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Making
things happen - with integrity. A Weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday, March 6, 2000 Volume II Number 10
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FOCUS - Two Weddings and a Funeral
Dr. Laura is no stranger to controversy.
To some Laura Schlessinger is a fraud. A female shock jock. A smug moralist. The Nurse Ratched of a radio Cuckoo’s Nest. A spoiler. A killjoy. The abuser of callers-in. How can you solve complicated personal problems in sixty seconds or less? The “Dr.” in Dr. Laura is a doctorate not in psychology or ethics or religion but physiology of all things, her critics point out. She’s the quintessential antithesis to women’s hard earned liberation. She’s the self appointed arbiter of moral choices but her own history betrays a stunning lack of moral judgment. All the details are readily available on Amazon.com.
To others she is a champion. A model mother. A friend. A master of common sense. A fellow nurturer intentional about marriage and child rearing. “I am my kid’s mom” is her way of defining herself. She’s the Dr. Spock of a new generation. She is a fierce proponent of family values against a culture that seems determined to dismantle home and worship and community and the wholesome environment in which children can grow and learn and love. Her current pre-occupation with morality and virtues and religious life is the result of a long evolution. People change. Laura’s past does not invalidate her present, it gives her credibility, her defenders say.
“People often ask me if I ever feel the presence of God,” Dr. Laura began.
It was the opening monologue one afternoon this week. She let loose with one of those squeaky Dr. Laura giggles, “In fact… one time an interviewer asked if I feel loved by God.”
I turned up the volume a bit. Her intro caught my attention as I drove to my next appointment.
She admitted that she rarely thinks about God in those terms. I don’t really think about a personal relationship with God, she said. God is to be obeyed. He sets the standard. He expects us to live up to those standards. There are serious consequences when we violate the rules.
It was a window on the theology of Laura Schlessinger.
She continued. So, I don’t really think about whether or not I am loved by God. Mostly, I think about living up to his expectations. I’ve been teaching for a long time that God should be central to everything we do but I can’t say that I’ve ever really experienced the presence of God.
Until last night. Wow, she said. It was incredible.
Then she took one of those obligatory commercial breaks… but she had me. I wanted to know what happened last night.
It was a wedding.
The monologue continued. I’ve been an advocate of the sacredness of marriage for a long time now. I believe that the promise made between two people is sacred. Everyone should seek the blessing of God. It’s a covenantal relationship. It’s a three-way covenant between a man and a woman before God. It completes two partial people, and makes them one. It makes them whole. I’ve been teaching this for years and years through my program and my speeches and my books. But I must tell you, she said with a sigh, I’ve never really felt it. I’ve known it. But I haven’t experienced it.
Until last night. She said it again.
* * * * * * *
Hasidic Jewish weddings follow a tradition that is two thousand five hundred years old.
The bride and the groom meticulously prepare for the most significant day in their lives. There are prayers. There is fasting. The week prior to the wedding, the couple is considered royalty. During that week, they are not permitted to be together at all. They each must have an escort whenever they are seen in public. Visits from friends and relatives bring encouragement and gifts and prayers and blessings. There are confessions of sins committed knowingly or unknowingly – God forgives those sins so that the two are spiritually cleansed for their wedding day. Readings from the Torah are a guide for married life.
The
groom’s head is covered. The bride is veiled. She
enters the room, seeing her soon-to-be husband for the first time in a week.
Each is eminently prepared for this sacred moment.
In the presence of their closest friends and family they stand under the
canopy, the Chupah, the groom gives his bride a ring.
He presents a written contract promising his loyalty and faithfulness.
The Rabbi gives the Seven Blessings.
With his right foot, still under the canopy, the groom breaks a wine
glass. Husband and wife are
dismissed to enjoy their first moments of privacy, to pray together and break
their fast. When they emerge, the
singing and dancing and celebrating begin.
As the Rabbi explained each element of the ceremony, Dr. Laura looked at the glowing faces of the bride and groom. She saw the hopeful anticipation. She saw the tears in the eyes of the attendants. She sensed the solemnity of this weighty moment. She heard the singing of the prayers. She witnessed the birth of a marriage. A real marriage. This would be a new home where love and companionship and joy will live as a lighthouse in a dark world.
And as I listened in, on the radio she said, “I felt the presence of God.”
* * * * * * * *
Darva Conger was also a bride this past month.
But this bride, age thirty-four, is very publicly seeking an annulment.
The programming crew at Fox Television went to work the moment the ratings showed Regis Philbin’s prime time game show, WHO WANTS TO BE MILLIONAIRE? to be commercial bonanza. In some sterile high-rise chrome-and-glass conference room overlooking beautiful downtown Burbank, they hatched a million dollar idea.
