Let us begin by noting what the pastor says about why he chose the 23rd Psalm: “because its movement resonated so well with the movement of the fiancée’s relationship with Maree , the graph of the recent events, and the hopes the Pastor held out for her.” “The Psalm . . . begins on a high plateau for its first verses, then drops into a “valley experience” . . . and emerges into a sense of hope and blessedness.”
Maree enters and bravely addresses Mark in that liminal space where everyone is equal. (The feeling underlying is loving encounter.) She puts the ring on Mark’s finger. (The key symbol of marriage or at least fusion of some sort.) The Pastor picks up the line of thought and synthesizes meaning into a course for the future. (He enables the process of saying goodbye and leaving.) The three underlying plates [I use the metaphor of tectonic plates.] are approach, merging, and withdrawal, like any “in-gathering” ceremony. [Examples offered earlier include the water-mingling ceremony and Capek’s Flower Communion.] This is the pattern of a wedding: the bride approaches down the aisle, the couple is joined, and they go back up the aisle, transformed. It is also the pattern of love-making.
There are many three-part sub-sections to this ritual, though not referring to the doctrine of the Trinity. The “composite prayer” is in three parts (23rd Psalm, free prayer, and the Lord’s Prayer) and so is the “free prayer” of thanks, supplication and commendation. The overall three-part pattern is echoed internally by smaller three part sequences. It might be interesting to look for similar ceremonies in other cultures that use the four directions, the six directions or the simple circle as structural logic.
The rhythm is rather like walking: stasis, going out of balance, regaining balance -- in a chain with sub-sequences (foot flat, then flexed, then lifted) -- all of which tend to carry one forward. Another helpful analogy is wave-action on a beach: the withdrawal of one wave helps give shape to the energy of the next. Each has a unique form which is a version of a form in common. Pulses of tension and release become rather like the best of music or poetry. It is repetition that contains progress, even transformation.
Maree comes into the room and physically and emotionally goes close to Mark, to the point where it is almost unbearable to her. Then, unprompted and spontaneously, she moves to a new position, responding to her own inner “felt concepts” but still needing confirmation of correctness from her liturgical guide. She knows inside when she is approaching, when she is actually fused emotionally (putting the ring on the finger), and when she is ready to withdraw. She is the only person who really know what these internal shifts feel like, but it is possible to “read” her body, even in very small ways like changes in her posture.
The leave-taking portion of the ritual is much more ceremonial and Maree guides it not at all. She simply gives the cue for it and then receives it from the minister. It is more theological, as opposed to the personal messages of the first half, and simply liturgical, as is appropriate for increasing distance. The phrase the Pastor uses is “ritual finality.” Real unity is replaced by symbolic unity and resignation. The concreteness and physical pain of grief begins to be abstracted and bound up in symbols that can be moved aside to make room for new life.
Within the largest wave action -- approaching, fusing and leaving -- is a regular alternation of act (entering), speaking (the address), act (the ring on the finger), speaking (pledge), act (kiss). This constitutes the approach “plate” or “felt concept.” Maree does something, then assimilates or expresses it. She sets the pace because she is the only one who knows how much she can bear.
When Maree changes position and becomes passive, the pastor takes the initiative. His rhythm is different: a formal known element (23rd Psalm), a spontaneous element (his free prayer), a known formal element (the Lord’s Prayer), a spontaneous element (placing his hands on the heads), a known formal element (the Aaronic blessing: “The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee, the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace. “), two spontaneous elements (The Pastor signs the cross, Maree gives a second kiss, and then the two leave together).
Probably these two people, even the Pastor, had no consciousness of controlling this rhythm because it was so natural. The order comes organically from their focus on meaningful image. Maree’s “key” seemed to be the ring to put on the finger, so naturally her sequence depended on an alternation with an act. For the Pastor the “key” was probably the 23rd Psalm, so that the alternation was in terms of known formal prayers. The Aaronic benediction combined his formal words with a spontaneous reaching out to put his hands on the two heads. It must have seemed a very natural gesture, with the two people side-by-side, and a necessary expression of the Pastor’s own feelings. After all, he also deserved closure and reassurance.
Valery says, “The poetic player can choose his game: some prefer roulette, others chess.” There is an element of chance in every worship event, though we often seem intent on eliminating it. The value of this “viewing rite” is that it illustrates the great power of spontaneously shaping the event out of what is present, and how much freedom the liturgist can afford if the worshiper is well-known and a common body of materials is shared. Other factors that allowed so much chance-taking were the high level of trust between the minister and Maree and the intimate moments both of them had shared with the dead fiancée.
The dead body becomes a symbol for the living person. The minister is playing chess, adjusting every move he made to what Maree did. He trusted the over-all movement of the ceremony to take shape out of his personal sensitivity and resources responding to Maree’s clear intent to put the ring on Mark’s finger.
There was always the chance that Maree might have gone out of control. if she had, the game would have suddenly become roulette. The one moment of being overwhelmed by her beating heart was shaped by a little ritual: sitting down and taking deep breaths. The Pastor is also conscious of the ceremonial aspect of the way he physically supports Maree, echoing the bride clinging to her father’s arm, though he doesn’t say so. He DOES say he is acting as a “loving father.”
In a less restrained society Maree might have knelt or even “keened” without being considered hysterical. Those more colorful ways of shaping and containing feelings are no less valid, but it is important to reconcile the need for expression of emotion with the need to “do the right thing,” to be ceremonially proper. In our culture we are used to relieving emotional pressure slowly, mostly by talking, instead of using explosive and exhausting physical expression.
Maree makes her personal testimony with great effectiveness. Even the Pastor is testifying to what he saw in the living couple, though his prayer comes closer to witnessing. In our ordinary church ceremonies we seem conflicted about how to use personal testimony -- as though it somehow weren’t quite so real as the scripture or a hymn, or as though it were in poor taste and might lead to chaos. Personal testimony is always roulette.
Some might argue that testimony is more legitimate in this intimate setting than in a Sunday morning service with a full congregation. Yet everything there is a national tragedy the media is full of personal testimony and people on the streets pause to testify about what they witnessed. It is a particularly important element in funerals, though the Pastor will need to shape them some way.
Too much roulette and not enough chess can defeat the patterning necessary for closure. A Pastor without these formal strategies of control is no Pastor at all.
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