Religion Does Not Own Marriage (Obviously)

This is in response to Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin from Religion News and his piece, "Why A Real Clergy Person Should Perform Your Wedding." You can probably tell from my title that I do not exactly agree with him, but since he offers a few good insights and his intentions seem genuine, I'll keep this friendly. I also wrote this before reading the comments to his post. Most of them are fairly-articulated critiques, so despite the usual wisdom of Thou Shalt Not Read The Comments, checking those out probably won't hurt. Salkin makes a lovely point about respecting the full range of professionalism, experience, and training of a Real Clergy Person (hereafter to be known as Clergy Person Ordained By Rigorous Denomination Process, or CPOBRDP). I appreciate the call to respect the profession for what it is -- all the facets that aren't as obvious as standing up at the altar. Plenty of worshipers truly underestimate what it takes to be a clergy person in general, let alone on this sort of special occasion. And I like the idea of what couples should expect out of their officiant beyond a single ritual.

And full disclosure: I haven't been fond of the methods for instant ordination and have thus far refrained from any such ordination myself. I have the same Master of Divinity degree and as much paid ministerial experience as just about any newly ordained pastor in the United Methodist Church, and after all those years of seminary and a prolonged internship at intern pay, the thought of my being ordained online in a less "real" way always unsettled me. I've imagined it would feel like taking an easier way out after all that preparation. But thank you, Jeffrey Salkin, because you made me realize I was wrong. When it comes down to it, it isn't online ordination that bothers me. And I probably wouldn't have known that without seeing your complaints. For me, the real problem is threefold: the murky lines between government and religion in regards to marriage, a limited number of respectable options for being a nonreligious or interreligious officiant, and an intra-religious lack of respect for lay ministry. Halfway through seminary, I realized how much I struggled with the very concept of ordination and denominational authority -- not as an inherent evil, but an inherent elite. No matter how much you lift up lay people to live into their ministry, no matter how humbly you serve, there is simply no way not to have privilege when ordination is treated as a privilege. Now I remember. This is why I'm a lay person in professional ministry in the first place; professionalism is as much privilege as I'm willing to take on. The Presbyterian Church (USA) where I work hired me because they considered me not only capable but called to the work I do. At least for what I must do right now, that is all the ordination I need.

But back to marriage. I think we can all agree that, no matter how sacred marriage is to us personally or to our own faith culture, religion does not own marriage. Obviously. As long as marriage remains an option (nay, socially and governmentally rewarded) for people regardless of religious affiliation, diminishing non-clergy officiants or non-CPOBRDP officiants as "fake ministers" is unnecessary and unfair. Why assume that a friend or family member, for instance, would not understand their part to be a matter of respecting the Whole Person rather than providing a one-day service? I respect the training and education and professional experience that clergy have to offer. (Seriously, seminary was challenging in just about every sense.) I love that the best of the CPOBRDP will ask strong questions in premarital counseling or remain committed to supporting the couple throughout their marriage. But don't you dare neglect to raise up the goodness of lay ministry, or claim presiding over marriage as solely the work of clergy, or -- need I say it -- suggest that nones who pursue marriage through any means other than yours are doing so only to take an easier or lazier or less legitimate way. (Relatedly, there is possibly no surer way to keep someone from joining your community than insulting their ways of meaning-making.) Look. Some people have a call to be ordained by a religion or denomination based on a rigorous process of training, interviews, and ceremonial rituals which endow authority. And some people have a call to represent and care for the specific people who trust them to do so. That is their ordination. I've been asked to officiate for friends. I have all of the theological and pastoral training that any newly ordained pastor might have, minus the bureaucratic stages. I've recommended secular therapy for premarital counseling, knowing that therapy in general would actually greatly benefit people who want to be not just healthy but optimal, but that it's usually only called upon when personal or relational health is diminished. I've already expressed far more interest in strengthening the marriage and preparing the ceremony which binds it than organizing a party (not my forte, unless they want parachute games -- I sure would). I know I am only one example of a non-CPOBRDP officiant, and maybe not all of them are as thorough as I aim to be, but I cannot believe this is any less of a ministry or a call just because it isn't the church's government that sent me to do it. By the way, when I officiate for nonreligious friends, I'm not doing so by powers vested in me by an instant online ordination. I'm obtaining permission to officiate from the state governor. This is apparently entirely acceptable and legal, and all I need is a statement of my connection to the couple and a letter of reference attesting to my character. Because, for better or for worse, marriage is still regulated by the state. And it's like a bad joke that my religion would want me to be approved by their governing body in an expensive and exhausting multi-year process, and meanwhile, the state government is the one to look directly at the content of my character and honor the agency of the people seeking to be married. I'm suddenly feeling patriotic.

Loving Bodies

Yes. it is beautiful. But not exclusively important,
and that's what took me a regrettably long time to learn.

It has long been an interest of both feminism and religious groups to foster an understanding of human worth that's not just skin-deep.

As a 20th-21st century woman, I consistently learned from guardians, mentors, and no small amount of media (or counter-media) that I should find a mate who would love me not only for my body but also for my mind.

This, I think, has been a good thing. But even good things have their limits.

Part of me may have always known this, but I really began to think about such standards for love in earnest a few years ago when my grandfather was dying.

He had Parkinson's disease, and by the last years of his life the capabilities of both his body and his mind were irreparably diminished. He was a strong, smart man who eventually could not recognize his loved ones or find his way home or feed himself.

It was not a love for his mind (what it was then or what it once had been) that made my grandmother and the rest of my family continue to care for him until his final moments.

This tangible caring may have stemmed from emotional connection, but they understood what we understand when we care deeply for any human being. They tended to him and gave him every dignity they could. Not just because he had done the same for his parents and children, or because he was once a hardworking and self-sufficient intellectual. They did it because they knew and loved a human being, regardless of circumstance.

When I experienced grief and depression around that same time, my partner and friends and family loved me not because they were in love with my mind (as it was then or what it once had been), but because they loved me, the whole me, no matter what changes I faced, and they were determined to show me that as best as they could.

(Circumstances never define the human being we love, just the ways in which we might show love to them.)

And that's when I knew how beautiful it could be to love a body.

So I'm not willing to let measures of beauty - even ostensibly honorable measures like in the image above - strip me of any amount of my humanity. And I'm not willing to privilege emotional love and mental love so consistently over physical love, whether that physicality is sex, or snuggling, or caring for someone when they're ill, or massaging someone's aches and pains.

For those who know that I'm demisexual, someone whose attractions depend almost solely on an emotional connection, this anti-hierarchy of love may come as a surprise. But the commitment to owning our own reality and affirming others' realities, whatever they may be, is marvelously compatible with seeing oneself or someone else as a whole person. In fact, many of us on the asexual spectrum appreciate physical acts of love as part of our own everyday reality, and our personal values will vary as much as in any other group.

For those for whom this is not a matter of innate preferences but of spiritual edification, consider what "loving bodies" looks like at its best in your religion. For Christians, even traditional marriage vows have included "to have and to hold" and "in sickness and in health," and remember how consistently that incarnate Jesus fed bodies, washed bodies, healed bodies. If we disembody our partners and our communities, we risk losing significant portions of what it means to be people of faith in relationship.

I'd like to challenge anyone wrestling with the merits of physical love to take note of it when you see it over the next few days. It could well be platonic or familial or neighborly, but notice some tangible interaction of profound caring between two or more fleshy humans. Notice how some acts are inextricably interwoven with mind and emotion, and how some are the embodiment of love in their own right.

Will you love some-body?