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Monday May 17, 2004 Volume VI Number 20

aybe it’s because we’re just two weeks away from our third (and final) wedding.  All three of our children will be married as of this month.  Perhaps it’s because of the proliferation of weddings in the extended family – the “cousins” are reaching that age now in increasing numbers (on both sides – Carolyn’s and mine).  And even before my nephew asked a question that took me by complete surprise, I found myself in wistful contemplation of a role I played years ago, quite often to be sure, but by choice, let it go, in order to pursue a life in business.

If you slip into that dark world of regrets, as guys my age are prone to do, someone close will certainly talk you out of it.  At the very least, they’ll make a valiant attempt.  They’ll remind you of the obvious, that you can not go back and do it over again.  That there’s no use in wallowing in self-pity, and that you only go around once, and that you really learned something valuable, even though it was a hard lesson, and that today is the first day of the rest of your life, it’s time to start over – that sort of thing.  And it’s true - the weighty “if-onlys” that we stow in our backpack and haul along on life’s arduous journey will do you in if you stuff enough of them in there.  To switch the colorful metaphor, if you drop anchor, and remain in the harbor of remorse for too long, you’ll be no good to anybody.  You’ll might even hurt yourself, maybe do irreparable damage.  You’ve gotta move on, they’ll tell you.  Pull up that anchor and raise the sails and let the wind carry you into new, uncharted waters, they’ll say.  You and I know it: they’re quite right.

So it isn’t simply self-pity or regret or remorse that gets me thinking about those days gone by – it is, rather, the onset of an entirely new perspective.  It’s more in the category of – I wonder how things might have been different had I known then what I know now.  (That’s more a statement than a question.)  Back then, I was a minister.  A pastor.  I performed wedding ceremonies.  Lots of them.  But I didn’t really get it.  Not as I do now.

That’s not to say that a twenty-something year old minister is incapable of grasping the grand consequence of the moment there at the altar when two lives are joined as one.  Certainly some do.  And to a degree, I did, too.  But not as I do now.

So I told my wife and my mentor how I would do it differently.  Both of them endured my recitation as the good listeners they are.  And somehow it felt good to verbalize it.  This was before my nephew made his request.

Back in the days when I got my theological training, we were enamored with the emerging world of therapeutic counseling.  We called it relational theology.  We believed that Christians in the past did a pretty good job of bringing people into a relationship with God, but hadn’t done a very good job at all of bringing people into relationship with each other.  So we figured it was the role of the pastor to teach them how.  We framed ourselves back then as pastoral counselors and read a lot of books about how to communicate and how to parent and how to enrich your marriage and how to unpack your personal baggage and find your true self.  Remember, this was a long time ago.  There was no Focus on the Family – no Dr. Dobson.  Not even a Dr. Laura or Dr. Phil.  We shunned the stale doctrinal stuff associated with the predictable droning from the pulpit and embraced the practical how-to-be-a-more-effective-human-being kind of thing.  We taught the Bible through the filter of self-help.

So we pastors spent our weeks, often, in a series of hour long sessions, like our therapist counter-parts, a clergy version of Bob Newhart’s Dr. Robert Hartley, helping people work through their marital and family difficulties with just about everything but the fee.  Some of those patients, er, parishioners, stopped by once a week for months, even years at a time.

When it came to weddings, we took training in a thing we called pre-marital counseling.  We not only did the ceremony, we did the orientation course.  The pre-game chalk-talk.  The pre-exam prep.  It was a good idea, I suppose.  Who better to help you prepare for the rigors of married life than your pastor?  We had a little personality profile test we administered and evaluated, all designed to anticipate arenas of potential conflict.  We prepared young (usually) couples for everything from communication to sex and romance to celebrating the differences to balancing the check-book and sharing the tasks.  We viewed marriage as a partnership, and the counseling was a reality check, helping these eager people with starry eyes and hope in their hearts to get in touch with the down and dirty particulars that will inevitably hit hard at some point after the honeymoon.

This was a new thing in churches; embraced pretty much across the board. 

I got pretty good at it, I thought.  And I think maybe I helped some people.  We certainly shared some good laughs.

But I would approach the whole thing differently now.

I always liked weddings.  I knew it was the celebration of a sacred moment.  And it was.  And is.

(Funny, as I write, the music on the light-classical station plays in the background.  And wouldn’t you know?  They are playing The Prince of Denmark’s March, also known as the Trumpet Voluntary, which is the traditional and grand processional music, a fanfare announcing the arrival of the bride.  When it starts, all stand to acknowledge her appearance, and the piece sounds best in an acoustically designed sanctuary with a mighty pipe organ and skilled trumpeter – or, a surround sound stereo, as it sounds here and now.  Odd.  A coincidence?  I think not.)

