Over the weekend of June 8-10, I traveled to Washington DC for a wedding. It was held in St. Veronica's church in Fairfax County. The ceremony was not particularly sentimental. The vows were traditional, taken by the bride and groom in a quiet and serious manner. The readings were appropriate, but certainly not the expected fare: no 1 Corinthians chapter 13.* The homily was very down-to-earth, but was neither moving nor eloquent, and the consecration was professional rather than grave or solemn. Nobody exclaimed in penetrating whispers after the mass, "What a beautiful ceremony!" The best accolade I heard while exiting the church was a simple, "That was very nice." And it was nice. It was simply nice. But I think that goes a lot farther in the long run than pure romance.
For me, the ceremony had a lasting effect and rare value. In the homily, the priest spoke in clumsy analogies, calling on the groom's profession as an artist and the bride's profession as a doctor to point out that a successful relationship requires both creativity and imagination from the artist's side, and discipline and precision from the doctor's side. He pointed out that the practical foundation of a good marriage is, in essence, good business sense (the organized hospital); while the personal or spiritual element foundation requires quiet, comfortable, inspired interaction (found in the studio). The entire content of the homily, in fact, was plain advice on how to make a permanent and necessarily close relationship between two people work.
In short, the priest made the wedding ceremony one of commitment. He invited us, the family and friends of the new couple, to witness their bond. The advice he gave, not preachy, was a memorable blueprint for a good and lasting relationship. Sentimentality is pretty, but steadiness is more lasting. Steadiness is made of loyalty and care--and while it springs from the more erotic love of two young people who have "fallen for each other," it is in fact more romantic. It is the source of contentment and happiness over a long life, instead of over a short period.
Then, before distributing Communion, the priest reminded his congregation that the Catholic Church refuses the Eucharist to those who aren't Catholic themselves, because the sacrament is not only the body and blood of Christ, but also represents the recipient's full accord with the teachings and laws of the Church. Since about a quarter of those present did not appear Catholic, I thought this was a difficult thing to say. It seems rude and demeaning, probably, to them, who consider themselves as much a Christian (sometimes, if not more) than any Catholic. But, as a priest, he is bound to respect and uphold the laws of the Church, even when it is unpleasant. And I admired him for it.
During my trip back on Sunday, I had a two and a half hour layover in Chicago's Midway airport. As I walked through the terminal to my next gate, so I could find a place to settle down and read, I heard over the intercom an announcement for Mass. Though I had planned to go to Mass that evening (my church offers a 5:30 PM Mass), I was interested. I changed course for the chapel and took my place in one of the seats.
Slowly, the place filled up. There were several families with children, many couples of all ages, and many solitary travelers (like me) in the room before Mass started. Eventually there was standing room only. The priest entered quietly, we all stood, then he started by asking that no one leave after communion, but admonished that we all should stay for the completion of the Mass. He also offered confession afterward to anyone who was interested. Again, I found this admirable. Most people (and I think especially Americans) do not like to be criticized or told what to do. It seems to me that many American Catholics react strongly and negatively when a priest (or anyone) asserts the need for confession, or that it is polite and respectful--to God, if not the priest--to stay for the entire Mass (instead of taking communion and leaving). Too often, then, are these subjects ignored. It is easier to talk about other aspects of the faith. But this priest--frail, old and a stranger to all of us--invoked his ecclesiastic authority.
I should point out here that I don't think many of the erstwhile parishioners at the airport Mass needed the priest's reminders. We were a motley collection, consisting mostly of private, sometimes ugly people quietly going about our business. There was nothing exceptionally social in our demeanor, nor particularly inspired about our worship (though we did sing at times). I felt, though, a strong and solid faith among us; everyone there seemed to be executing their duty to God in a quiet but lasting way. At Notre Dame I saw the same thing. Students and professors who rarely spoke about religions quietly (but clearly, if I observed them) went to Mass every weekend (since I lived on campus I had ample opportunity to discover this amongst my fellow students) and led essentially sober, good lives--though "sober" might be a misleading word here, because groups of people I've met drink and party as often or good-humoredly as Midwesterners. I say "essentially sober" because I doubt seriously whether many Midwesterners drink so as to lose all control and thereby commit great sins, rather they are good, honest people when drunk as well as when sober.
Was the priest at the wedding from the Midwest? I don't know, but I heard the trace of a flat "a" sound while he spoke that reminded me strongly of the accent heard in Ohio and Illinois. His homily was redolent of the plain, practical common sense that Midwesterners bring to their religion and religious duties (among which are Mass and marriage), which I was reminded of so strongly--by both the priest and congregation--during the short Sunday traveler's Mass at Midway airport. And though I go to a church now that is much more inspired, I recognize the value of such good sense and practical discipline in my own life (spiritual or otherwise). I certainly don't want to imply either that my Notre Dame Mass experience lacked inspiration or that my current Mass experience lacks solid values--neither would be true. But like a relationship between two people, a relationship with God also requires both inspiration and discipline. And since I have become so used to the inspiration side, it was good to be reminded of the discipline side.
*Note: I do not dislike 1 Corinthians chapter 13. I find it a powerful and illuminating text. It is nevertheless somewhat cliché at weddings. I find it much more romantic and applicable when it is read starting with chapter 12, verse 27.
