I’ve celebrated family sacraments in this space for three decades. But I’m not sure we’ve ever talked about weddings. Since my daughter got married just a couple of days ago, and one wedding is fresh in my mind, I want to ponder it a bit with you.
This wedding was the first family wedding back in the Arlington diocese since we moved nearly five years ago. Three of my adult children still live there, so we visit fairly often. But we never get to see and catch up with all the people with whom we want to stay connected. A wedding was the perfect opportunity to gather nearly all those very important people in one place, and to have new friends join us there, too.
It was a chance to see two of my dearest friends — one from Virginia who has known me nearly all my adult life and one from Connecticut who is relatively new but feels like she’s been my friend forever — sit side by side and seem like they’ve always been friends with each other. My children’s godparents were there, and so were soccer families and dance teachers. The mom I remember sitting on the floor with me outside the ballet room, waiting for our daughters, both of us beyond tired while we tried to corral six younger siblings or so, is now my daughter’s mother-in-law. Those siblings, now grown, were dressed in their finest and dancing together. All the worlds collided in an over-the-top happy place.
There was a moment toward the end of the wedding when nearly everybody there circled around the bride and groom. They’d chosen a song that mattered to them for the last dance, and we all put our arms around each other’s shoulders and swayed and sang while they danced in the middle. I kept scanning the circle, noting who was there and feeling like this must be a little taste of heaven. These were people we’d done life with; people who helped us grow in our faith; people who’d helped us raise our children. And there, too, were our children. Surely this was like heaven — the faithful gathered together, singing with happy satisfaction?
There were people on the periphery, not quite in the circle but fully present in the room. I wanted to gather them in, to tell them that the circle would grow wider, and we so wanted them to join us. In moments like these — when the music swells and the joy is contagious — we catch a glimpse of what perfect harmony might look like. Every voice matters.
Weddings require so much work, and there are so many personalities involved in the planning and execution of the day. Nary a wedding is without stress and strife. Ours was no different. But on the big day, hope and love triumphed.
We come to the celebration of the sacrament of marriage a community of imperfect, sinful people who believe in the hope of happiness here and in heaven. Weddings are nothing if not a tremendous communal act of hope. They celebrate not only the love shared between two people, but of the community that surrounds them, offering support and joy. We are reminded that for all our differences and divisions on earth, in heaven, we are not isolated but united in perfect communion.
Even as the reception is a moment of earthly joy, it points to something deeper, something eternal. The love shared at that celebration reflects God’s love. It has a history and a future. We’re reminded that the bonds we form here are not just for this world but are reflections of the unity we are destined to share with Christ in the next.
As we toast the newlyweds and dance with loved ones, the Holy Spirit gently reminds us that the greatest celebration is yet to come. The joy and love we experience in these moments are but a shadow of the blissful, eternal union that awaits us in heaven. And that, truly, is a celebration to anticipate with great joy.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
