you in Oregon." But such a gesture was out of the question. Like the secluded queen who rarely ventures beyond her territory because
off
the palace grounds she's merely a traveler, Lydia could never concede her authority. It was no wonder she refused to fly. Out of sheer terror at the prospect (
of crashing,
she would say;
of giving up control,
Jessica would reply), Lydia had not stepped on an airplane in fifteen years. So,
together as a family
could only mean here, in Detroit, same as it ever was.
Everyone in the church now turned to watch Ellen and Casper walk arm in arm down the aisle. She wore a simple white A-line dress with cap sleeves and pearl beading around the neckline. With her fingertip-length veil she looked like another showcase for the relentless bridal juggernaut. At the end of the aisle, Casper kissed his daughter lightly on the cheek and, grabbing the side of the front pew, made his way toward his seat. Cy stepped forward, his clean-shaven face a bloom of scarlet, to claim his bride.
By high school, when most of Jessica's friends' parents were divorced, she would feel a thrill whenever she saw Cy and Lydia sitting together in the stands at her basketball games. Her family did not live in a large house. She and her brothers did not have their own cars. And unlike most families in Jessica's comfortable neighborhood, the Modines were coupon clippers, solidly middle class. But her parents did have a long marriage, and for Jessica, seeing them together, even in their formal, perfunctory way, had made up for other absences. Had they divorced years earlier, she might not have completely re-covered, but now she felt it was too late to raise a protest, when she was supposed to be, at twenty-seven, all grown up.
A choirboy sang "O Perfect Love, All Human Thought Transcending." Gisele followed with a Rilke poem with the words "You, Beloved, who are all / the gardens I have ever gazed at." But instead of celebrating conjugal joy, the poem seemed more about an ethereal kind of love that was always out of reach. Reverend MacPherson followed Gisele's reading with a twenty-minute sermon about Cy and Ellen's commitment to the Kirk in the Hills, a place that before this weekend Jessica had never heard her father mention.
"I confess I did not know the bride and groom well when they began planning this wedding, but in a short time they have made themselves active members of our church community" He was a young minister, probably in his late thirties, with prematurely gray hair and small, accidentally hip glasses, over the top of which he would survey the congregation. In his sermon he attempted to explain the apostle Paul's unraveling of the "great mystery" of marriage:
"If the church is Christ's body and by faith a person is joined to Christ, thus a person becomes one with all believers. Christ is the husband and the church is the bride and conversion is an act of betrothal. Perhaps you're asking yourselves, 'Why wouldn't Christ be jealous of a new husband coming to take his bride?'" The young minister paused and looked up from the pulpit. "Ah, but jealousy is not a factor here, because God created human marriage out of the pattern of Christ's relation to the church, not the other way around." He smiled, as if pleased with himself for solving a riddle. "Husband and wife become one flesh just as Christ and the church become one body."
Jessica's thoughts swam in this eddy of language, as she remembered why she had avoided Christianity all these years.
"Cy and Ellen are one flesh in the church, married together and to Christ. The dedication they have shown to our mission here at the Kirk in the Hills augurs well, indeed, for the devotion they will have to each other from this day forward."
When Reverend MacPherson's oration came to its end, an acolyte brought out a stool and a guitar. To Jessica's surprise, Cy sat on the stool, ducked under the guitar strap, and began to play. This performance had not been discussed at the
off
the palace grounds she's merely a traveler, Lydia could never concede her authority. It was no wonder she refused to fly. Out of sheer terror at the prospect (
of crashing,
she would say;
of giving up control,
Jessica would reply), Lydia had not stepped on an airplane in fifteen years. So,
together as a family
could only mean here, in Detroit, same as it ever was.
Everyone in the church now turned to watch Ellen and Casper walk arm in arm down the aisle. She wore a simple white A-line dress with cap sleeves and pearl beading around the neckline. With her fingertip-length veil she looked like another showcase for the relentless bridal juggernaut. At the end of the aisle, Casper kissed his daughter lightly on the cheek and, grabbing the side of the front pew, made his way toward his seat. Cy stepped forward, his clean-shaven face a bloom of scarlet, to claim his bride.
By high school, when most of Jessica's friends' parents were divorced, she would feel a thrill whenever she saw Cy and Lydia sitting together in the stands at her basketball games. Her family did not live in a large house. She and her brothers did not have their own cars. And unlike most families in Jessica's comfortable neighborhood, the Modines were coupon clippers, solidly middle class. But her parents did have a long marriage, and for Jessica, seeing them together, even in their formal, perfunctory way, had made up for other absences. Had they divorced years earlier, she might not have completely re-covered, but now she felt it was too late to raise a protest, when she was supposed to be, at twenty-seven, all grown up.
A choirboy sang "O Perfect Love, All Human Thought Transcending." Gisele followed with a Rilke poem with the words "You, Beloved, who are all / the gardens I have ever gazed at." But instead of celebrating conjugal joy, the poem seemed more about an ethereal kind of love that was always out of reach. Reverend MacPherson followed Gisele's reading with a twenty-minute sermon about Cy and Ellen's commitment to the Kirk in the Hills, a place that before this weekend Jessica had never heard her father mention.
"I confess I did not know the bride and groom well when they began planning this wedding, but in a short time they have made themselves active members of our church community" He was a young minister, probably in his late thirties, with prematurely gray hair and small, accidentally hip glasses, over the top of which he would survey the congregation. In his sermon he attempted to explain the apostle Paul's unraveling of the "great mystery" of marriage:
"If the church is Christ's body and by faith a person is joined to Christ, thus a person becomes one with all believers. Christ is the husband and the church is the bride and conversion is an act of betrothal. Perhaps you're asking yourselves, 'Why wouldn't Christ be jealous of a new husband coming to take his bride?'" The young minister paused and looked up from the pulpit. "Ah, but jealousy is not a factor here, because God created human marriage out of the pattern of Christ's relation to the church, not the other way around." He smiled, as if pleased with himself for solving a riddle. "Husband and wife become one flesh just as Christ and the church become one body."
Jessica's thoughts swam in this eddy of language, as she remembered why she had avoided Christianity all these years.
"Cy and Ellen are one flesh in the church, married together and to Christ. The dedication they have shown to our mission here at the Kirk in the Hills augurs well, indeed, for the devotion they will have to each other from this day forward."
When Reverend MacPherson's oration came to its end, an acolyte brought out a stool and a guitar. To Jessica's surprise, Cy sat on the stool, ducked under the guitar strap, and began to play. This performance had not been discussed at the
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