Marriage, Marriage Equality, Orientation, Privilege, The Inner Landscape, Weddings

Privilege

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Dewey Beach, DE – May, 2014

I’ve been to Rehoboth Beach twice this year, each time to officiate at a wedding.

Dewey Beach was the site for a rehearsal dinner  for the first couple. It was a beautiful Friday evening, the first weekend in May, cool enough that we all appreciated the bonfire. There were some other people on the beach as the evening unfolded, but our party of several dozen mostly had the beach to ourselves. The two brides felt safe in expressing their affection for one another, and when my wife arrived, I greeted her with love and with no fear of reprisal.

There was a moment when some young adults walked by, mid-bonfire, figured out it was a wedding-related event, and looked a bit surprised to hear there were two brides, but they were two people, and we were forty, and frankly, they were intoxicated, and they wandered off then wandered back and finally yelled, as they went on their way, “Congratulations!”

The wedding took place in a Presbyterian church, just a few weeks before a judge in Pennsylvania ruled in favor of marriage equality, and six weeks or so before the Presbyterian Church (USA)’s General Assembly voted in favor of an Authoritative Interpretation allowing pastors in states where equal marriage is legal to perform marriage ceremonies. The AI granted freedom of conscience for off-campus weddings and opened the conversation with lay leadership, where desired, about weddings on church property. But none of that had happened when I put on my robe and stole to join my friends in marriage, standing in another pastor’s church, doing something he could do legally but not ecclesiastically.

I e-mailed him a scan of the officiant’s copy of the marriage license, for his records, for his protection.

The second wedding actually took place on the beach. Teenage bystanders ogled the small party gathered, but a group of mostly lesbians can offer a fearsome gaze in response, and the ceremony went on untroubled.

Where the river meets the sea, Bethany Beach, after the ceremony.
With my wife, where the river meets the sea, Bethany Beach, after the ceremony.

When a couple has been together 17 years (or 30 as was the case for another couple whose ceremony I officiated this summer), I want to take account of the fact that while something new is finally happening, their commitment to each other has been longstanding and is not to be discounted simply because they knew it mattered before state or church acknowledged it. Some reuse the rings already given as a sign of commitment. Some think that seems strange, and so I wrap my stole around their clasped hands and pray over the rings they have long worn. There is no right or wrong way, little precedent, only an attempt to bring together strands of church and state and love and long-held truth. I’m the privileged one, witnessing holy moments and having the power to sign a piece of paper that adds another layer of relationship, one so deeply desired yet commonplace.

I took a long time to be similarly convinced of my own truth, so long that my earliest reflections on marriage as privilege were written from deep in the closet, as a self-identified ally with a history as a self-proclaimed “lesbian wannabe,” a person who despite her own questions about her orientation walked right into a clerk’s office and got a license. All I needed was a guy and forty bucks.

The vista at Rehoboth Beach on a beautiful summer day.
The vista at Rehoboth Beach on a beautiful summer day.

The day after the wedding, KZJ, Mr. Dimples and I went to the beach for the few hours we could manage and still get home for an interview I had that night. It’s been two years since we spent an extended period of time at a beach, that time on a vacation with extended family at a beach much less crowded. I’m not sure we reckoned our privilege then any more than I did as a young woman who did the expected thing. We waded through the umbrellas already covering the beach at 10 a.m. and found a place to put down the tourist-priced, bright-colored towels we bought that morning, decorated with flip-flops and shells and beach umbrellas. Sometimes it’s a privilege to be among the masses, two moms and a boy eager to feel the ocean again. We didn’t have much elbow room, but the ocean lay before us, waves breaking, the air all at once salty and sweet.

Marriage, Prayers for Pastors, Weddings

Kinetic, connected (a prayer for pastors, after a wedding)

In their house,
on the wall,
danced the sculptures,
their soft whirrs and clicks
transfixing.

They don’t always
move the same way,
are smooth
but unpredictable.
The pieces begin
together,
born from the same
spring action,
and it reminded me
of marriage,
when it works well,
the graceful separations
and returning to rest.

It’s what we want
in church,
I think,
to play our part
while others play theirs,
to participate
in the unexpected,
and open out
to the world,
but come together
again in the end.

Lord, keep us kinetic
and connected.
Give us rest,
but always
send us out
again
to describe
the arc
of your love.

Christmas, Love, Marriage, Orientation

The Gift of the Magi

If you know the story of Della and Jim, you will remember this scene.

Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of a quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, not disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stare at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on her face. (O. Henry, The Gift of the Magi – Read the whole story here.)

Sadly, out of print.
Sadly, out of print.

A family friend, a young man who worked for my father, gave me this copy of the story as a Christmas present in 1972. I was 11, and the story made a deep impression about what it meant to love and what it meant to give. Ever since then, I’ve been a good giver, and I’ve watched and waited for others to give to me the same way. I’m not saying I always get it right, but I’ve honed my intentions and tried to pass them on to my children. I’ve watched them take pleasure in finding just the right thing for each other and for me. They would have to tell you when I’ve gotten it right and wrong, but let me tell you of their successes:

This year, Mr. Dimples approached Santa with a list in his pocket, to be sure he didn’t forget anything. kzj asked about the age when the emphasis turns away from receiving and toward giving. I reassured her that at his age, LP demanded a new American Girl doll and, even though she got Nellie as a companion for Samantha, reacted in fury when Snowman got a TV. (A TV which everyone a little older knew was less expensive than the doll, and which did me the favor of getting video games out of the living room.) It takes time and maturity; for each of them came some moment, not immediately identifiable, when giving became the better part.

How do you teach that, she wondered?

I told her what I told them about my philosophy of receiving gifts. I never look at a gift and wish it had been something else. I am the least likely person to exchange something. It’s not the material item that matters; it’s the feeling behind the gift. It matters to me that the other person cared enough to want to do something for me.

I guess I’m saying it’s the thought that counts. (And I freely confess there was one year recently I managed to make that the worst pressure of all. I am a reformed sinner.)

stockings
Our stockings

This is the first Christmas kzj and I will be together on the day. We have exchanged our greetings by phone in the wee hours of Christmas Day after finishing our work and worship for the night. We have celebrated 2nd Christmas on the 27th or 28th after long travel days and a second Christmas vigil. So rightly, this is a very happy and exciting Christmas for us! We will worship together, with our children, and we will wake up on Christmas morning and Mr. Dimples will be the Stocking Czar, and we will take our time opening and admiring all the gifts, large and small, currently secreted away in places I will, of course, not mention in this public forum.

The other night, while I wrapped gifts for the Beantown side of the family, I glanced up to see kzj holding her iPad with a look on her face not unlike Jim’s. An email informed her that an order would not be coming due to “System Cancellation.”

Erik Blegvad, illustrator
Erik Blegvad, illustrator

Jim rallied to embrace Della, to assure her that there could be nothing “in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that make me like my girl any less.” Her hair for his watch-chain, his watch for her hair combs, they gave away the treasures of their house in an act O. Henry described as “the wisest.”

It may be that tears were shed at our house about the present that will not come, but not by me. For you see, I’ve never had a surer proof of care than the look on her sweet face.

It’s the gift I’ve wanted all along.