MyStuffSaltCovenant

Salt Covenant

This essay is about life that isn't mine. About things that could be happening to me but aren't.
Not the vague distant things in life that could be; the things that are next to me, that exist alongside of me. Things that could and might be my life, even though they aren't now.   These are the things that scare me.

Last weekend I went to a big fancy wedding. I knew both the bride and the groom. I knew both of them. Funny how that past tense snuck in there. I still do know both of them, I think, probably. They are not acquaintances. I call him my strong brother and her my sweet sister. Summer and Bruce. I have prayed with him and struggled with him, loved him and cried for him and with him. I trust him and will follow him anywhere; I've told him so. Sometimes we are so connected that I will think something and he will say it and I will laugh because there's nothing else to do. Other times Bruce will hide from everyone and I will press in and bang my head against his hard stone wall and laugh because there's nothing else to do, except cry.   And Summer, dear Summer. She is the only girl I ever fell in love with, both of us silly kids in high school. She is the one I thought I would marry. She knew my secrets -- she knows them still, unless she has forgotten. And I knew hers, except now she is married and she has new ones. After we untangled our hearts, a sweet friendship grew between us. She trusted me more than I deserved.

The building was beautiful. The decorations were too, and the sanctuary was full of people, most of them from our church. The center aisle was nicely sectioned off from the pews; no one but the wedding procession would tread upon the white carpet before the bride. In front was a white picket arbour covered with flowers. A strong peace adorned the sanctuary.

For a long time, Bruce scared me. He was a tough guy, a man's man, a West Point dropout (that's even scarier than a West Point graduate). People like me got beat up by people like Bruce.   I had very little to do with him but I do remember one thing--he didn't think he'd ever get married.   Then one afternoon I was invited to join in a prayer meeting and deliverance session for Bruce. For four hours, we sat in the pastor's basement, praying to God and arguing with demons.   At one point, Bruce threw the womanizing spirit out of his soul. As we rested, Bruce smiled and chuckled softly. "I was just thinking how cool it will be to get married,"   he said.

Worship came before the ceremony. The procession entered, then the worship team played songs that were important to the bride and groom. Most of the congregation sang. Some felt out of place, some played along and wished it would end soon, but some truly worshipped. It was more than a couple of songs before the procession; it was a time of recognition and thanksgiving. Then came the bride.

I never kissed Summer. We did not have the typical teenage romance; she was never actually my girlfriend, though I cannot imagine being in love with her more if she had been.   But we never held hands, we rarely sat next to each other (and when we did, there had to be "a Bible's distance" between us - Summer's sister would check) and phone calls were strictly off-limits.   I think all of these things were safeguards, protections set by us and our parents to keep us from falling too far. Our words were full of ifs and maybes; we stayed away from committing or promising anything at all. But my heart was committed fully. Every thought of my future had Summer in it - if not in the foreground (the romantic thoughts of us, touring the country with a ministry team) then in the background(the mundane thoughts--things like I won't have cats when I'm older because Summer's allergic to them.) Small things took on significant meanings. One Thanksgiving at her house we washed all the dishes for 28 people. We were in the kitchen for almost three hours. I will never, even when I am old and married, forget that afternoon.

As she slowly walked up the aisle, the beauty of her purity shone bright. It is a beautiful thing when symbols truly mean something. She met her father at the front. There were tears in his eyes, and in hers. The two of them danced as someone sang "Butterfly Kisses", and the congregation cried. He lifted her veil, kissed her on the cheek, then presented her to her groom. "She's yours now," he whispered in the groom's ear.

Bruce's energy and focus both intimidated and inspired me. I called him my hero and was only half-joking.   He went to school full time, worked one job full time and another one part time.   He got up during worship and danced like a madman. At prayer meetings he would yell and cry and whisper. His boldness made me bold. He studied the Word intensely and loved to talk about the mechanisms of grace or the power of faith or the person of Christ. I loved talking to him. We did not talk about us; we talked about the mysteries of God. It was easy to talk to him; it was hard to know him. West Point, and a tough life, had taught him to trust no one.   His walls were high and thick and he knew less about how to tear them down than I did about how to get over them.   Even when he wanted to be vulnerable, it was not easy or natural. I learned to love him from outside, and ignore or laugh at the frustration of trying to get inside.

The fathers and grandfathers from both families came forward and prayed for them. There were many surrogate grandfathers, men who had filled the role and led the two of them in a spiritual capacity. They exchanged vows they had written themselves, then exchanged rings. They sealed their vows with a salt covenant--each held a small bag of salt representing their words. They took a fingerful from their own bag and sprinkled it into the others--to break the covenant, each grain of salt must be retrieved from the others' bag. They lit the unity candle, and took communion. Then they danced together, and kissed.

I could keep going. Despite difficulties, these stories have a happy ending.    I could tell you how Bruce worked to tear down his walls and be vulnerable.    How Summer and I went from a strained and painful relationship to a wonderfully sweet frienship in a weekend and three e-mails. There are a thousand incidents and circumstances that seem important and worth mentioning; they overwhelm me.   These two people are close to me and I love them both. Perhaps that is what scares me. They are so close to me. They have been both been like me and I have wanted to be like them for as long as it has been important. Now, we are different in a very fundamental way. They are not older, they are not far away, they don't live differently than I do.   I could be them. That scares me and overwhelms me and puts tears in my eyes. They are married.

The reception was full of friends and laughter and plenty of good food, just like a reception should be. The whole wedding was perfect, every last detail just as it should be. Summer and Bruce cut the cake and linked arms to drink champagne. My best friend and I snuck off to decorate the car, but not before the slide show. I stood next to Summer's father and laughed at how much Bruce and Summer looked alike when they were young. Even her father had a hard time telling them apart.

"Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh."   This is the biblical ideal, and I believe Bruce and Summer have come as close to it as is possible.     I cannot identify or even imagine their lives anymore.   I hope I will still know them, but I know that until I myself am married, the most important things in their lives are closed off to me. I am not scared of marriage. I expect it will happen to me at some point, but it is foreign, not anywhere near the place I sit tonight. I miss them now, and fear I will miss them even more when I see them again. Bruce and Summer are one flesh; they together have become one person. And as intimately as I have known both of them, I have never even met that person.