Never a voted best notion. Still, if I had to choose between the two. I’d choose to officiate at a funeral and not a wedding.
That doesn’t mean I’m against weddings…or marriage. Although, as someone who’s been through divorce, I realize the covenant of marriage—during which each promises to give their fullest for the good of the marriage—isn’t always kept. This is not a blog on blaming. Nor is divorce an unforgivable curse.
Simply because the link below, after hearing a sermon this morning on the Doubting Thomas, brought me to a level when my heart became joyful. The sermon didn’t condemn Thomas…as so many do. But, the sermon focused upon how Thomas’ doubt changed to belief.
What it didn’t do…and I refused to say a word to the preacher…is have empathy for those of us ensnarled in doubt. If I had entered worship with some serious doubts—or some concerns about some of my best friends who are much closer to the initial Thomas than the believing Thomas—I would have left the sanctuary with a wanting emptiness.
Why? Because—okay after exploring the Thomas passage—a post-Easter lesson—for more than a dozen times, I need to proclaim that doubt isn’t bad! In fact, it’s necessary. Because in its deepest essence, doubt is not denial; rather, doubt is a profound suspension of judgment. And. That. Isn’t. Bad. It’s an affirmation of reality.
One more word so it doesn’t get lingering. Pick up on the first paragraph. The primary reason I prefer funerals over weddings is that during funerals people pay much more attention. At weddings, so often. No, truth pushing hard here, almost always weddings are experienced and considered social amenities; never spiritual necessities.
Okay. More to the point…some of my personal world theses day and many of my dearest friends, beckons some moment—or maybe a spurt or modest flow—of gladness. And. It came right now…Sunday after worship…when looking at this, of all things after what I’ve said, a wedding reception.
I loved it. My heart doesn’t urge me to leap to my feet. Still. In a couple of minutes, the video gave me cheer. And. When finished, I raised my hands and said, “Yes!” Copper [our yellow lab] and Caleb [our Cavalier]—my home office guard dogs–jumped up and wondered what their father was up to. They then began their petition to take them to get the mail. Of course they don’t know or care that mail’s not delivered on Sundays. That matters not. “Getting the mail,” about ½ mile, is what we do every day. Sundays are no exception.
Okay. Sunday. But no more or less than any day…may this video at least help heels click, and know in the heart of hearts and the centering of each soul, tapping soles ain’t all bad.