Married in Winter

Today I attended a wedding between two of my friends. To be honest, it feels weird to say friend when I can't recall the last time I talked to either of them personally (maybe a year ago?) They're also a few years older. I saw both of them more as my leaders growing up but now that we're all getting up there in age, friend seems like the right term. So yes, my friends: both of whom have impacted the way I view love in relation to my faith, how the two coexist and help the other grow.

At their wedding Mass, I was blessed to witness the beginning of their new life. I watched the church doors open, revealing a beautifully dressed bride in a light shade of rose, walking arm in arm with her parents on either side, her Dad holding back tears. I saw the groom holding back his own tears, embracing his future father-in-law, smiling at his future mother-in-law, and taking his soon to be wife into his arms as they turned to face the altar.

I stood there surrounded by youth leaders from the previous generation. Some of them were there with their wives, their children. 

I sat with friends from my generation, wondering how long, perhaps even how soon it would be until we were them. But let's not think about that now, I thought. Today was their day. 

The readings and gospel talked all about love. One particular line that stood out: "This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us." (1 John 4:10) 

There are times when I fall into the temptation of seeing myself as the centre of the universe. Everything revolves around me. I am in control of whatever happens, wherever I go, whoever I become. I love not because I need love but because I need to feel loved. 

Love which is synonymous with feeling is not love. I've heard this said so many times: love is not a feeling, it's a choice. Love is not a thing, it's a verb. Love is not what we have but what we do. 

This line from the second reading at the wedding pointed out to me that it's not about what I have done but what has already been done for me. 

That is what makes Jesus' love so special, that regardless of my own efforts, He suffered and died with me in His heart. In His heart, He held my fear and pain, adding them to His own as He offered His life to His Father in Heaven. And when He rose from the dead, He carried my dreams and hopes in His beating heart. He turned the fear and pain of death into the hope and joy of everlasting life. 

When I think about love, I think about a cross on a hill. 

When I think about love, I think about an empty tomb. 

When I think about love, I hear the question, "Do you love me?" 

When I think about love, I hear the rush of wind in an upper room. 

When I think about love, I see a priest lifting up the Eucharist. 

When I think about love, I see a married couple kneeling at a statue of Mama Mary. 

I see the wife holding a bouquet of white flowers. I see the groom lift the end of his wife's dress so that she can stand. I see them standing in front of Jesus, in front of their loved ones. I hear a roar of applause as the priest says "you may kiss the bride." I see two friends now married to each other, together in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, until death brings them closer to where they both have always desired to draw near and to remain. 

In this moment, the look on their faces is that of recognition and trust. Recognizing that the source of their love is not in each other but in the One who brought them together. Trusting that He will take care of them both, no longer just as individuals, but as two who have become one. 

(Congratulations Jarwin & Alyssa!) 

Omnia vincit amor: et nos cedamus amori