A wedding and a funeral

The drive up to Montecido was beautiful, weaving on the 101 until it ran parallel with the ocean. Pacific Coast Highway, California 1, tucks between the rolling hills and mountains of Santa Barbara and the ocean that beckons beach traffic to stand still. We rolled into church right on time, thankful that 3pm means 3:15 on the West Coast. The groom looked dapper and the bride, dazzling. But the service wasn't about them. It was about God's faithfulness in our lives. The reception landed us outside, just off the beach with only the Amtrak Surf Rider Line in between us and the ocean. We danced, we toasted and we watched the sun set as the couple cut their cake. Driving back down California 1 we enjoyed the moonlight view and prepared for the next celebration: a funeral.

We weren't supposed to be in California; a trip had been planned to spend this week, this very busy week, in the belly of the Grand Canyon with friends, family and saints in our life. Plans change on short phone calls and instead of Arizona, California would be our springtime destination.

However beautiful, a wedding is nowhere near as holy a moment as a funeral, when hope is palpable, even if bittersweet. We processed in behind the casket and around the beautiful baptismal font up towards the altar. A Catholic liturgy, we followed along in near precision; our only snafu was that suspended doxology on the Lord's Prayer (for the kingdom, power and glory...). We enjoyed two readings and perhaps the best eulogy I've ever heard. Next was the Gospel reading before the priest offered his homily. When the Alleluias rolled into the Gospel Acclamation I found myself singing and crying, enjoying the beauty of singing Alleluia at a funeral. Leonard Cohen's song "Hallelujah" came to mind, "Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah." Hallelujahs do not pave over the brokenness of life, its sadness or sorrow, but offer a shout of hope, even if in a whisper. On days when death's cold sting hurts more than others it is a gift to speak, shout sing or whisper Hallelujah.

I've experienced the wedding/funeral phonemenon before and have also written about it (not here on the Life at Luther blog) but (here).