Do you remember what the officiant said at your wedding? At any wedding? Neither do I. At least, I don't remember most of them - my own and my children's included - but I do remember one.
Though I now attend a non-denominational church, I was raised Catholic. And not just a little Catholic. We were very Catholic. Perhaps other denominations celebrate Easter and Easter week as enthusiastically as Catholics, but I think they'd be hard-pressed to beat them (as if it's a competition): we went to church on Holy Thursday. We stayed inside between noon and 3:00 on Good Friday. We attended church on Friday, Saturday night, and Sunday morning. I loved the solemnity. I loved the celebration. I loved the traditions. I loved remembering what our faith was all about. Those days were always set aside. We did nothing but Holy Week during Holy Week, and I continued that tradition, as best I could, with my own family.
Then two years ago, I was invited to a wedding that would take place on Good Friday.
Hang on. Put 'er back in first: a wedding...on Good Friday? My Catholic self bucked like a bronco. That's like Beelzebub and Gabriel dancing a waltz. Yet it was happening: my niece who fairly grew up in our house and was best friends with my daughter all through their growing-up years was getting married on Good Friday. My grand daughter was the flower girl. No way would I miss this wedding!
So Good Friday came...errr, I mean the day of the wedding came. It was beautiful - set under a canopy of very tall, very old, trees on a Southern plantation. Incredibly picturesque. When the pastor spoke to the bride and groom that evening, he walked them through Good Friday. He didn't shy away from the truth of it, the ugliness of that first Good Friday. He brought them through it all and ended at the foot of the cross. He concluded, Your anniversary may never fall on Good Friday, but every year when Good Friday comes, remember that you were married on this day and that this - this - is what love looks like.
When it comes to new love, we want to paint a backdrop of bright sunshine, tulips of the most vibrant colors, birds singing, and gorgeously blue skies. Love is always bliss. Anyone who's married would whole-heartedly agree. Right?
Okay maybe not.
The pastor's talk wasn't morbid or depressing. It was truth. We don't want to parade the reality of love - especially at a wedding. We only want to look at the happy side of it, but for love to be real, there is going to be pain. There is going to be sacrifice. There will be whole seasons in which you feel like there is nothing but the cross and that Easter will never come.
The pastor's words pierced my heart that evening and literally took my breath away. While my own anniversary has never fallen on Good Friday, still when that day rolls around each year, I remember his words: this is what love looks like. It's the wedding sermon I never, ever want to forget.
Though I now attend a non-denominational church, I was raised Catholic. And not just a little Catholic. We were very Catholic. Perhaps other denominations celebrate Easter and Easter week as enthusiastically as Catholics, but I think they'd be hard-pressed to beat them (as if it's a competition): we went to church on Holy Thursday. We stayed inside between noon and 3:00 on Good Friday. We attended church on Friday, Saturday night, and Sunday morning. I loved the solemnity. I loved the celebration. I loved the traditions. I loved remembering what our faith was all about. Those days were always set aside. We did nothing but Holy Week during Holy Week, and I continued that tradition, as best I could, with my own family.
Then two years ago, I was invited to a wedding that would take place on Good Friday.
Hang on. Put 'er back in first: a wedding...on Good Friday? My Catholic self bucked like a bronco. That's like Beelzebub and Gabriel dancing a waltz. Yet it was happening: my niece who fairly grew up in our house and was best friends with my daughter all through their growing-up years was getting married on Good Friday. My grand daughter was the flower girl. No way would I miss this wedding!
So Good Friday came...errr, I mean the day of the wedding came. It was beautiful - set under a canopy of very tall, very old, trees on a Southern plantation. Incredibly picturesque. When the pastor spoke to the bride and groom that evening, he walked them through Good Friday. He didn't shy away from the truth of it, the ugliness of that first Good Friday. He brought them through it all and ended at the foot of the cross. He concluded, Your anniversary may never fall on Good Friday, but every year when Good Friday comes, remember that you were married on this day and that this - this - is what love looks like.
When it comes to new love, we want to paint a backdrop of bright sunshine, tulips of the most vibrant colors, birds singing, and gorgeously blue skies. Love is always bliss. Anyone who's married would whole-heartedly agree. Right?
Okay maybe not.
The pastor's talk wasn't morbid or depressing. It was truth. We don't want to parade the reality of love - especially at a wedding. We only want to look at the happy side of it, but for love to be real, there is going to be pain. There is going to be sacrifice. There will be whole seasons in which you feel like there is nothing but the cross and that Easter will never come.
The pastor's words pierced my heart that evening and literally took my breath away. While my own anniversary has never fallen on Good Friday, still when that day rolls around each year, I remember his words: this is what love looks like. It's the wedding sermon I never, ever want to forget.
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