They paraded into
the church for the wedding rehearsal like a Kardashian posse—all twenty
of them, eight groomsmen, nine bridesmaids, and three toddlers. When I
welcomed them, one smiled faintly, two others kept texting important
messages, and the young lady with the wrist-to-shoulder tattoos sat down
in a pew, made herself at home, and started touching up the polish on
her nails. The rest simply ignored me. It was clear none had been inside
a church since confirmation and hadn’t the slightest clue how to behave
in a place of worship. We could just as well have been knocking back
some tequila in Eddie’s Pool Hall and chatting about the Bruins.
I suppose this shouldn’t surprise me. After all, I was
warned about it many years ago, by an old and seasoned pastor who told
me that he would much rather preside at a funeral—even the most tragic
funeral—than at a wedding, any day of the week. At the time, I didn’t
understand. But now I know exactly what he means.
I learned the lesson over the years, not all at once but
gradually, on an installment plan. I learned when a couple asked me, in
all seriousness, if their American Alsatian named Clyde (housebroken,
they told me, and an all-around good pup) could carry their rings—on his
collar!—down the aisle in the procession. I learned when I read the
wedding program that listed every saloon and tavern between the church
and the reception hall, inviting guests to bar-hop their way to the
party. I learned whenever I stood next to a flower arrangement more
expensive than my car, or watched a photographer belly-crawl on the
ground like a photojournalist in combat, or found a discarded diaper on
the choir loft steps. Finally, the mother of one bride changed the music
for the ceremony a week before the wedding and printed it into the
programs without bothering to tell the music director or musicians—and I
officially took up the mantle of the cranky old pastor who hates
weddings.
I know that a religious ceremony remains meaningful to a
lot of couples. But it seems to me that more and more of them see a
church as just another venue: a place that will look pretty in the
pictures. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for welcoming an engaged couple
and working with them. It’s just that, lately, I feel more “used” than
“worked with.”
What is to be done? Should we get out of the wedding
business entirely? That would be tricky; and besides, who wants to cut
off Catholic women from yet another sacrament? I’m thinking about
another way, something proposed to me by a charming couple I met a few
weeks ago—a couple I liked instantly and truly want to marry. They
mentioned married peers of theirs who warned them that they would not
remember much about their wedding because of all the excitement and
hoopla. This rather shy couple was worried that the part of the day they
valued most—the wedding vows and nuptial blessing—would be lost. They
suggested a simple and elegant solution. They wanted to be married in
the church on a Tuesday evening, at a wedding Mass attended only by
their parents and siblings, with a small dinner to follow. Then, on the
following Saturday, they would renew those vows at a wedding hall, in
full regalia and with a cast of thousands. Already married, they
supposed they would be less nervous, and because it was a “renewal” of
vows, their godparents might be able to lead the prayers right there at
the place of the reception. In any event, the memory of “the wedding
that counts” (to use their words) would be clearer and dearer to them.
I think they’re on to something. Giving the wedding its
own day might make it seem less like a preliminary to the reception. And
it certainly makes this priest feel less cranky and a lot more
sacramental.
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