Scripture:
Genesis 2:18-24

Several years ago, Ann Landers ... who I almost never read ... rendered an opinion on the proper way to hang a roll of toilet paper. I don't remember whether she said that the squares should come out from under, or down from over. But the argument raged for weeks, with readers taking sides as to whether she was right or whether she was wrong.

Which was the biggest "brouhaha" Ann's column ever caused, until a Catholic bishop wrote and told her (in no uncertain terms) why he hated to perform weddings. His diatribe was like dynamite under a dam. Suddenly, letters flooded in from clergy of all shapes and sizes, saying that they hated weddings, too. And telling her why. There were tales of intoxicated groomsmen, overbearing mothers, erotic wedding kisses, Broadway musical selections, and sanctuaries filled with guests who didn't look like they had the faintest idea where they were ... nor did they care.

There was the story of the best man who dropped his trousers at the head of the recessional, the bride who wanted her dog to walk her down the aisle (no, she wasn't blind), and the groom who announced to all within earshot: "Here comes the preacher who shows up anytime there is free food." But the prize for tastelessness went to the semi-sloshed father of the bride who, in answer to the preacher's question, "Who gives this woman to be married to this man," responded: "Your wife and I do."

All of which seemed to interest you more than me. You clipped the columns and dropped them on my desk, literally begging for comment. So here it is.

Clearly, Ann struck a nerve. Many clergy do not like to do weddings and figure out ways to minimize their number. Peek behind rules that churches establish (as to who can stand at the altar and who can't) and you will often find pastors who would just as soon spend their Saturday afternoons elsewhere. In part, their reluctance is a matter of timing. If more weddings took place at 11:00 on Tuesday or 1:30 on Thursday, you might find fewer pastoral scruples against performing them. With clergy weekends already sliced-and-diced-every-which-way-from-Sunday (by all that happens on Sunday), you can see what Friday night rehearsals and Saturday weddings do to what remains of the weekend ... especially when one does over 50 a year.

But there's another issue that clergy will never talk about in public. That being money. In churches where there is not an established fee structure ... including appropriate honorariums for officiant and organist ... it is not uncommon for the bride's family to spend three or four thousand dollars on flowers only to have the groom slip a rumpled ten dollar bill to the preacher. I can tell you that because it's not a concern, personally. But late at night ... behind closed doors ... when the hair comes down at clergy gatherings ... all you have to do is listen.

Do I do weddings? Sure! Lots of them. Fewer now, than before. No more years of 50 ... and I am working hard to get the number under 40. But, career-wise, I am pressing ever closer toward 1700. We do lots of weddings here. I did one last night. Rod did one yesterday afternoon. At 5:00 on Friday, I did a vow renewal ceremony for Lindsay Hinz's parents, on the occasion of their 50^th anniversary. After the renewal, they all went out for an elegant family dinner. Which made no sense to me, given that they could have gotten away at a fraction of the price at the Ice Cream Social. But I like vow renewals. That's because they smack of success.

Do I have horror stories I could send to Ann Landers? A few. But, surprisingly, very few. There was the groom who smoked a "joint" in my bathroom. Nor will I soon forget the day we had plainclothes cops sprinkled around the building in case the bride's old boyfriend followed through on his threat to "put somebody down for the count" if she ever married anybody but him. And then there's my colleague's remembrance of the four-year-old boy, neatly attired with tux and pillow, who growled all the way down the center aisle because someone told him that he was the "ring bear." But, over the years, I've liked most people in most weddings ... with the possible exception of videographers. And I've learned the art of working with them beforehand, so as to minimize my irritation with them afterward. I've gotten smarter as the years have gone by. One day I woke up and realized that, in this burgeoning (and somewhat lucrative) industry that we call "the wedding business," all of us have jobs to do. And if I can help you do yours in ways that will cause minimal infringement upon mine, we will all be a lot happier ... and the results will be a whole lot prettier.

Still, somebody has to be in charge. And here ... in my shop ... it's me. Not the photographer. Not the videographer. Not the floral arranger or the wedding coordinator. Not the string quartet conductor, the bride's mother, or even the bride. But me.

If that seems heavy handed, it's not. Because I am not. In fact, I'm a bit of a pussycat. Most people find me easy ... perhaps, even charming ... to work with. That's because I listen. I mean, I really listen. I listen to what you want to do. But more important, I listen to why you want to do it. Then I try to help you accomplish your objectives in ways that will make sense spiritually and artistically.

Knowing that a minimum of one wedding in three will have some underlying family tension attached to it, I work things through (carefully and in advance) with the bride and groom. That way, nothing is left to chance at the rehearsal. Wedding rehearsals are my ministry to your anxiety. Having planned carefully, I simply announce the seating arrangements involving dad's new girlfriend (who everybody is meeting for the first time, including mom) ... not to mention the in-laws who can't abide each other and don't speak to each other. And I would never put a floor plan issue up for grabs on Friday night, where an egocentric bridesmaid could make a grandstand play to change everything around, so that this wedding might become a carbon copy of her wedding that took place six months ago.

