Monday, October 18, 2010

Wedding Stories

It’s been a while
since I’ve posted something to this blog.
That’s for a lot reasons,
which I won't detail here.
But that surely doesn’t mean
that my mind has been running on empty!

Just this weekend
I was a part of the music ministry
for the marriage convalidations
at St. Gabriel.
These masses always make me reflect.
these couples,
these families,
seem to have really reflected
on what the sacrament means.
And you know,
that makes what I do
feel so special.

Over the years
I have encountered all sorts
of requests from people
for their (or their son’s or daughter’s) wedding,
requests that show that these particular folk
really didn’t have a clue
about the Sacrament,
about the Holiness that is Marriage.
And some,
it would seem,
really didn’t have a clue
about the Eucharist.

There was the bride
who asked if they could have a mass,
even though her spouse to be
wasn’t Catholic
and wasn’t converting anytime soon.
She asked if he could be given
a breath mint at the time communion
to make him feel like he was participating.
I wonder,
what did Eucharist mean
to this young bride?

There was the bride
who came extra early for her mass.
Her decor included silk roses.
She sprayed them all with rose smelling perfume
before her guests arrived.
Was this the detail she most worried about
on her wedding day?
If she really wanted this done,
could she not have asked a friend to do this
so she could focus on more important things????
I wonder what goes through people’s minds sometimes. . ..

There was the bride
who wanted the “Cinderella” mass.
She wanted her man
to try the glass slipper
on all of the bridesmaids
and, of course,
it wouldn’t fit
until The Bride came down the aisle.
When the pastor said
that this wouldn’t not be done,
she still insisted that the groom
wear his cape,
which was covered in peacock feathers.
I wonder,
what did people remember about this mass?
Did they remember the exchange of vows?
Did they remember the exchange of rings?
Or did they remember the feathers?

And then there was the bride
who couldn’t understand
why her dog
couldn’t be the flower girl.
I said a prayer for her as I wrote this paragraph.
She’s probably still mad at me.

And the couple
who wanted to do a butterfly release.
It stormed that day
with the lights flickering on and off.
At the end of the mass
no one went directly outside
as it was pouring rain.
They all just stood in the vestibule. . .
. . .and released the butterflies anyway.
And what do people remember about this ceremony?
Deceased butterflies???

There was the bride
who wore combat boots.
Neither she nor her spouse to be
were military.
Neither were their parents or siblings.
She just liked the way the combat boots
looked with her bridal gown.
I’m certain everyone in attendance
will remember this.
She lifted her dress slightly
as she walked down the aisle
to show her boots. . .
. . but does anyone remember
the vows?????

And then there was the mother of the groom
who hired me for the music.
I later found out that the mother of the bride
had hired Mariachi.
Neither the bride nor the groom
were aware of any of this.
Good thing I ALWAYS
check in with the bridal couple
when someone else inquires about music.

most of the weddings in recent years
haven’t been so weird.
I guess,
after having done this sort of work
for over 25 years
one is bound to have some stories to share.

Where does the weirdness come from?
Where does the gimmickry
and individualism come from???
I suppose I’ll never know for sure.

But you know,
the weird stories
make the special masses,
like the one I was part of Saturday,
all the more worth it.

One little girl,
who is a member of the children’s choir,
was there as her parent’s
were getting married.
I’m glad I could be there
and be a part of it.
No weirdness.
Just holy people
exchanging holy vows
in a holy place.
Couples being Eucharist to each other.
Parents being Eucharist to their children.

And you know,
the older I get
the more I appreciate
what marriage is.

And the older I get,
the more I just plain appreciate
The Eucharist.

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