Bit Player at a California Wedding

 

Seeing my old friends in the pew of the church after so many years brought up a quick of series of strong emotions in various directions, not all of them of the character I would have wanted to experience in the holy setting of the Divine Liturgy. I had anticipated that these turmoil would arise in me upon seeing them, but the Lord arranged for all my preliminary rehearsals of the event to be thwarted by the sacred ritual going on around us. It was a new twist of humility, one that I welcome in retrospect. 

Fortunately this initial encounter with the old familiar crowd I had once been part of was the most challenging aspect of the rest of the weekend, save for a few twinges of pain of sadness. 

The wedding, in the same church two hours later, was lovely to experience---including the ritual exchanging of crowns above the head of the bride and groom.

 After the ceremony we followed the instructions to find the home of the bride's grandparents, where the reception and dinner was to be held. It was an opulent property on the north edge of Modesto, where the land begins sloping down to the valley of the Stanislaus River. It was the kind of property that seemed to be characteristic of the "grandfathered" wealth of California---breathtaking in the garden-like property amidst tall cedars that I called "bonsai versions of Sequoias".

It would have been easy to feel jealously, or worse envy, at someone owning such a property, but I was only happy in a serene way that the bride could grow up experiencing such a place. I lacked for nothing in my own childhood, as far as sanctuaries provided by grandparents, ones that felt like opulent gardens. It felt like a victory.

For the dinner, Jessica and I were seated at the same table as all of the group of old high school friends. We were of marginal importance in the scheme of things, being unrelated old friends of the groom's father. It felt good to be marginal, to be a supporting character. I had not even met the bride, let alone any of her family, until I had seen them in church that morning.

My news clothes were very comfortable. There was much dancing on the tennis court from the D.J.. My cohort held it's own amidst the kids in the soc-hop that ensued.  

It was beautifully auspicious for the new couple, who were set to take a long honeymoon route back to New Mexico, where they are set to begin married life together while preparing for their third year of college. Rumors came to me that they were intending to have children  sooner rather than later. I hope they are true. Of course I didn't ask the groom about that, when he dropped by our table while making the rounds. He will be a great man, and great father, as his own father has been. 

Old School Family Starting Techniques

 

The old lodge of the Peter Strauss ranch in the Santa Monica Mountains, as it would have looked in 2003, when I attended a wedding there. The lodge was later destroyed in a forest fire.

As I stood at the end of the row ---the high school reunion, Class of 1983--my concentration on the Divine Liturgy going on in the sanctuary was interrupted by a pssst from across the aisle. I turned my head and saw my friend Randy, who had been the student body president of our class, looking at me with a grin, and next to him were his wife Heather, two years behind us in the class of 1985, as well as their two sons, one of whom was the groom, and beside him his bride, in her home parish church.

Because this was not the wedding yet, there were not in a special position, but were sitting back in the same rank as us. Now it was a full reunion, it seemed. Randy is the lynch pin of the group in fact, as everyone else is still a group who gets together for events and trips on a regular occasion, despite living on different continents, while I have been estranged from all of them during these years, except for Randy, who kept calling me. Heather and I are the outliers, politically and culturally---especially on a certain health freedom issue that was greatly divisive among us.  Heather is very vocal and unashamed in her opinions. I can speak frankly with her. She was my daughter in a high school play, when I was a senior and she was a sophomore. 

I was at her and Randy's wedding 21 years ago in the Santa Monica Mountains. They had not been high school sweethearts but had encountered each other by chance years later while living in Los Angeles. I as drafted to be part of their ceremony at the last minute. From the bag by the altar, I had picked the rock labeled "love"and read it aloud to the guests. Heather could not believe it, as I was the last to go, and there had been many rocks left in the bag. She had stooped in her wedding dress to pick up the rock I I had put down, to verify I had read it correctly, which I had. 

After that ceremony, as we played group frisbee among the trees of the National Park Service property, the new groom had announced in a whisper to his old high school friends that his wife was already with child. The boy would be born the next spring and was the young man standing next to them now in Modesto with his bride. He waved back at me in recognition to me. We have been corresponding for some time privately. We talk about classical studies and scientific issues.

