Allistair and Braden, as I said last evening at the
rehearsal, you will probably not remember any of this homily. And, it is
perfectly natural. I do not remember anything the priest said during the homily
at my wedding. I was so caught up in the moment of being married to the woman
of my dreams, that nothing could have ever distracted me from that state of
emotion and mind.
I have been at many weddings over the past 39 years of
church ministry, either as a liturgical musician or officiating as a deacon as
I am now. I remember one wedding so vividly. The bride was being processed down
the aisle by her father. She was so stunningly beautiful, as you are today,
Allistair. Breathtakingly beautiful was she in her white dress and veil, her
long dark hair standing out in contrast to the white of her dress. She had such
a captivating smile on her face. All the while she was being processed down the
aisle by her father, he kept saying to her, “You can still get of this if you
want to, I won’t be mad. You don’t have to get married.” She responded by
smiling that beautiful smile at her dad and kept on processing. I remember that
wedding so specifically because this happened at my own wedding to my wife,
Ruth. This past December 27th, Ruthie and I celebrated our 40th
wedding anniversary and her dad was there at the party our kids planned for us.
I approached Ruthie’s dad and just said, “Well, Al, I think the marriage has
worked.”
I began chronicling my life with Ruth in poetry form in 2011
while I was on a medical leave from a long illness. For Christmas that year, I
gave her a collection of 25 poems as a present, and I have kept adding poems to
that collection ever since. I call the collection, “The Book Of Ruth.” On the
occasion of our 40th wedding anniversary I wrote Ruthie a poem,
entitled, “Learning How To Walk.” Here is the last part of that poem.
To walk with you is
to learn how to love,
each measured step,
a grace-filled journey
to something greater,
far beyond and far better
than the stumbling steps
that I could have
made on my own.
To
walk with you,
is to see the
world with different
eyes, colors bursting
through the greys,
warmth on the
coldest of days, your
voice floating, playing
delightfully in the air
alongside until the
sound settles gently,
gracefully in my ears.
We have walked many
steps together in life,
my gait now not as steady,
these days of uncertain
limbs, joints and cane.
In walking with you,
new discoveries never
end, new beginnings
abound, and that
with you, the first
and the finest of
all teachers, learning
to walk is never
fully learned.
Braden and Allistair, from this moment forward you
will be joined physically, emotionally, and spiritually as one. And, as your
relationship with one another continues to grow and deepen, you will find that
your hearts will be joined together as one heart beating for both of you. You
will be the best of teachers to one another, learning together how to walk as
one throughout life.
You chose the same gospel that Ruthie and I chose
40 years ago at our wedding. Jesus harkens back to that passage early on in the
Book of Genesis of marriage being the joining of two people into one body. This reflects what is told us in the story of
creation that when God created man and woman, God created them in God’s own
self-image. God is both male and female, and when a man and a woman are joined
together in marriage, they find a completeness not found separately, together,
they express the fullness of God in all of God’s entirety and reflect that full
presence of God to all those around them.
The sacrament of marriage reveals to the world that
God is the greatest of all lovers, making love to us every moment of every day.
It is God’s breath that animates us. It is God’s heart that beats within us.
God is always present to us, always listening, always loving, always consoling,
ready to touch our lives in so many ways.
When
we as married couples respond to the needs and care of each other from that
deep desire to love and care for each other, we discover that it is God’s love
that has transformed us and has made us whole. We find that those undesirable
traits within us can be transformed because we want to be transformed. We
discover that the relationship we share as a married couple is based on
mutuality, reflecting the mutuality of God’s relationship with us, and not some
absurd notion that because of a difference in gender one is greater than
another or has power over the other. Transformed by God’s love within, we
become a living sacrament, a living testament of God’s love for all the world
to see.
I
have found in my marriage to Ruth over these past 40 years that my greatest and
most profound experience of God is my wife, Ruth. From her lips I hear God say
to me, “I love you.” “I forgive you.” In her embrace, God embraces me. In her
gentle touch, God comforts me. From her womb I have witnessed Creation at the
birth of our children. She is the greatest teacher of unconditional love. She
never preaches or lectures. She just puts love into action. I have told her
that one of these days, when I grow up, I want to be just like her. I have
known and admired many people throughout my life, but she is the only one I
have wanted to emulate. All the changes I have willed in my life have been at
wanting to be more like her.
By
profession, Ruthie is a registered nurse, and for the past 30 years has worked
full-time nights so that one of us could always be home with our kids. This has
been a tremendous sacrifice on her part. I excused myself from the groom’s
dinner last night, so that I could be at home to wake her up and to kiss her
and wave goodbye to her as she left for work. I often find myself up in the wee
hours of the morning, the time that I usually write these little poems. In
closing, I wrote this poem to her last week. It is entitled, “Portraiture.”
Late at night
when you are off to work,
I love to pour through
my photographs of you,
slowly, carefully savoring
the intricate pattern of
shading, highlighting
your cheeks, your smile,
and most especially,
your eyes,
your dark brown eyes,
in whose mysterious depths
resides the beautiful
portraiture of God.
When I gave this poem to Ruth last week. She read
it, and with a twinkle in her eye she said, “Well, at least this time you got
the color of my eyes correct.” (You
know, you make one mistake 45 years ago and you never live it down.) Braden and
Allistair, may you find as you peer into one another’s eyes every day, the
image and the likeness of the God who created you. And may you as a couple
reflect that love of God to all those you encounter.
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