Chapter 53

May You Be Filled With Loving Kindness

At age nine, Rose Murphy felt somewhat old to be a flower girl. Yet, she had seen enough weddings in her short life to know that this was an important role. Saint Patrick of the Prairie Catholic Church was decorated so beautifully with wreathes and ribbons and candles, and the new snow so white outside, that the girl felt that she must have been personally blessed by a loving God.

In a few minutes Mrs. Reilly would begin to play the organ prelude. More and more people would arrive for the Saturday evening wedding. The bride and her sister, Della, her college friend, Barbara, and Ruthann Garcia were sequestered in the small meeting room off the main fellowship hall in the church basement. Their dresses, long and simple, elegant and deep forest green, matched Rose’s.

Alexander Murphy stood still at the back of the church, glad he was there on time with no nicks from shaving, glad that he’d gotten all the chores done today, and had avoided most of a good-natured bachelor event last evening. He looked around at Saint Patrick's, one of the last of the small rural parishes remaining in Iowa. The simple sanctuary was nonetheless magnificent in a humble way, abounding with Christmas greenery and poinsettias. Alexander squinted, if for no other reason than -- with a deep breath -- to recall a scene not unlike this, but on a springtime evening fifteen years before. He said a silent prayer and a "Thank you, Peggy," for his children's mother, a woman whom he had married in this place that day. In a life hereafter, he hoped Peggy would find Laura to her liking in spirit. Ruthann certainly did, the two were best friends when breast cancer interrupted so much in such a short time.

Michael Murphy, age 11, tugged at his bow tie and collar of the shirt under a tuxedo that matched his father’s, Delbert’s, and Rick Garcia’s. He’d never been in a standup wedding party before. The collar was too small and the shoes too big. He hoped he didn’t trip and make a fool of himself in front of all the people. Michael looked around for Grandpa Owen, yet, all the while recalling the casket that held him just weeks ago here, now resting beneath snow covered loam outside. Michael stood a little straighter like his granddad always told him to.

Teresa Hanrahan Murphy waited alone for the mass to begin, sitting contemplating the mosaic behind the alter where candles already burned. Thank God, Father Norbert had listened when she told him how those money-saving fluorescent lights were ruining the atmosphere of St. Patrick's. Father had personally changed the bulbs to a warm natural light that now made the church glow. The light on the mosaic picked out the few gold leaf tiles set to highlight the crown and the face of Jesus. Teresa felt very peaceful.

Mrs. Reilly began to play the 16th century carol by Michael Praetorius, "Lo, how a rose 'ere blooming," in quiet chords. Laura Paruzzi heard the thread of the carol from the room below; she looked up to smile at her friend Ruthann Garcia.

“This is it, girl. Merry Christmas,” said Ruthann.

“Amen. Here we go. Thank you for being with me.” The sisters and women friends hugged all around. Then the bridesmaids and matron made the final adjustments to the bride’s wedding gown and veil.

As the four walked up the stairs to the sanctuary, Laura repeated to herself an old Tibetan Buddhist blessing, "May you be filled with loving kindness. May you be well. May you be peaceful and at ease. May you be happy."

With the church nearly full on a snowy Saturday evening in late December, the sacrament of matrimony for Alexander and Laura moved through the measured pageantry and patient ritual of the processional, the hymns, the readings of the old and new testaments, the gospel, Father Marquette's homily on the beauty of love, the sacramental gifts of the bread and wine, the sharing of the vows, the exchange of rings, the nuptial blessing, the introduction of the wedded couple, the benediction, and the recessional.

Guests and family, and friends and relatives, all treasured a few moments of peace in that place that night. They celebrated the lives of two people in love, the newness of a family, the traditions of a community of people living and working on and near the land. They sang, and prayed, and worshipped together. They laughed and cried, and teased and hugged and shook hands with each other. They set aside old differences and resolved to love their neighbors anew.

A little girl, much later that evening, fell asleep on her great-grandmother's lap, more certain than ever that she was personally blessed by a loving God.

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Next... Chapter 54.

Thanks for these resources:

Catholic Conservation Center

A Rocha: Christians in Conservation

Religious Campaign for Forest Conservation

ARC: Alliance of Religions and Conservation

Center for a New American Dream

John Gabbert writes and edits The Upper Basin Chronicles.

Upper Mississippi Basin Stakeholder Network and The Upper Basin Chronicles © 2003 Saint Mary's University of Minnesota.

Your comments are invaluable. Please email feedback to the author via (mailto link) The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 53.

The characters presented here are purely fictional, and neither bear resemblance to persons living or dead, nor represent the views or opinions of Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota.