Vow

All sorts of things can go wrong at a wedding – the cars don’t arrive; the groom doesn’t show up; an uncle drinks too much or the families start fighting. Sometimes all of these things happen at once – trust me, I have seen it all. My job is the easy part, I just have to turn up and say the right words, and I have most of them written down in front of me. So why couldn’t I do it today? Why did I pick today to draw my own line in the sand? Why blurt it all out now? That’s something I will have to figure out for myself, and I have nothing but time now.

I’ve always known the deal; that it would just be me from here on out. Or me and Him upstairs, as it were. That I’m not allowed even a sniff of… here I go minimising it already. Just say that you’re in love and be done with it. You yelled it out in front of a whole wedding party just now, didn’t you? I suppose I should go back and explain, put it all in context, perhaps it will help, or help one of us at least.

I’m not green by any means, if I had to guess, I would imagine I have done in the region of 80 weddings, 50 or so christenings and more than 200 funerals – my parish is on the older side. I’ve been sure of my beliefs as a hand in front of my face since I was able to understand the concepts, even before then I was vaguely aware of something bigger and greater than little old me. As certain as I was that there was a big guy up in the sky, I didn’t necessarily think I would make a career of telling people about him, that didn’t come until much later, and perhaps that was the problem. Or part of it.

Sam will likely shoulder a lot of the blame for the whole thing from the congregation but that’s not quite fair, the Church is going to blame me but that isn’t entirely right either. There was a certain amount of time when we were first together that the hypocrisy of it all didn’t really register. I recognised it of course but I was able to separate it all out, compartmentalise everything into neat little boxes. There was no way of justifying it of course, not really, but I allowed myself to exist in both universes quite independently – if I was still a good community leader, if my sermons were still relevant and interesting, I could still have my relationship with Sam. It’s strange looking back, but then it always is when you’re forced to confront a past incarnation of yourself, a previous version that you only vaguely acknowledge as belonging to you.

The night before the March/Boyd wedding when I had thought to go over my thoughts for the next day, instead Sam and I had a blazing row. It was worse than everything that went before, really hateful, horrible stuff flung at each other. Indeed, it went long and loud for over an hour and if anyone had walked past the church between eleven and midnight, they would have caught quite the heated discussion. But no one does walk past at that hour, or at any time to be honest; we are off the beaten track, beautiful and remote - it’s what appeals to the would-be-weds. Now, I love the privacy but before Sam, the quiet used to make me fucking suicidal.

The morning was colder than it was forecast, but at least it wasn’t raining. I always feel guilty when it rains on the day of a ceremony, be it one of birth, love or death, as if I haven’t made proper arrangements with “the boss”. I thought over the notes I had made about the happy couple but the whole thing felt hollow – who am I to lecture on the sanctity of marriage as an institution when I have so sullied my own holy body? I greeted the groom and his party in the usual way but instead of standing at the altar in way of welcome, I stayed ‘backstage’ and handed the duty off to my chaplain. We normally have two but Ian is away in Africa, not on a mission, just a holiday, he loves safari.

Whilst I attempted to gather myself, wiping the wet on my cheeks with my cassock, I heard a door slam somewhere back beyond the vestry. Rushing to a side window that looks out on the lane, I saw Sam dragging a suitcase and a dead house plant. A more fitting end to our six months I couldn’t have written or imagined, even if you had given me a lifetime of reflection; Sam is the more poetic soul of the pair of us anyway. I sank onto the stool I had just vacated automatically and without ceremony but before I even had a second to react, Graham popped his head through the doorway and coughed pointedly: show time.

It was only after the hymn when I opened my bible that I realised the notes had been left on my kitchen table. I had already motioned for the guests to be seated and taken a large gulp of air (that is more a signal for silence than to aid my delivery) there was no time or opportunity left to exploit, I would have to borrow a play from my celestial guardians and wing it.

I have yet to decide whether it is this moment that damned me, the point when I chose to go “off-script” and turned the key on the long-locked away cabinet of my heart that I had hitherto hidden from public view. It can’t have helped though. In the words of the great George Bush Jr. I must have “misunderestimated” my own eloquence, for speaking freely on the subject of love and truth; I was finally able to admit my lies and the damage they were doing on my relationships; with the people in front of me, with Graham and Ian, and with God.

In hindsight, confessing to my lies out loud during a wedding ceremony was unnecessary, inappropriate and selfish. That is one thing I would change if I could go back. But I don’t want to go back there, not now and maybe not ever. All I can do is move forward, following the torn up leaves of a wilting fern down a country lane near my erstwhile parish church, like Hansel and Gretel and their breadcrumbs.