Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.
There is no room for all these people to crowd inside the little church. It is a little heap of old Roman rocks once stacked with arched openings down the sides. The walls are opened with gapping window spaces that let in wind and snow all winter and allow Mater Doe to always feed the birds. The large fire that she keeps at the ancient altar year-round is not only a nod to the pagan cults in this random chaos of tradition; it sources warmth. In this season for new life and weddings, guests gather on all sides around the outside of the little church as though the building is a cherished little nest. Maybe this is how, in Christian style, a church which means people, can become the building itself. Will and I have been checking on the guests all around and I am pretty sure everyone can find a good place to see and hear everything of the ceremony from outside through the spaces in the walls.
Family is inside. Ana and our children and grandchildren crowd together and then the nuns and Gabe’s brothers, the band of monks from Luxeuil have all come inside calling themselves the choir.
Notably, Gaia isn’t in here. Brandell reminds me, she will need to be led, Papa. Oh, of course. It was my task to set her on the horse, to lead the horse up here, then I was supposed to lift her down, and bring her into the church. But as soon as we arrived here the guests swarmed around like bees to the queen. So, I did leave her out there on her horse with so many friends gathering around. Everyone was reaching up to her to take her hand and tell her she is beautiful and beloved. And I know I am a bit flustered by all this ever-expanding event, but in Brandell’s mind I don’t really have a good excuse for forgetting to bring in the bride. I apologize to Brandell. So, I get on with my task – Gaia forgives, and the wedding begins.
Weddings are always some variety of skewing of life’s priorities. While celebrating a new union of family, we suspend all our thoughts of daily needs — food sources and shelter. The woman who will do chores forever from this day forward, cleaning up messes, bearing the children, hugging away tears – she is untouchable nobility on this one day. And so, it is a paradox.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 