An ending, and a beginning

Another in the series: Stories from Somewhere, by Ken Gray

“In marriage, husband and wife give themselves to each other, to care for each other in good times and in bad. They are linked to each other’s families, and they begin a new life together in the community.” — Liturgy of Holy Matrimony

“I hope this will not reflect poorly on your church, Minister. I assure you, I have tried, and tried, to make my marriage work. I have nothing left to give. It’s over. On the other hand, Jon and I have become so fond of each other that we plan to elope, tonight. We want to let you know, and thank you for your care in recent months.”

Ruth Sparks and Jonathan, a recent newcomer to our church — a talented musician and a lovely guy — have just arrived, unannounced, on the doorstep of the church house late on a Saturday night. They have come to say goodbye. They are leaving town; in fact, they are eloping.

“My word, I thought this only happens in the movies,” I say. “Guess not. I thought you two were just friends. You share all sorts of interests — music, the outdoors, photography, church — clearly I missed the romantic bit.”

Ruth continues: “Yes, we do have a lot in common, including a very deep love and affection for each other. How I wish we had met twenty years ago, but I guess lots of couples say that,” she explains. “Truthfully, there is no future for my marriage. Jon and I plan to move away; we have some ideas about places, but we won’t tell you, at least not right now. Then, when people ask where we are going, you can honestly say, ‘I don’t know.’”

Admittedly, I am somewhat relieved. “Thanks for the consideration. And hey, this is my first elopement. So help me out here. How has this happened?”

For the next few minutes, Ruth and Jon explain how their relationship grew, of how a glance became a conversation, then an infatuation. Next came shared meals, long hikes, and eventually, intimacy. In their minds it all seems so natural, so normal, so right.

Single myself, I approach relationships and the ministry of Holy Matrimony with some trepidation and ignorance. I have officiated at some crazy weddings since arriving here. At my very first wedding I forgot to have the happy couple sign the register during the ceremony. So, reluctantly, I crashed  the reception; I walked up to the head table, spread the register in front of the couple and had them sign just before the cake was cut.

At a different ceremony, our church was lit only by candles, about a hundred of them. Wow, one hundred candles produce a lot of heat, even in September — one-hundred candlepower. Trust me on this. Also, before the ceremony the groom’s party decided to calm their nerves downstairs with booze. I seriously considered a delay as that’s a no-no in the eyes of the law. ‘Being of sound mind, and all that . . .’

In another situation, an older couple, both widowed, had to navigate rocky family relations on both the groom and bride side. So they determined that our church was their family, so they invited only church members and neighbours — no blood relatives. The service was lovely and uncomplicated.

“I’m sure you meet all sorts of people in your work, people whose lives are settled and controlled, almost predictable,” Jon says. “Well, my life has never been like that, until now, that is. The two of us just click. It’s amazing. Almost from the start, Ruth has made me smile. She makes me relax and feel welcome in her life. In many ways I now feel more complete as a human being because of her comfort and presence,” he says.

“Didn’t Plato say something along those lines?” I say. “That almost sounds like a wedding vow, Jon. Too bad I can’t marry you both right now, but I can’t.”

 “Hey, we never thought of that,” Ruth adds brightly. “But really, we need to get away from here, right now, to start a new life together, on our own terms, and in our own way.”

“I have a rite I could offer for the ending of your present marriage, Ruth. This won’t come until you are divorced, however. It’s in our worship book; it’s a possibility, just so you know. Sometimes it’s good to mark endings along with beginnings,” I explain.

Jon appears stressed. “So, minister, I ask you, seriously. Am I a thief, a robber of souls, and a stealer of persons? I do feel dreadfully responsible,” he wonders.

“Well, you are right; you are responsible, though I think robber is unhelpful. For both of you, some reckoning, and if possible, some sort of closure, may present itself. Life pulls things sideways sometimes. Is there sin involved here? Yes, as with all relationship breakdowns. So deal with it, kindly, and over time. Unforeseeable circumstances bring their own challenges — inherited trauma,  psychological disturbance, errors in judgement, naïve assumptions —  and any of these can play a part in what has happened. You can’t re-write your own histories; don’t waste your time and energy. Down the road, however, seek healing, because your wounds are real. Love yourself back into life.”

“That’s quite a sermon, minister . . . but thank you,” Ruth replies.

Our conversation gets me thinking, about myself, about relationships, about love, and about Ronni and me. We continue to date, several times each week. We share in both public protest  and intimate passion. I wonder what our future might become. The marriage vows for me are now more than theory, just words on a page, a discipline to be obeyed. Could Ronni and I possibly live out these vows together? I hope so . . .

Ruth interrupts my thoughts: “Again, Minister, thank you so much for your support. I think we need to go now. Thank you for being here, right now, for us. I hope we meet again in happier times.”

“Absolutely,” Jon joins in.   

“Safe travels, and please, write or call when you have settled somewhere.”

“Absolutely,” they say together.

Another chapter in the series Stories from Somewhere, fictional reflections of an unidentified place at an unknown time. Other chapters are listed here.

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