Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

Today, I married my sister.

I’ve been to many weddings, a good few more than you, I’d wager. As a musician, I’ve been to scores, suffering through endless repetitions of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. As a groomsman, I’ve been to a handful, often a bit green in the gills, sweating vodka and swaying with my fellows in a shared hangover that hung around us like a fog. As a guest, there have been at least a dozen, some where I just sat and enjoyed the spectacle of hope, and others where I read remarks, made a toast, or simply helped with setup and tear-down. My sister and I were in a wedding before—my first—with me as groom and her as bridesmaid.

I’ve been to full-on Catholic weddings, quiet civil unions, party-hardy blasts, dignified family affairs, church weddings, synagogue weddings, backyard weddings, banquet hall weddings, posh or plain, with throngs or a few couples, sit-down dinners or pot-lucks, first weddings, second weddings, we-lost-count weddings . . . I’ve been to a lot of weddings.

This, however, was a first for me, as in this one, I was the officiant.

You knew that’s what I meant when I said “I married my sister,” right?

Early this month, my sister rang me up for a chat. We talked (as we are wont to do) about everything—books, movies, recipes, history, society, politics, our shared youth, our differing perspectives of all the above—and then she asked if I’d consider becoming an ordained minister and officiating the wedding of her and her partner of nearly thirty years because, with society and SCOTUS the way it is, they wanted to tie the knot while it is still legal. 

While this impetus saddened me—in large part because I share her concern—I answered her request with a swift “Yes and Yes.” In fact, I’ve been an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church for years, and if she didn’t mind having a atheistic minister solemnize their vows, I would be pleased as Punch to take on that role.

The advantage of planning a wedding within a three-week time frame during the age of COVID is that you simply don’t have time to over-plan (which, to be honest, is otherwise a hallmark of our family). The hall? Zoom. The guest list? As many as can fit in a Brady-Bunch style gallery. The food? Totally BYO. Registry? They’ve been together nearly three decades; they have two of everything. Dress? Just look decent from the waist up.

But while my initial “Yes and Yes” was filled with innocent joy, about three weeks ago I realized how important my job in this really was. This wasn’t just a favor for my sister. This wasn’t a “Would you pick up something on your way?” type of thing. This was a big deal. This was incredibly meaningful to them, something they’d been wanting to do since before they could. And I had more to do than just deliver the “Do you take…?” questions to the brides.

I had to write a homily.

Well, maybe not a homily. Maybe remarks? Preamble? Opening act? Regardless, I was going to set the stage, the tone, and the mood for the ceremony. “Light and life-affirming” was my sister’s request. And thus, writerly panic set in.

It took me about ten days of cogitation and percolation before I hit on the central idea, something light-hearted but sweet—a long engagement—but once I found that core, I was off, writing the short little piece in an hour. I followed this with ten days of second-guessing and editing, because along with over-planning things, my clan also tends to overthink them.

The wedding itself was exactly what I’d hoped it would be, i.e., perfect. My sister (now sisters both) had friends from Singapore, California, Washington, and down the street. We gathered in our kitchens, our bedrooms (it was 2AM in Singapore), our libraries. Dogs and cats wandered through the ceremony. 

There was laughter. There were tears of love and joy. There were remembrances of those friends missing and lost. There were charged glasses of champagne. And in the end, there was a legally married couple who have been in love for so long and been through so many trials that the success of their marriage is guaranteed.

It was, without doubt, a wonderful and uplifting event, and I am grateful to have been able to play a part in its success. It will be one of the few bright spots in this otherwise dismal year, bright enough to give me hope for the future in general.

Because, as Oscar Wilde once said, “The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and a richness to life that nothing else can bring.”

k