I was cycling through a city park about a month ago, quite a lovely one, with a small lake, and pavilions, in one of which I noticed a mother and daughter placing a number – say thirty or so – small candles on the floor. I went over, and noticed they were the fake-electric kind, which, as it turns out, was quite a propos. I asked them if it was for a memorial, and the Mum replied that, no, her daughter was getting married. I was on my way to a church, so said I would pray for them, and added, who is the lucky guy? They looked at me sort of oddly, and said ‘Danielle’. I felt like replying, ‘Oh, he’s French’? But, instead, knowing that they knew I knew what that implied, I instead murmured a farewell. What is one to say? A marriage that will not be, but a simulacrum of one.
I did go on to the church, and, in one of those mysterious connections of providence, there happened to be a wedding in progress – at least this time, a man and a woman. After all, it was Catholic, dedicated to Our Lady, no less. There was no Mass, and they had just finished the vows. None of those in attendance knew what they were doing, as the young priest, whom I recognized, gave them constant directions – please sit, stand, and so on. When the couple went to sign the register, I thought, will there be music? Sure enough, Pachelbel’s Canon came booming through the nave – and I mean booming, from one of those intolerably loud boomboxes, which had been placed at the entrance. Could they not have found an organist? Even I, with ten thumbs when it comes to keyboard, may have passably performed the familiar piece. Then, when they processed down the aisle at the end, there was the usual applause, accompanied by a raucous dance tune, fitting for a nightclub. The reception, it seemed, had already begun.
A couple of weeks later I attended another wedding of two alumni of the college at which I teach, one of many to which I am blessed and honoured to be invited. (As I write, I’m out west for another this weekend). The glory and splendour of that celebration is what a wedding should be: A young Catholic couple, properly prepared and disposed, devout families in attendance, lots of children, SATB choir and organist with resplendent repertoire, a priest providing a fitting homily. Everyone full of joy and hope, anticipating what this new family and their children will be.
Why can not all weddings be so? Of course, they can be, and should be, but for many reasons, are not. Which is why such marriages, built on the sand of transient attraction, romantic Hollywood illusions, premarital carnal knowledge, closed to children through contraception,and with little or no sacramental or prayer life, are unable to withstand the sturm unt drang of the world. It’s no surprise they mostly end in divorce and mutual recrimination, a disaster for the couple and, more so for their children.
I think I’ve been to over a hundred of our alumni weddings through these years, and almost all of them, built on the solid rock of faith and prayer – perfecting that nubile attraction built into our natures – are still going strong, full of joy and hope The very difficulties they do inevitably face seem to make them stronger, forging them in some sort of spiritual furnace. Which is, after all, what Christ promised. Such is the fruit of our Catholic Faith.
To echo John Paul II, ‘families, become what you are!’. They know not the graces and blessings they are missing. That may be the very solution – these proper weddings, rare as they may be, shine forth with all the greater brightness, not under bushel baskets, but on the summits of mountains.
