Talking 'Bout Marriage
Tomorrow morning, Andrew and I (and Lucia) are going somewhere new and exciting: marriage class. Yes, marriage class—as in Catholic pre-marriage counseling classes, even though we’re already married. Well, to us and the government, we’re married. To the church, we are not. And so, as part of my “return to the church” (i.e., doing what I have to do to get Lucia baptized), Andrew and I are going to get a convalidation—an official recognition of our marriage by the church. And this will involve three sessions with the deacon.
My meeting with the deacon on Wednesday actually went very well. He didn’t ask any probing questions about why I haven’t been going to church for the past ten-plus years, and there was, fortunately, no reason for me to discuss my views on gay marriage, abortion, or contraception. Get the convalidation, go to confession, schedule the baptism for Lucia—and that’s that. He’s making the whole thing quite easy, and so I can’t complain too much about the classes (I’ll leave the complaining to heathen Andrew). A few hours of our time and we’ll be legit in the eyes of the church. I’m not sure why, but this pleases me, as though I’m putting the final touches on a complicated tax return. I guess I just like the idea that should any church-related business come up in the future with Lucia or any future children, we’ll be all squared away.
So, tomorrow we’ll sit in a room for two hours with several unmarried couples, talking about marriage. Andrew and I thought it would be funny if we went in and complained about marriage the whole time—“Guys, seriously, don’t do this. I can’t go out whenever I want to anymore. It’s like I have to always consider this other person. So annoying!” (Our evenings are quiet. We amuse ourselves.) More realistic is that Lucia will wake up tomorrow as Fusskins and legitimately scare everyone off from the whole idea of a marriage and family. We’ll be the bearers of fear and doubt! I’m sure the deacon will be thrilled.
My meeting with the deacon on Wednesday actually went very well. He didn’t ask any probing questions about why I haven’t been going to church for the past ten-plus years, and there was, fortunately, no reason for me to discuss my views on gay marriage, abortion, or contraception. Get the convalidation, go to confession, schedule the baptism for Lucia—and that’s that. He’s making the whole thing quite easy, and so I can’t complain too much about the classes (I’ll leave the complaining to heathen Andrew). A few hours of our time and we’ll be legit in the eyes of the church. I’m not sure why, but this pleases me, as though I’m putting the final touches on a complicated tax return. I guess I just like the idea that should any church-related business come up in the future with Lucia or any future children, we’ll be all squared away.
So, tomorrow we’ll sit in a room for two hours with several unmarried couples, talking about marriage. Andrew and I thought it would be funny if we went in and complained about marriage the whole time—“Guys, seriously, don’t do this. I can’t go out whenever I want to anymore. It’s like I have to always consider this other person. So annoying!” (Our evenings are quiet. We amuse ourselves.) More realistic is that Lucia will wake up tomorrow as Fusskins and legitimately scare everyone off from the whole idea of a marriage and family. We’ll be the bearers of fear and doubt! I’m sure the deacon will be thrilled.
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