I have only been married once: to my late wife Theresa on 16th August 1986. Aside from the length of the ceremony (as I recall, as bride and groom we frequently had to sit down on allocated chairs and listen to the priest drone on about some sacred pronouncement or other) and the obvious bias towards the Catholic faith, I don’t remember much more of the mechanics of the religious ritual. I have always struggled with religion, although on this occasion I was willing to completely subordinate my agnostic views to please, in the main, the prospective in-laws and their extended family.
Since then, I have attended many church weddings, and every one has been special, although I judge that principally on the bond I have with the main players. Nonetheless, it has always stuck in my craw that the dominance of religion within the union of two people who profess to love each other is extreme. I guess that this observation is somewhat contradictory when a service is conducted in a church, although I suspect I am not the only one seated in the pews who feels obliged to belt out a hymn to a deity to whom they have no connection.
I acknowledge that globally I may represent a minority view, given that, according to the World Population Review, 85% of humanity associate themselves with a religion. However, within the United Kingdom this connection may be waning, as evidenced by the last census in 2021 where for the first time less than half the population described themselves as “Christian,” whilst “No religion” was the second most common response, increasing by 12 percentage points to 37.2%.
Having been asked to conduct a reading at a recent wedding, I found myself once again within the metaphorical inner sanctum, with a responsibility that significantly exceeded the uneasy rendition of a few hymns and listening to someone dressed in an outfit that seemed – to me at least – wholly unrepresentative of the reality of life. But this time it was different. And this experience had a dramatic effect on me. I fell back in love with the notion of marriage.
The bride and groom, Felicity and Lewis, had choreographed the most spectacularly intimate occasion away from a church with the proceedings undertaken by a celebrant who oozed compassion and normality. The seated family and friends faced each other across the floor of a small converted barn, rather than facing the usual symbols of religion. This in itself created a profound sense of belonging and union, even if some of us had never met before. We were all there for the same reason – to celebrate the love of two people who had a special place in all of our hearts. No deviation, no confusion, and certainly no reverence to a God who may or may not exist.
I confess that, as I have become older, my propensity to cry is well documented; I could physically feel the emotion in the room. As the barn doors opened and the flower girl Darcie and page boy Arthur appeared I completely lost it – although on this occasion I was in good company, even if some – mainly men – contorted their faces to disguise this wonderful outpouring of energising, eclectic, emotion.
I truly believe that love doesn’t need to be sponsored by any other individual – real or imagined – save those that fall in love and those that love them.
The reception that followed was banging, with singing waiters and yet more tearful speeches – but that is another story!
All images reproduced by kind permission of Felicity & Lewis Hester.
© Ian Kirke 2024
@ianjkirke