within each person there in ways in keeping with their own faith and views and language. This is not a competition.
If the spirit of the wedding is right, then the entire service becomes a prayer for the bride and groom and all their friends and relatives to live in harmony with great and eternal truths.
Furthermore, I perceive that the bride and groom are more religious than they are aware. To walk humbly with thy God, to love thy neighbor as thyself, to do unto others as thou wouldst have others do unto thee—these are the essential foundations of religion. Are these fundamentals present in this couple? Yes.
From all I know of Jonathan and Mary Carrie, I say that they and their wedding plans pass the test. They have drawn the circle as large as they can to include us all. And left room for mystery. What we are going to do is right and good.
–
You will not find the wedding service of Jonathan and Mary Carrie described in any of the great scriptures or canons of any major religion. In fact, there is no wedding service of any kind in any of the great scriptures. Neither the Buddha nor Mohammed nor Jesus wrote a wedding service.
In the Christian Church it wasn’t until 1439 at the Council of Florence that the marriage act was sanctified as sacrament, one of the seven channels of grace. Organized religion has revised the wedding form many times. And will continue to do so, I’m sure. People make rituals as we find a way to make rituals meaningful.
If you accept the great scriptures as the Word of God, it would seem that God is not concerned with the actual words spoken as couples cross the threshold into the house of marriage. The concern is for the relationships between those who live out their lives together in that house.
I return to the beginning of this discourse.
Take my advice. Consider this compassionate counsel.
In the matter of weddings or any other major public ritual occasion.
Use your brain as well as your heart.
Know where the land mines are.
Don’t step on them if you can help it.
Make rituals serve your lives, not the other way around.
Marching in step isn’t required, but, like Jonathan and Mary Carrie, you may choose to waltz across th
e threshold of any great passage in your life.
BORN
What the child sees, the child does. What the child does, the child is.
IRISH PROVERB
Each of us is unique, one of a kind.
And the ritual celebration of the uniqueness of individual existence has taken place as far back in human history as we have records, and probably before. Ritually, we welcome a child into the community, our world, and the universe.
Or at least we used to do this.
There is a change in ritual practices around birth—a substantial change: a lack of celebration. This may be a sign that, as the population grows, so does the distance between us.
Keeping in mind my intention of being useful to those who ask about ritual, I share with you now a service that combines two distinct elements: the welcoming of a child, and the union/reunion celebration of being neighbors.
As with the wedding example, this is a consideration of how we find ways to celebrate by reforming tradition—an example of a process as much as a model of a form. And in doing something contemporary, the parents of the child returned to something very old in human affairs.
As with the wedding example, the sharing is in two parts: first, the description of the event, followed by a backstage tour.
A child is born!
There is an optimistic ring to that powerful proclamation—even under the worst of circumstances. I have been told that in Europe during World War II families sought refuge from shelling in unfilled open graves in cemeteries. In these graves, women gave birth. As awful as life seemed at the time, when word was passed around the graveyards that “a child is born!” hope was mended for a moment in the hearts of those who heard. In the Jewish tradition, any child might be the Messiah, even if born in a graveyard. “You never can tell …” we say, and “Who knows what might happen because of this child?” In every tradition, a child is born of the seed of hope.
Biologically, we are wired to affirm birth. Culturally, we have found countless ways to commemorate the event as if compelled to celebrate by the sheer force of life itself. “It’s a girl!” or “You have a son!” Hooray! Wahoo! Let’s party!
My wife, a physician, tells me that the delivery of a healthy baby is a peak experience in the practice of medicine. She says she always has tears in her eyes at the moment a child is born. For all she knows of physiology and biology, birth remains beyond science—an awesome miracle.
“What’s it like to deliver a child?” I asked her over supper one night.
She’s silent, thinking, but I see her hands automatically respond—one over the other to carefully cradle the emerging head of a child.
“It’s a very wonderful kind of scary. These days you pretty well know what to expect because of all the tools and techniques and tests available for monitoring the baby. Still, anything can go wrong.
“At the beginning, there’s usually a lot of anxious waiting around, and then gradually the pace picks up. In the final stage, a tiny circle of the top of the child’s head appears in the vaginal opening. With each contraction, more of the head appears, until it emerges, facedown, and the baby rotates ninety degrees and you can see its face. Then you use a little pressure to help the shoulders out. After that, the rest of the body usually emerges easily. I always try to find out ahead of time if the parents have a name picked for the child, because I like to call it by name and say as soon as I know, ‘It’s Jennifer!’ or ‘It’s William!’
“No matter how many times you’ve been present in the delivery room, there’s always that magnificent moment of relief and joy when a healthy baby is born.”
