A (somewhat brief) homily for the Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, October 6, 2024
Gn 2:18-24, Heb 2:9-11, Mk 10:2-16 or 10:2-12
These days, when it comes to weddings, I’m either the presiding minister-slash-official witness or I’m sitting at the far corner of the reception with the other haddas.
You know, the old people the young couple “hadda invite” to make their parents or — yikes! — grandparents happy.
Either way, though, I think weddings are fun, especially destination weddings with quirky themes and receptions that include alligator wranglers, such as the one Andrea and I are about to attend in New Orleans next Sunday.
Oh, by the way, it’s our son’s.
One of the unwritten rules most deacons abide by is to let someone else preside at their children’s weddings. Be the father of the bride or groom, not the preacher and the “Repeat after me” guy. Enjoy the celebration. You’ve given your daughter or son or the couple years of advice already; they don’t need an eight-minute homily to know how to live together well and happily.
And that is how this can be a short reflection (besides the fact that I was under the weather all week until now and we still have to pack): Weddings are a hoot. Marriage is a heavy lift.
Weddings are froufrou. Marriage is agreements, disagreements, sharing labor, dividing labor, closeness and boundaries.
Weddings are planned to the nth degree. Marriage is life, sometimes in a figurative hailstorm or blizzard. Marriage is life, sometimes in a real hailstorm or blizzard.
Sometimes marriage is life in Asheville, North Carolina, with its music and art and mountains and trees. Sometimes marriage is life in Asheville, North Carolina, after Helene.
And the beauty of it all is, marriage always has the same people surrounding us, to celebrate and whoop it up with us when the band is playing at the tavern in Asheville’s arts district, and to wipe the mud off paintings and shovel out muck in that same arts district and from living rooms and bedrooms. Marriage brings out the goodness in people, long after the boutonnieres and bouquets have wilted and the rental tuxes have been returned.
Part of the homily at Andrea and my wedding nearly 42 years ago went something like this:
A couple was being interviewed by the local television station as they celebrated their 75th wedding anniversary. The cliché question of course popped up: What’s the secret to a long and successful marriage?
Sitting at the kitchen table, bathed in camera lights, the husband waxed poetic about never going to bed angry, shared interests, chores done on time … and on and on.
Meanwhile, the wife went to the cupboard, fetched out a bowl, ladled it full and set it before her amateur Dr. Phil. “Shut up and eat your soup,” she told him.
I must confess I didn’t quite understand the significance the first time I heard it. I do now.
The stuff that builds a solid marriage is a zillion little gestures, a googolplex of shared ups and downs, and ten thousand bowlfuls of ordinary soup in ordinary or exotic flavors.
Comfort foods.
Comfort.
Which comes as no surprise, considering this partnership was created by God and given to humankind from Day One.
Two quick notes
- I won’t be able to post anything for the weekend of October 12-13 (and my apologies for how late this is). God willing and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be back in this space October 20.
- The long version of the Gospel according to Mark, as proclaimed today, includes a beautiful explanation about how the Kingdom of God is understood best by children and by those who maintain a childlike faith. That passage is the one I usually proclaim when I’m presiding at a baptism, so if you’ve heard me speak at the Sacrament of Initiation … yeah, that.
