Love rites
b y Lee L yn ch
How many of us have wished, at one time
or another, for a means to formalize our
loves, to publicly celebrate our bondings.
Straight people may have something in their
marriage rituals, may be adding a cement
that strengthens the tie through a public de
monstration of respect for the relationship
and the lovers involved. On the other hand a
ceremony may well, as its detractors argue,
put demands on a relationship that weakens
it But for those gays who long to walk down
an aisle. . .
T H E
AMAZON
TRAIL
Recently, my lover and I were invited to
such a bonding here in Southern Oregon. It
was a lesson to me in community as family.
And in the community’s power to affirm, to
turn well-wishing into visible energy. I’m shar
ing it here for those who’ve never witnessed
such a ceremony, for those designing their
own, and for all you sensationalists who just
love a wedding.
Rose, mother of one of the brides, had
called us, pleased and proud. We were
thrilled to be able to participate in this rural
lesbian ceremony and on the big night don
ned the most traditionally wedding-like ap
parel we could invent My lover wore her
diaphanous, bright blue flowered caftan and
pants combination. I, my thrift store chinos
and black velour jacket a new boys’ size
white shirt and a black tie with the word dyke
blazoned across it
The wedding was held in Elea’s older farm
house. She works a multi-acred ranch with
Rose’s help.
Now, Rose and Elea are a story in them
selves. Rose has shown us a photograph of
herself as a teenager. If I’d met her on a
Grenwich Village street back then, I might
have thought she was Beebo Brinker fresh
from the farm. Except neither Beebo nor I
had been bom yet Rose is at retirement age.
She also was married. Because that’s what
one did back then more often than not Over
the years she had a son, a bright star in her life
who was a talented writer and died in
Vietnam. Fortunately, she also had Edna, a
girl who seemed troubled, was more difficult
apparently, to communicate with.
Elea, who is Rose’s age, married too, and
the couples became friends. Moved out to
Oregon at the same time. Rose and Elea
owned a business and eventually became
interested in metaphysical religion. They
would do past life regressions together and
kept discovering that they’d been close in
other lives. Sometimes as a married couple.
After a while it became clear to them that in
this life too, theirs was the real marriage, not
their conventional ones. They separated
from their husbands and became lovers after
thirty years of friendship.
So the wedding, in effect took place at the
parental home. And by this time, obviously,
Rose and her daughter Edna weren’t having
as much trouble communicating. Edna had
grown into a tall, strong-looking telephone
Ju«t Out, June 1985
line repairperson vaguely resembling that
early picture of her mother. When her mother
came out to her, Edna, of course, admitted
she'd been a dyke all along.
Among the guests assembled in the farm
house were Pearl, author and Ph.D. at a
nearby college. She wore a royal blue velvet
gown with an elegantly embroidered bodice.
Scottie, a retired computer chairperson, wore
jeans and a crisp flannel shirt her short white
hair neatly combed into a butchy little wave.
She’d arrive with Betty, the straight sister of a
man active in the local gay organization.
Zintara, a tall, broad-shouldered, laughing
young woman, wore a white Indian-style shirt
and lavender scarf with grey cords and
velcro-closure sneakers. With her was J.P.,
also dressed to the nines in red tie, pink shirt
and jeans.
Jim , the official photographer who'd de
corated the house opulently with forsythia,
daffodils and wild plum blossoms, talked
about his life. He'd lost jobs with the Forest
Service (would he fondle young trees? Be
susceptible to Soviet Forestry spies because
he’s gay?) and then as the clinical
psychologist of a local school system also for
being of the wrong sexual preference. Now
he’s exploring his spirituality, listening to his
female side. He may not have any better
vocational luck, but he finds great inspiration
in feminist theology, which he sees as neither
matriarchal nor patriarchal, but a blending of
the best of female and male thought
Edna and her lover Sharon, a Californian,
were to be joined in a Metropolitan Commu
nity Church ceremony by Glenn Scott
Blonde, of medium height with a stillness
about him, Glenn had recently resigned as
pastor of the local MCC chapter and was on
his way to L A to become a student at
Samaritan College. He hoped to go out to
new communities later to build congrega
tions. In his cream-colored cords, short-
sleeved white shirt with reversed collar, he
explained the rite he was about to perform.
“The Rite of Blessing” Glenn said in his
soift, clear voice, "avoids the role model rela
tionships in a traditional marriage. It’s a
model that works for gay people, encourag
ing us to make commitments to openness
and honesty in our relationships. Its purpose
is to affirm the relationship rather than lead
people to make a lot of promises they can't
keep.”