"How young they are," must have been the words of so many who heard the news of the couple acrosss the aisle from me, set to become one flesh in the eyes of God later that day in the same church. 

"So young! Still in college. Two years to go." With dissuasions they did receive? Perhaps none?

I am greatly in favor of it, I would have said, had anyone asked, which no one did. It's very old school---everything they told our generation not to do. Yet it is how my parents made their family, which endured despite much financial turmoil and drama, with three children and grandchildren before they died. It is how most people did it.

Civilization depends on it, I believe.

Holy Orthodox Reunion

 

The next day, Sunday, was the wedding. The ceremony was to be in the afternoon at a local Orthodox parish church. Guests of all faiths were also invited to attend the Divine Liturgy at the same church in the morning.  No way were we going to miss that.

We left our hotel just in time to get to the start of the ceremony---which isn't strictly mandatory for Orthodox faithful, and people typically come in during the ceremony. Among to the rules are that to receive Holy Communion, one must be a charismated member of a recognized Orthodox Church denomination in communion with the others, and that one must fast of both food and water from midnight until one receives the sacraments. I knew that the bride and groom would be there, and that the groom, a recent convert, would take the fasting rules seriously, and I can only assume the bride did as well.

It was childhood parish church---her family being of Syrian background, having lived in Modesto for generations. There were multiple priests officiating at the liturgy. Later we learned that one was the brother of bride, and had a parish of his own in Portland, Oregon.

The best part was that as we enterred, and waited in line in the lobby to receive bulletins from the young woman at the table, I saw my old friend Charles, whom I had not seen in over decade. He came in right behind us in line. He didn't recognize me at first. I had to tap on his shoulder, and he turned around in shock and delight, and we gave each other a big hug.

Then we went into the main part of the church. I wasn't sure they would have pews. Some orthodox churches do not, but this is a fairly modern one, and there were aisles with rows of seats (but nothing to kneel on, as one would find in a Catholic church).  The church was almost full already. Charles immediately made for a row along the far wall, where he joined his wife, who waved to me, and I saw as well my friend Karin and her husband John, who are also dear friends. 

It was the most beautiful circumstance for a reunion as I could imagine. Here we were, me and my friends, whom I had not seen in so long, and whom I thought I might never see again, and never have meaningful speech with each other if we did so. We were all together, standing in a row, in a church in Central California, facing the holy altar and listening to the same holy words that have been said since Antiquity to turn the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ.

Coffeeshop Maid of Honor

 

We landed at Sacramento Airport in the mid afternoon, claimed the rental car (which is a big hassle at that particular airport),  and drove south towards the state capital itself, then on to Modesto, where we checked into the a brand new residence stay inn on the north edge of the city, just off highway 99, which is lined with flowers on the berm in that part of the state.

The next day we had to ourselves. We drove downtown in mid day and explored the old streets. We went to the historical museum, which was a delight. Then we drove the downtown streets along the route of the old cruisers circuit, which was made famous in the 1973 movie American Graffiti, which was written and directed by local native George Lucas, who would go on to make Star Wars. The movie takes place over the course of a night in 1962, following a group of high school classmates who have just graduated. Jessica hadn't seen it yet, I described it for her.

We parked and had lunch at a local restaurant that she chose. It was apparent it had stared in a food truck and moved indoors. After lunch walked across the street to a delightful tiny coffee ship. We almost didn't go in. As we ordered our drink to go, I chatted up the staff, a young man and a young woman, of college age, asking them if they were locals. Yes, they said. 

They asked about us. Scottsdale, we said. What brings you to town? A wedding. 

Who, they asked? I said the son of one of my high school friends. 

Jessica interruped me. She knew they were asking about the local angle, and she supplied the name of the bride. They recognized it. Oh yes, we know her. Her maid of honor works here.

It was a delightful moment. I felt we'd been rewarded by the city for our earnestness in learning about its past.