Someone said, “Here it is.”
I can see the television exec pacing. Gesturing dramatically.
“Let’s scour the country for the most eligible millionaire bachelor we can find. He’s gotta be strikingly handsome. Classy. Groomed. Witty. Charming. The camera’s gotta love him. We’ll put the word out. Who wants to MARRY a millionaire? We’ll take applications. We’ll do auditions. And then we’ll let the bachelor decide. Which one does he want to marry? All the women dressed for a millionaire. Him in a tux. Brides and a Groom. He’ll make the pick in prime time. We’ll promote the heck outta this. And right there on the spot, we’ll bring out a Justice of the Peace, and perform the ceremony on national TV. Instant marriage. The game show of the century. We’ll blow Regis right off the charts. A knockout punch by Fox to ABC.”
There was a standing “O” in the conference room. High fives all around. Focus groups loved it. Applications poured in. Women from every state in the Union lined up. Give me a shot, they all said. This is better than the lottery.
Rick Rockwell (does that sound like a Hollywood alias or what?) claimed to be a young West Coast Donald Trump. A multi-millionaire real estate mogul, he said. The Fox crew named him as their first contestant. His prize – instant marital bliss. He didn’t need cash.
The set design had all the glitz and glamour of a high-tech Hollywood extravaganza. Glittering wannabe brides lined up in white gowns. Fifty of them. It was combination game show and beauty pageant. There had been weeks of pre-game publicity. Ratings blew through the ceiling. February 15. The day after Valentine’s.
After a dramatic hour and a half of accelerating excitement, the moment of decision arrived. Darva Conger was a finalist. She looked like she’d just arrived from a COSMO(politan) cover photo shoot.
A live full orchestra swelled into a musical backdrop. And then went silent. Pow rolled the kettle drums. The veteran host paused. The camera panned down the row of eager finalists. All holding hands.
And the winner is… “Darva Conger!”
Tight camera to the face. She breaks into the familiar simultaneous laughter and tears of Miss America. The orchestra fills the room with celebration. Applause is deafening.
Amid the controlled carnival chaos, a prim robed Judge enters the stage, her little black book open to the civil ceremony. Bride and groom are ushered before her to make their promise, exchange their rings, take their vow. Until this moment, they have been strangers. Strangers driven by a desire to fill an empty void. Strangers seduced by a Hollywood promise of happiness and good sex. Strangers who share a liking for limousines and five star hotels and private jets and gourmet faire and candlelight. Strangers, now standing before a Justice of the Peace, before a live studio audience, in the electronic presence of millions of other strangers – to declare a promise of undying love.
“You may kiss the bride,” said the JP.
Two cameras got the close up – fading one to the other.
According to Darva Conger, the new Mrs. Rockwell, that is the moment, the moment of the “passionate” kiss, the first ever contact with this stranger, she knew in her heart that she had made a terrible mistake.
And in all-American style, from that instant, Darva Conger has dedicated her life to backing out. Oops, she says. Sorry. I take it back. I didn’t mean it. She doesn’t want to marry that millionaire anymore (if he really is one). She wants an annulment.
Their current post-broadcast media blitz is purported to be their effort to “explain to the American people.” They both claim, “I really hope I can help others.” Fox cancelled the show.
So much for instant marriage.
* * * * * * * *
Two weddings. Major contrast.
The funeral? In the case of the Rockwells it’s not the death of a TV show. We all say good riddance to that.
It’s the death of a dream.
When you put a dream in a casket, nail it shut and drop it six feet under and cover it up with dirt, be ready for a period of grief and mourning and sadness. Not even a Larry King interview can take away the hurt.
* * * * * * * *
As a leader, you’ve got relationships. Maybe you have a spouse. Perhaps you have children. You’ve got parents. You’ve got colleagues. You’ve got friends. You have family.
There is floating around out there a media version of what those relationships mean. The glitter and glamour and glitz catches your eye, pleases the senses, but you know it’s hollow and empty and goes nowhere.
You live with pressures that create barriers, distance, clashes, distractions.
If you aren’t careful, you’ll find yourself buying into patterns that will separate you from the people who mean the most. It’s a lonely place. Really lonely.
Take a minute. Think about it. Get yourself back under the Canopy. Feel the presence of God.
Those people are His gift to you. Treat them accordingly. Your promises matter.
You are on sacred ground.
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2000
NOTE: The telling of the TV show may not be entirely accurate, I didn't see it. Oh darn.
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
LeaderFOCUS is a service of Good Stewardship Associates
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