[Bishop Doss recently presided at a marriage ceremony in the chapel at Suwanee. Here is the sermon.]
Every marriage is an act of faith.
The themes of light and darkness are found throughout the season of Christmas and perhaps even more especially at the Feast of the Epiphany. Martha Lynn and Hannes decided to draw on these themes of light and darkness to express their understanding of marriage. They are celebrating the light that casts out the darkness in creation of a startling sense of wonder, as though it comes as bright surprise. Their marriage is the breaking of a new dawn into their lives, bringing novel sight and opening to them the human venture – the dawning of a light that is to disperse what darkness represents to the human imagination. As early humanity developed that imagination it was confronted with the darkness that fell each day and in the danger of that darkness lurked the unseen, the unknown, that which Grendal-like could come as from nowhere at any moment to stun, scandalize, and destroy. The darkness, even in the given-ness of the ordinary round, came to represent fear itself — and fear, my friends, fear is the enemy, fear is the opposite, of faith. These fears that derive from primitive humanity persist, for in the metaphorical darkness are found threats that are all too real. Marriage is an act of faith and flies directly in the face of human fear.
Do not misunderstand: this service does not portray the movement of Hannes and Martha Lynn out of the dark state of single-hood into some grandly romantic perception of coupled-hood. No, the mature couple knows that it is in marriage that they will confront and deal with darkness, seeking the light that drives out fears that come as part and parcel of all relationships, and most especially in those reaching for the highest degrees of intimacy.
When you think about it, the promise to be in the company of the same person for a lifetime is an extraordinary thing to undertake; it is a statement of trust in one another and in the future which can never be free of risk and that which puts us in states of fear that must be overcome, but only over time and with steadfast determination. We realize that a life-time with another human being cannot be managed without work, requiring sacrifice and the ability to learn to forgive and to accept forgiveness. Another person, however well we think we know him or her, however confidant we are about the mutual attraction between us, is still going to be deeply mysterious, and far, far, beyond our control. Giving away our life to them is quite a step, a step of faith into a deep mystery. It is a walk straight into the darkness, trusting in the light.
Notice how this service, like the seasons of Christmas and the Epiphany, do not deny or abhor the darkness, but is found in the darkest days of the year in order to recognize it, embrace the dynamic between light and darkness, and celebrate the way faith can overcome, like the regular dawning a new day, the darkness each of us fear about our own heart, the darkness of fear about our relationships, and the fear of the unknown that is bound to and will come upon us.
There is much reference to fear in this service and it is used to good purpose. You should rebel, at least to some degree, against the smell of smoke. For one thing smoke warns us of fire, and while fire brings forth light and warmth, without which human beings probably could not have survived, we know it as grave danger. Even though smoke is being controlled and used ritually, it should create a little sense of the unpleasant, the offensive; it should suggest panic, something to be avoided, if not a cause to take flight.
There is something uncanny about the reliance on candlelight. We are allowing darkness to have its space, just beyond you and all around the worship space, drawing us together into community. Step away from the group and you will be alone, removed, outside of the community. Move your candle away from the page and you cannot very well see the words or the music. Notice especially the way candles light up human faces and reveals so much about the individuality, and the beauty, of a person. We are used to electric lights, which manage to light up even corners but fail to focus on the personhood of the ones with whom we find ourselves. There is anxiety in having one’s self so revealed by candle light, our practiced methods of hiding being removed. I am sure that you saw the faces and the individualized beauty of the bridesmaids more clearly than you are used to in wedding processions. You should have.
In the Catholic tradition, the color of the service is white. You can tell by the color I wear and the color the bride wears. White is the only color in our western culture that allows a community to, simultaneously, at the same time, grieve and celebrate. Believe me: family and friends know that both emotions are appropriate, indeed necessary, for the radical transition of marriage. Nothing is ever going to be the same for any of us in our many and varied relationships within the community. Even more poignantly, white is a liturgical reminder of Christian baptism and of the funeral service to come for each Christian, for all of these services of transition are interconnected in seeking eternal life.
You see, in emphasizing the Christmas and Epiphany themes of light and darkness, we are not making sentimental points about joy and happiness verus the problematic, or the transcendent versus the mundane, or any such comparative notions. We are recognizing how wonderful marriage is because of how dangerous it is, and we are praying that these two young people find the wonder and joy in their marriage because it is so terribly good.
You do know, whether or not you have ever stopped to think about it, that the highest compliment is to designate something as “terribly good”. “Awful-ly good” comes close, but “terribly good” is the ultimate. For something can only be as good as it will be terrifying if it fails. There is no good in the terror, but the good is directly proportional to how terrible it becomes if the good is not sufficiently fulfilled and “goes bad” – if its nature and its purposes are turned inside out and perverted. Religion, for example, is a great good, but it is equally terrible when it is used for war and oppression and various forms of cruelty to one’s fellow creatures. Love, of course, is the highest good, and obviously the stakes are very high in marriage, very high indeed, terribly high. To seek to attain to such a goal is to face the dangers and set ones self to work as much and as hard as it may take, in a great act of faith that you can aspire to the good that it holds.
None of us can live up to the standards of love, for we are not divine. It is necessary to realize from the beginning and by definition that marriage requires the profound humility (eschatological humility) of never measuring up to who and what we want to be, or, we will be taught the lesson. Married people must learn to live in judgment for their inability to be entirely faithful to their call to be lovers, that is, to be fully human. But to the extent that we overcome the despair of human limitation, to the extent that we are steadfast and desirous enough to keep reaching for the goal, to that extent we participate in the divine nature of love itself.
Yes, every marriage is an act of faith. And marriage is one of the wonderful joys of human experience. To find love, to love and to be loved, what delight, happiness, pleasure, bliss, glee. Light breaks into darkness.
Hannes and Martha Lynn seek your prayers, your blessing, and your very concrete support throughout the years of their lives. They in turn pledge to you, as well as to one another, that they will faithfully live up to the job.
Tonight the light of the gospel shines, breaking through the darkness of fear. Tonight, we have great cause for thanksgiving. For tonight, God is acting to light a flame of love that is capable of driving out any darkness Hannes and Martha Lynn may face, and which brings light to their community of faith.
We thank you.
