In Aotearoa New Zealand when a minister leads a wedding service, they wear two hats. Hat tahi is the spiritual. They represent their church, and what their church might think or believe. Hat rua is the Crown. They represent the state authorities that determine and enforce the legal requirements of marriage.

For most ministers, most of the time, there is no conflict between this millinery duet. What the state requires is sown into what the Church requires. And the Church follows the Crown.

This last weekend though was unusual in that twice I took off one of those hats to help meet the needs of the couples concerned.

The first couple, a few weeks back, had the full-blown Sikh wedding. Lots of colour, relatives, food, and familial celebration. But their marriage celebrant, who was to oversee the legalities, didn’t show. Worse, he blamed the couple for his absence.

So the next day I had a young bride crying on the phone asking for my help. Which led, a few weeks later, with new papers in hand, to simple declarations, vows, and a signing ceremony in our Community Centre.

I was primarily wearing hat two. It was a civil ceremony. Yet hat one, the spiritual, is to my way of thinking, woven into nearly everything – including their respect, their smiles, and their pledge to each other. A goodness like love is spiritual however you spin it.

The other occasion this last weekend was quite different. I was contacted by a man, Joe, who I’d known from when he was a child. “Was I free to marry them…(pause) tomorrow?”

I pointed out the problem with acquiring wedding papers. And he pointed out that his partner, Stacey, who I also knew from many years ago, might not live much longer than this weekend.

They weren’t interested in being legally married. As far as they were concerned, they already were. They wanted to declare their committed love and say vows, telling their whānau and friends what had been in their hearts for the last three decades.

Most rules for church ministers, such as those that pertain to marriage, can be bent when pastoral circumstances require it. And this was one such bending.

I drove out to their home. Saw people I hadn’t seen in a long time. Lots of kids. Lots of teenagers. Lots of food assembled within 24 hours. The lounge room done up and decked out with mats and photos, as per their cultures.

When it came to the ceremony, I began by clearly saying that this was not a legal ‘hat two’ occasion. There were some smiles at this. This was never a family that bowed to the law.

Then I said what this occasion was about, and took them through the traditional words. Some of those words of course, the ones about the future together, were edited as I spoke.

It was after the marriage ceremony was over that, for me, the really powerful and spiritual stuff happened. Joe gave a short shy speech, underscoring his love and gratitude. But Stacey, sitting in her wheelchair, just managing her pain, took the opportunity to address not only Joe but her gathered whānau as a warrior of old would before impending death.

She talked about her blessings. Their life together. Her gratitude. The importance of the whānau. Their responsibilities. To Joe. To each other. She talked about the days ahead. The strength needed. The courage required.

And we sat or stood in that crowded lounge listening to strength and courage.

Later, after a kai, and now hatless, I drove home thinking how fortunate I was to have been a witness to such aroha, such kaha, and such mana.* Weddings are full of surprises.

Glynn

*love, intrepidity, and power

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