Dharma Glimpse

Liz Stout is an ordained Interfaith Minister, active Episcopalian, Buddhism buff, and general spiritual scavenger.

It took me a long time to become an Interfaith Minister. More than twenty years between a conventional Protestant seminary, and an interfaith curriculum in New York City. (No, I did not get my ordination for $39.95 on the Internet.)

So, what is the difference between a minister and an interfaith minister? Well, a minister says, “This is my spiritual path, let me tell you about it.” An interfaith minister, on the other hand, says, “Tell me about your spiritual path, and how I may encourage you to follow it.”

When you get ordained at age 63, it’s a cinch you will be officiating at more funerals than weddings. So when I get a chance to do a wedding it’s a big deal, especially if it is for a relative.

Last month I worked with my young cousin Alex and his fiancée Lesley to plan their marriage ceremony. I helped them write their vows and planned a service that would honor both Christian and Jewish sides of the family. The wedding would be in a lovely park with a gazebo. I was feeling very important. This was not my first wedding, but the first where I would be the one to sign the marriage license.

I have to admit that even in grammar school, when girls’ fantasies went in the direction of writing “Mrs.” in front of their boyfriend’s name, I went in the direction of writing once “Rev.” in front of my own name. And in those days, the 1950s, women were not yet going to seminary and becoming ministers.

At any rate, the day of the wedding arrived, and I had all my scripts and props ready. I took special care in dressing and spraying my hair so it would not stick out in all directions in the wind. Over a white surplice I put on a colorful interfaith stole that is even more elaborate and complicated than this one [silver embroidered on white]. I walked out on the grass and the photographer was taking pictures of the bride, groom, attendants, and relatives—every possible combination of some 15 people. She was dancing around like a cheerleader, shouting orders and arranging people in different poses. She wasn’t coming over to photograph me in my finery.

When Alex and Lesley came over, I told them jokingly that I had already signed the license, it was a done deal. They could tell people just to go straight to the bar and buffet table. Ha ha, very funny.

Later on I saw some of the pictures of the ceremony. Many were shot over my left shoulder—the bride and groom gazing in each other’s eyes—with a great view of the back of my neck.

Not only that, the promised sound amplification system did not materialize for the outdoor ceremony. I had to scream the whole service. At least I felt like I was screaming. Afterward, three people from the back row came up with the same story, “Lovely service, reverend, but I couldn’t hear what you were saying.” I thought despairingly of the clever homily I’d created about a bicycle built for two and how balance and harmony are needed to keep it upright and going over all types of terrain. (My cousin loves bicycles.) Then I think I began to “get it.” I replied, “It’s like going to Mass. You know perfectly well what is going on up there without hearing every word.”

My ego took a beating but I think I got the message: surprise, surprise, this wedding was not about me. I was both necessary and entirely unnecessary, essential and entirely inessential. It was just one way of participating in what was going on. Time to “get over it” and blend in with the buffet and the band.