On the night of the rehearsal ... in the midst of this swelling sea of nervousness ... someone has to look like they know what they are doing. And that someone has to be me. That's where I earn the rumpled ten dollars or whatever. In fact, I am floored by the number of times people say (with reference to the rehearsal): "Oh, you made us feel so very much at ease." When, if the truth be told, I worry that I am being just a tad dictatorial. I comfort myself by saying that I am not imposing my will if I have listened (and negotiated) with sensitivity, beforehand. Still, as much as it may be "your day," it is still "my shop."

What does the Bible say about weddings? Precious little. Does the Bible tell me how to perform one? Not that I can discern. Everybody remembers the story about Jesus and the wedding that took place in Cana of Galilee. Jesus went ... accompanied by his mother. He performed his first miracle there. He turned water into wine there. He saved the reception from becoming a total disaster there. And he caused an argument between the guests and the host over why this new-and-improved wine had been held back until the party was nearly over.

But this story is tricky. It's not about weddings. It's not about receptions. It's not about anybody's personal preference for Mondavi over Manischevitz. Instead, it's a cryptic story about a theological paradigm shift. How's that for a fifty-dollar phrase? It's a story about Jesus being the new wine ... whose time is coming. And it's a story about Judaism representing the old wine ... whose time has been.

But if we scan the pages of scripture, we can glean a few interesting tidbits about weddings in biblical times. From the Book of Tobit (7:14), we learn of the existence of a wedding contract ... meaning that "prenuptials" aren't necessarily all that new. From the Song of Songs, we learn of a special bridal garment, including the existence of adornment. From Genesis 24:35, we learn that the bride, even then, was probably veiled. From Judges 14:11, we learn that the groom most likely had attendants, including a best man. From Matthew 9:15, Mark 2:19 and Luke 5:34, we learn that it was traditional to invite a number of wedding guests.

Jeremiah 7:34 suggests a procession accompanied by music (meaning that Doris Hall worked Saturdays, even then). The Book of Ruth hints of a skirt-spreading ceremony, whatever that was. Deuteronomy 22:13-21 raises the possibility of a virginity check prior to the ceremony. Alas, it appears that this was required only of the bride. And various references in Tobit (located in the Apocrypha) and Judges ... along with the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins in Matthew 25 ... give evidence that wedding festivities may have lasted a minimum of seven days, all the way up to a maximum of fourteen. But of particular interest to me this morning is the passage I just read from the second chapter of Genesis, the one that concludes: "This, at last, is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. Called woman, she is born of man. And a man shall leave his mother and cleave to his wife, and the two shall become as one flesh." This image of "one flesh" is perhaps the most ancient matrimonial symbol. And its appearance at the conclusion of a Genesis creation story suggests that marriage was deemed to be part of the natural ... and intended ... order of creation.

On the average Saturday, does everybody understand that? I doubt it. Secularity is ripe on the planet. And it is especially virulent among those of marrying age. Years ago, most weddings took place in church and were followed by a simple reception in fellowship hall, hosted by the ladies of the church. No beer. No band. But even the poorest little church had a silver tea set. Which meant that there was tea ... lemon wedges ... sugar cubes ... round mints ... bowls of mixed nuts (from which I always tried to extract the few visible pecans) ... individualized squares of vanilla ice cream (paper wrapped) with little pink colored hearts frozen inside ... and cake. Of course, cake. Which was sometimes upgraded to include those ridiculously expensive little tea sandwiches (which men positively abhor as they talk in groups about whose idea it was to veto the serving of "real food").

Do we see such receptions anymore? Not much. In part, because even if the bride and groom wanted it, most churches wouldn't have anybody left who would remember how to do it ... or would volunteer for it. Meaning that it's not just today's kids who are different.

Today, people get married in all kinds of places ... especially in California. Twice, in the last two years, I have flown to the coast to officiate in a California wedding. Once at a golf resort. The other time at a winery. I'm here to tell you that "winery weddings" are a big deal in the West.

Do I go outside of the church to do weddings? Sure! Do I do so often? Not really. Do I water down what I do ... when I don't "do church?" No. Because I have this weird habit ... implanted at ordination ... of carrying "church" in me, whether I am surrounded by stained glass or green grass. Weddings, you see, may be set in the context of the sacred or the secular. But marriage, to me ... even though I am light years removed from Roman Catholicism ... hints at (and maybe even smacks of) a sacrament. When I do a wedding, the understanding I bring to it is that God is in it ... and that Christ comes to it. Meaning that from day-one of the planning to moment-last of the benediction, I try to lift everyone six or seven feet above a morbidly obsessive preoccupation with questions concerning nut cups or no nut cups.