He looked away to smile at those busily
readying the living room for its new role.
"Usually, the couple takes six months after a
Rite of Blessing to explore the relationship.
Then we perform a Holy Union’ ceremony
whilch is MCC’s closest counterpart to holy
matrimony.”
The musicians signalled that they were
ready. The guitarist wore a red shirt, black
vest black pants and black cowboy boots.
Her lover Marty, in a checkered gingham
dress, is deacon at the MCC. Both are also
active in a fundamentalist Christian church
where they are not o u t Marty’s daughter, in
blue plaid western shirt and bandana
neckerchief, was the singer. She cuts wood to
earn a living, but also has her own, male,
country western band. H er young daughter
bustled about with a purple flower adorning
her hair. “Are they ready?" stage-whispered
someone and we all took seats in the living
room.
While the musicians began "Could I Have
This Dance For the Rest of My Life?” the
brides entered, stately, with an excited
radiance emanating from their nervous
faces. Edna was resplendent in a brown,
wide-lapeled western-style suit edged in
white piping. Her ruffled shirt protruded at the
cuffs with light-catching gold cufflinks. She
wore a brown western-style bow tie. Her lover
Sharon was shorter, soft-looking, and her
dark eyes sparkled over a herring-bone wool
jacket and black slacks, a white shirt and
short black tie. Rose stood beside Edna in a
simple red velour top, grey slacks and white
necklace, while Elea stood next to Sharon in
a purple velour top over dark slacks.
Glenn was on the other side of a long table
decorated with a white cloth and flowers.
There were more flowers behind him on his
mantle. With a shy grin on his face he began
to tell the story of this wedding day. Long
before dawn that morning Elea had called
them all to help pull a calf. Glenn had never
been part of a calving before, but there he
was, with the brides, the mother of the bride,
Elea and Jim, up to their knees in mud, two
pushing, two pulling "in order for that life to
com e forth." The cow and its calf would both
have died, he said, just as a relationship can
die without a life support system such as the
one he d been part of that morning. He
likened the MCC rituals to that life support
system. He urged Sharon and Edna to find
their “best wholeness" and the rest of us to
“send them energy.”
The couple read a statement they had writ
ten in which they pledged to meet one
another’s needs, to love and not condemn
one another.
“I love you," said Edna.
“I love you," answered Sharon. There were
wet eyes around the room as they exchanged
rings and the singer began "Let the Rest of
the World Go By."
Glenn blessed the relationship; Rose
turned to sprinkle rose petals over Edna and
Sharon, saying, "I’m p ro u d of you!” Elea then
sprinkled her petals over them and all
reached out to touch one another and Glenn
while they prayed quietly.
Glenn sang then, closing the ceremony.
The room became solemnly still until Rose
laughed, reaching to hug her new daughter-
in-law. In her western accent. Rose aid, "I
never thought I'd have such a short kid!" So
the celebration began with laughter.
Champagne bottles popped and Sharon
vowed to keep the first bottle of strawberry
champagne forever. There, in the small
happy crowd, watching the couple open their
wedding gifts, were Fundamentalist Chris
tians, a Roman Catholic, Metaphysicians and
followers of women’s Spirituality. Most of us
were gay, but some were straight; men and
women mixed comfortably. We were united
in caring for this young couple s happiness
and future. We were celebrating their love as
openly as we dared, in ways gay people had
to invent
Pearl, my lover and I drove back in the dark
through the monumental Southern Oregon
mountains. Spring was beginning to make
itself visible in the softness of the hills, in the
smell of the air without a hint of frost Ques
tions went through my mind as fast as the
telephone poles went past the car's windows.
What had I just witnessed? What did it mean
in my life?
If I didn’t go through such a ceremony was
my relationship with my lover any less? With
one, would we stay together any longer? And
what about Pearl, liking her single lifestyle?
Was there no ceremony of affirmation
for her?
Because it h a d felt good, that gathering of
friends who brought gifts of love and luck to
Sharon and Edna. Would it feel as good
should my lover and I receive the blessings of
our community? Wouldn’t it be fine if our
blood families would or could participate?
And would we respect our love — love more
deeply somehow — if we celebrated and
vowed publicly?
But more immediately, what would hap
pen to that night’s brides? Would they make it
to the Holy Union? It sure looked as if they
would. Their happiness was very apparent,
their delight in each other a joy to see. Then
— is there a happily ever after for gay
bondings?
Perhaps this public declaration will work
for Edna and Sharon. How wonderful that
such a ceremony can be a choice for them
now, for all of us.
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