Ah, the wonderful world of weddings! Walt Disney could probably have made a fortune if he had marketed the idea as a prime-time television show.
I love to hear a good church organ belt out the familiar strains of the traditional wedding march and recessional. It stirs something in me that speaks of old traditions well-kept and handed from generation to generation. However, I always think of the words that one of my classmates made up to go with the wedding march: “Here comes the bride, big, fat and wide.” I added, “There goes the groom, stiff as a broom.”
Personally, I’ve attended more funerals than weddings, and some in the know say they are one and the same. Believe it or not, I have had a certain share of hilarity at funerals, but there always seemed to be something funny that has happened at most weddings I have attended.
One of my many nephews married a Catholic, and I remember attending their wedding. My memories of the event (and seemingly the length of the service) lasted longer than the marriage. I was particularly interested in this wedding, as I was dating a Catholic at the time.
The first thing I noticed was the length of the service. Most everyone in my family is Baptist, and I never felt that Baptists got their money’s worth in a wedding. The brevity of a Baptist wedding mirrors so much of the rest of life—so much anticipation and preparation to get there, and then it’s all over in a flash.
But my nephew got somebody’s money’s worth at his wedding. It lasted for over an hour. Not being of that faith, I believe I am correct in saying that the Catholic wedding involves a full mass.
I found it to be a new, exciting experience, but not so for everyone else on our side of the aisle.
I was sitting next to my sister Madeline (aka Pat). She whispered more than once in my ear, “Lord, Ronnie, don’t you marry no Catholic!” After a few times of standing and sitting, Pat said, “Lord, how long is this thing gonna’ last?” In another few minutes, she said, “I’m plumb give out with all this standing up and sitting down.” Pat was my entertainment for that event.
Being Baptist, the groom’s side of the house didn’t know the protocol of the Catholic wedding. We tried to participate as best we could. When they stood, we stood. When they sat, we sat.
At one point, when they started down, we sat, but the bride’s side lowered the kneelers to the floor and knelt to pray. We simply sat down and waited to see what would happen next. (Consequently, Baptist benches don’t have kneeling pads attached to the bottom of their pews. Someone said, “Baptists don’t get down on their knees enough to merit the expense!”)
Whether they kneel or not, some Baptists get their messages through to the Lord. When my pastor of the time found out I was dating a Catholic, he put his arm around me and said, “Brother, I’m praying you don’t marry this Catholic.” If you ever need a good man of God to pray for a need, let me know. I’ll take you to that pastor, for the Lord surely answered that prayer!
But back to weddings. Every other wedding I have attended was Baptist, except for perhaps one. It was the only wedding I ever attended where no prayer was said. Perhaps they knew they were doomed from the start and didn’t want to waste the Lord’s time. (All jokes aside, that couple is still happily married, and after several years of wedded bliss are now expecting their first child. Someone said, “They can look out now!”)
I had to stop sitting next to my mother at weddings. She always found them particularly amusing. At one wedding, as the groomsmen were rolling out the white aisle cloth for the bride, my mother got the look she got just before she said something funny. She leaned over and said, “They’re rolling the red carpet out for her!” She started out in a whisper, but ended much louder as she got tickled. She almost caused my tickle box to chime. When I get amused in formal settings, it takes all I can do not to laugh out loud, and I almost lost my composure at that wedding. I told Mother later never to sit next to me in a wedding again.
It didn’t matter. When one of my nieces married, it was like a French farce. The wedding was at a somewhat remote country church. It seemed that all the guests couldn’t quite arrive at the same time. My sister-in-law of the time didn’t know how to get there, and it was in the day before cell phones, so I was sent to meet her and guide her to the church. My nephew and I waited and waited, and no sister-in-law. When we got back to the church, sister-in-law was there, but other guests had gone searching for my nephew and me. Finally, we all gathered together at the church, and the wedding started on that rainy Saturday almost two hours late.
The groom’s uncle performed the ceremony, and he was plain ol' country. He asked the bride if she took this man as her “awful” wedded husband (I think he intended to say “lawful”, but perhaps he was wiser than we knew!) She replied with the appropriate, “I do.” Then the preacher asked his nephew, the groom, if he took this “womern” to be his “awful” wedded wife. The groom chuckled and said, “I reckon.” My nephew started tittering like a kid, and there went my composure again. I just can’t seem to sit next to anyone at weddings.
When another of my nephews married, it was in an outside ceremony on a beautiful evening, the perfect end to a sunny day. The atmosphere was relaxed. My mother sat on the deck with a few of the other elderly ladies. They were having a great time talking with much enthusiasm. I watched the entire wedding, then went over to where Mother was sitting. I leaned on the rail, and said, “I wonder when this wedding is going to start?” Mother said she wondered the same thing, and I replied, “It already happened. You missed the entire thing while you were sitting here talking!”
Then there was a Saturday at home. Saturdays are typically my days to dress like a bum and mow the yard or just piddle around the house. At about noon the phone rang. It was another of my nieces. She said, “Ronnie, are you coming to my ____ wedding?” In like fashion I replied, “When the ____ is it?” She told me the time, two hours later, and there Mother and I went again. This ceremony was to be performed by a very eccentrically flamboyant woman “preacher” who later gained notoriety for income tax fraud. Again, we waited and waited, and finally the officiant came in with her arms raised, saying, “Thank you, Jesus. I was sitting in the beauty shop chair, and I prayed, ‘Lord, let them wait ‘til I get my hair fixed’.”
I tell you the wait was an ordeal. My brother and his first wife were on the outs, all from the stress as to whether the current wife would attend (she didn’t). Mother did not care for the first wife, and did not like the part of the bride that took after her mother. It seemed most of the guests, few as they were, would have preferred to be elsewhere, and the longer the wait the tauter the nerves.
The fraudulent tax preparer officiated the ceremony with much exaggerated joy. (“Who gives this beautiful bride to marry this most handsome groom?” I’m not sure anyone knew.) Nevertheless, the childless couple are still happily married.
There are other examples of weddings I could share, but I’m sure, Faithful Reader, you’ve endured just about as much as you can stand at present. I appreciate you all, and wish each day of your life presents you with a little humor and joy, even in the most solemn of occasions.