If I am successful, I will leave you with a clear (albeit unspoken) message ... whether you are the bride, the groom, or the mothers of the bride and groom ... that this is not (just) about you. This is about some strange and exotic mystery that Paul twice referred to as "Christ and the church." Which suggests a certain manner of "living with" ... along with a certain openness to "dying for." How in the world did Christ love the church? Well, lots of words come to mind. But "sacrificially" is the one that sticks.

I doubt most couples know this. But I think many couples sense this. Their language gives them away. When they talk (repeatedly) about this being a "big day," they are not just talking about the clothes they are wearing ... the guests they are greeting ... the money they are spending ... but about the awesomeness of what they are undertaking (and the fact that if all they bring to it is what "they" bring to it, they will probably fail). Not that they'll ever admit it. But they fear it. Let me tell you, they fear it.

And so a wedding becomes a moment ... a personal and professional moment ... to see what I can bring to it. Or, better yet, to see who I can bring to it. Which is why I don't lose a lot of sleep over whether those I marry are members (or even attenders). Because a wedding is one of those moments in which everybody is incredibly vulnerable, don't you see. And vulnerability is the one thing that throws open more windows to the fresh air of the gospel, than anything else I know.

Do I come across heavy handedly? Of course not. But do I blow weddings off lightly. Of course not. Here at First Church, we even instituted a "Preparation for Marriage Seminar" (of four weeks duration) as one component of our agreement with the couples we marry. Does premarital work, work? Gosh, I hope so. Does it ever stop people from going ahead with the wedding? Once in a blue moon ... maybe.

Let's get real. By the time most people see me, things are pretty much on cruise control. Which means they are going ahead. So it's relatively ridiculous for me (from my position) to render judgments like

Insider ... outsider,
Ours ... not ours,
Fit ... unfit,
Sure thing ... certain disaster.

My job is to take what comes, asking: "Tell me why it's important to you to be married in a church." Then, without prejudging the answer (sufficient reason ... insufficient reason), I work with whoever God brings me.

Do weddings beget church members? Sometimes. Is that a good reason to perform them? Not particularly. Why do it, then? Because human love is as close as a lot of people are ever going to get to seeing the Spirit of God in action. Moreover, if we expect commitments to last (as Jesus said they should), we who believe them to be sacred ought to do our level best to be present when people make them.

Quite frankly, if I have one complaint about church weddings involving non-church people, it has more to do with the guests in the pews than the participants at the altar. I recognize that strangeness explains rudeness. But it shouldn't excuse it. And the part of me that is becoming old and crotchety sometimes wishes I could say to the people in the pews:

Sit down. Shut up. Keep your cameras in your purse. Keep your opinions to yourself. If you must bring a two year old, be sensitive to the fact that not everyone may think his actions quite as cute as you do. And if you are a female guest who is young and shapely, don't show so much skin so as to upstage the bride.

Even then, it's amazing how often a well-officiated ceremony can turn a rag-tag audience into a worshiping congregation, without anybody being aware that such a transformation is actually taking place.

Sometimes, when I launch into the Call to Worship at a wedding, I find myself thinking: "Let's see if I can get them." But, once I've "got them," what do I want them to see? I want them to see that God wouldn't give two people this awesome, aching hunger for another human being, if God didn't believe it was a hunger capable of being satisfied. I want them to see that God wouldn't design something into the nature and fabric of creation ... namely, this "one flesh" ideal ... unless God believed that people could really make it work. And I want them to see that the Bible wouldn't (time and again) equate the Kingdom of God with a giant wedding reception, unless weddings and the parties that follow them are pretty close to God's heart. Then, if God is even one part Slovenian, I trust there will be an occasional polka at the reception.

* * *

Note: The four paragraphs of "biblical material" concerning wedding traditions were taken from a sermon I wrote in 1997 entitled "Five Minutes Before a Wedding."

A few days after delivering this sermon, Aileen Erdmann handed me a clipping from the August 2 issue of the Livingston Enterprise (Livingston, Montana). It described, in some detail, the outdoor wedding ceremony for Heather Nack and Bob Culbreth. The bride and groom wore handmade clothes and leggings of buckskin, which they had scraped, tanned and prepared themselves. Instead of a veil, the bride wore a flower garland on her head and carried a bouquet of white and purple lilacs. The groom's best man was his black lab, Roswell. Instead of exchanging rings, both the bride and groom had clasped-hand rings tattooed on their ring fingers. For their honeymoon, Heather and Bob spent five days and nights canoeing the 110-mile wild and scenic section of the Missouri River. Given that they are both 1999 graduates of the University of Montana School of Forestry, the style and structure of the wedding may have been well-fitting and comfortably appropriate.