Getting born doesn’t always happen as smoothly and joyfully as my wife described it. And since everything about us is primed for affirmation, it is no wonder that we feel almost unbearable pain when a child is miscarried or born deformed or born unwanted: the door to the feast hall of joy is closed and locked. As a Greek friend put it when his child died at birth, “I drink now from the cup of sorrow.”
But in this day and age, more often than not, when a child is born, it is a WOW! occasion. We relay the joyful news urgently: “It’s a girl!” “I’m a father!” “You have a grandson!”
Given this universal urge of exultation, it is difficult to explain why the formal ritual celebrations of the birth of a child have diminished in frequency, importance, and size in our time and culture—certainly in comparison with the major public celebrations of weddings and funerals. Organized religion has less and less a part in this passage of life. Though it’s hard to get an accurate figure, my guess is that fewer than a quarter of the children born these days are celebrated in any kind of formal way. Why?
There are understandable reasons. Cultural mobility, for one.
Since young couples frequently live far away from immediate family, are not well established in a community, and are not closely connected to an organized religious group, a public celebration of the birth of a child is not as easily accomplished as it used to be.
And young parents are more likely to have reservations about infant circumcision, infant baptism or dedication, or any other rite offered by organized religion.
“Besides,” one young mother explained, “who’s got time? My husband and I both have jobs with limited parental leave—and the same is true of our friends and neighbors. All my closest family live on the other side of the country. And my husband and I are too overwhelmed just coping with being parents to put together a celebration. If we had any extra time, we’d get some extra sleep, not plan a celebration. I didn’t get my first child’s birth announcements out until the kid was almost a year old; with my second child, I considered just sending the birth announcements along with his high school graduation invitations.”
The most daunting difficulty is excessive and irrational expectation.
There’s this social myth that says the celebration of a newborn child should be a well-organized, serious, dress-up occasion, with all the stops pulled out, and if you can’t do that, do nothing.
Not so. Not so. And the ritual of welcoming a child need not preclude or substitute for a formal celebration within an organized religious community, now or later, if the family chooses to have one.
The birth of a child is such a big deal in itself that a big deal doesn’t have to be made of it for the occasion to be satisfying and memorable. Many of our finest human moments are rather small in scale, but large enough in spirit to last a lifetime.
Especially when a child is born.
–
Come with me to a celebration of birth—a welcoming of a child.
A pattern repeats itself once more here. As with the wedding ceremony, this celebration works out in a positive and joyful fashion. But pain and anxiety are in it, too. And it is the product of what people do when they’ve done something that didn’t work the first time around and are determined to profit from their experience—determined to increase the odds that something right and memorable will be done this time.
The specifics of the event are not nearly as important as the frame of mind that shaped the celebration. This is true for every successful public ritual.
Suppose you find a hand-delivered envelope in your mailbox.
Inside is an invitation, with a note addressing you by name, saying we really hope you can come.
Imagine you’ve been invited because you are a neighbor, two houses down, of a young couple who moved to your block about a year ago. The Brown family. You don’t know them much beyond a nodding acquaintance and what you’ve noticed from a distance.
They have one child, one car, and no pets. They keep their yard neat and their car washed. Parents and child leave together early each morning and arrive home together each evening, so the child must be in day care while both parents work outside the home.
During the past year, you noticed the increasingly pregnant condition of the mother. From neighborhood chitchat, you hear that their new child is born. You also hear that the child has a serious he
art defect and may need corrective surgery.
You ought to go over and meet them, but, well, it’s a little awkward, and somehow you don’t get around to it. Neighborhoods aren’t the same as they used to be. Time passes. And now you have this invitation.
Ed and Lila Brown write to announce the birth of our second child,
Maxwell Peterson Brown
and to invite you to a celebration of his birth,
at our home on Sunday afternoon,
May 2, 1992 at three o’clock.
Since Max will be growing up here, we want him to know his neighbors and his neighbors to know him from the beginning. Refreshments followed by a brief service. Please come in your comfortable Sunday afternoon clothes and bring some very small, sentimental, token gift of welcome to be put away in a treasure box and given to Max when he is twenty-one to connect him to his beginnings. Perhaps a flower from your yard, a picture of the neighborhood, or just a note of hello and good wishes will do - nothing fancy - as you feel comfortable.
Thanks for coming!
RSVP
When you arrive, Ed Brown is there to greet you at the door. You recognize him, but in case you didn’t know, he is wearing a bright green apron imprinted with large white letters declaring, ED BROWN—THE DADDY. Ed is short, swarthy, balding early—a mixture of warmth and shyness. “Welcome and thanks so much for being here,” he says. “Please come in, make yourself at home—everybody is in the backyard, out through the kitchen.”
You walk into the living room where there’s the wooden box in which to leave the little gift you’ve brought—on a table beside a guest book. The table is hosted by a well-dressed older woman—Ed’s mom. You know because she is also wearing a green apron: VI BROWN—ED’S MOM—GRANDMA.
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