If, if I could to it again, I told Carolyn and Dr. Ted on two separate occasions, I would come to the task with a very different point of view.

What’s different?

Well, first of all, I would require pre-marital counseling, but I wouldn’t be the one to deliver it.  I’d give them a choice or two on one offered somewhere else – for example in a church or from some other competent provider.  It should include the basics on communication and intimacy and financial management and the nuts and bolts of sharing a home.  I’d review the reading list with them, and expect them to become students of their life together.

But me, I would do something else.

I’d teach them to pray together.  I’d talk to them about the wonder and mystery of God’s master design.  I’d help them to see that this powerful attraction they feel for one another is all part of that master plan.  I’d talk to them about a shared commitment to a God-honoring home rooted in biblical truth.  I’d paint a picture of life together that sustains a loving bond through all of life’s passages.  I’d talk to them about growing up together; and growing old together.  I’d help them understand that they will look at most of their life through different filters – he, the man’s.  She, the woman’s.  Their perception of God, their response to church, their perspective on discipline, their expectations, and their values – all at times will seem to be at odds.  But that’s also part of God’s design – because he needs her.  And she needs him.  If their dream of family comes true, so much more then will those differences be amplified.  But with children, how much more is the need for both points of view?

And if they take the wonder of the magic they possess on their wedding day and embrace it through each passage, then they will be in a position to know the greatest gift of all.

* * * * * *

Just a couple weeks ago, I got up early with a niece I rarely see.  I was a guest in her family’s home.  She’s about to graduate with her bachelor’s degree and she’s got a lot of questions.  “Uncle Ken, what made you fall in love with Aunt Carolyn back when you first started dating?”

I smiled.  Her directness caught me off guard.  She wanted to know.  It was good to call up those memories.  It was a powerful, obsessive attraction I felt back then.  Later, I’ll confess (though I didn’t mention this to Emily) there were times when I wondered how much of what I felt had been a psycho-bio-chemical dynamic kicked into high gear – me, the helpless victim of the involuntary and irresistible drive that insures survival of the species.  Now I know that it was the beginning phase of something much more profound than operant conditioning.  And much more deeply satisfying, too.

Over a steaming cup of early morning coffee, I talked to Emily about those early days.  I remembered out loud how I noticed Carolyn’s striking attractiveness, and her natural ability to connect with people.  She was surrounded by friends.  I observed how readily others were drawn to her.  How she listened and laughed, and used people’s name in conversation.  (People love to hear their own name, I thought as I listened in.)  I remembered how we chattered; incessantly.  She laughed at my stories.  We took long walks through the city and along the lakefront.  It felt so right to be with her.  And I remember, too, the sound of her voice when she prayed.  There was a sweet fragrance in the air, a quiet, peaceful sense of the presence of God when she spoke to Him.

“Uncle Ken,” Emily had a follow-up question.  “Do you still love her as much today as you did then?”

I smiled again.

“More.”  I replied.

She smiled back.

* * * * * *

My nephew Tim and I spoke this week shortly after he gave Anna an engagement ring.  “Did she say ‘Yes’?” I pressed.

“Well… she never really got the word out,” Tim explained.  “She just hugged me and cried.”

“Tears of joy, I trust.”

“Yep.”  Tim laughed that football player laugh you hear right after a touchdown.  I’ve never heard him happier.

“Uncle Ken,” Tim paused.  “Would you consider performing the ceremony?”

That was the question that took me by surprise.

The other surprise hit me from the blindside.  I haven’t felt this one for a long time.  I wanted to accept.

* * * * * *

It’s Monday morning.  You are a leader.

Our son Kevin found a great lady – Sonya.  In less than two weeks, they’ll declare their love and make their promise.  So another family takes flight.  We’ll all be there, cheering them on.

When I visit my mentor these days, we generally take time to visit Dorothy, his wife, who is pretty much confined to her room.  She’s always in good spirits – laughing and glad to receive visitors.  She’s full of questions about my family.  She pulls me close when I leave, telling me to deliver the hug to Carolyn.

And on the way out, Ted will grab me by the arm and stop me at the door.  Loud enough for Dorothy to hear, he’ll say, “Ya see that beautiful woman over there?”  I’ll smile look back at Dorothy and then at Ted and I’ll nod. 

“Do you have any idea how much I’m in love with her?”

“I think I do,” I’ll say.

He’s delivering a message to both Dorothy and me.

That’s the prize.  The greatest prize of all.  To know a love that lasts a lifetime.  It’s one of God’s greatest gifts.

I’d talk to young couples about that prize.

If I were a pastor.

Posted in Valley Center, California

© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2004

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