Love, Marriage, and... the irregular. A sermon for two beautiful ladies.

Most weddings that I’ve been to have a couple readings and then a priest or a rabbi uses some time to offer their take on the readings or their perspective on the event. I want to thank Es and Viv from the bottom of my soul for trusting me with this very special day and the opportunity to offer my take on this unique moment in all our lives. It’s in incredible prospect for an Ethics and Social Philosophy Major, and I cannot think of two more beautiful ladies whom I would want to join together in the bonds of holy matrimony more than Esmeralda and Viviana Colomez.
I’m not an ordained priest or rabbi. What I can offer to you today is what I know about love, marriage, and the irregular. See most of us exist most of the time in a sort of semiconscious state. We experience things, get used to them until they eventually become part of the mundane. That’s probably the heart of why many fear marriage. (Tell people that you’re throwing a lesbian wedding however, and suddenly everybody wants to come!). That’s because it’s an experience; it’s new; it’s irregular.
Es and Viv, Amy and I became friends in no small part due to our irregularity as lesbians. Now I don’t mean to cheapen our relationships in any way. Lesbianism bonds us in the same way it isolates us. The irregularity of a renewal-of-only-recently-acquired-wedding-vows in your home state wakes all of us up from the semiconscious banality of everyday life. For some, it changes things. For others, it threatens them. But as scary and unavoidable change is, it is the inevitable burden. As the one constant it lends meaning to everything else. What is that meaning however, is a choice.
We’ve all heard the joke about how they should let queers marry so that they can be as miserable as the rest. But that’s not the case for these Es and Viv. Matrimony is scary precisely for the fact that it negates change. But, Es and Viv ...are irregular. One of the first times I really hung out with them, they moved us. Again, I don’t just mean "moved" us into some emotional surge either. I mean they physically moved us. It was in college during finals in December. If you ever want to take stock in who your friends really are try moving from Plattsburgh during finals in December. Es and Vivi heard we needed help. I don’t even remember calling them, but I do remember watching them flying in and out of our apartment all night long carrying all our things to the truck they’d packed up so tight we made it all the way back to New York City without a single material casualty. I can remember thinking: `lesbians’. After years of hanging out with college kids, gay guys, bisexuals, and a couple of miserably single dykes; "Es and Viv" was the only other lesbian couple we knew. And I thank God for them because to be honest, they helped make me proud to be part of one.
See, I spent the first half of my life being afraid of that word. I went to college to study in part because I was very unsettled about the predicament I was in as a lesbian. I felt locked out of Heaven. I was about 16 when I couldn’t ignore what I was any longer and about 17 or 18 the day I’m about to describe to you. It was my first Melissa Etheridge concert and it was at Jones Beach Theater out on the island. It was special in that it was the first time I’d ever found myself utterly surrounded by lesbians. The whole experience was entirely irregular for me – to not only be in a place where the majority was gay, but to also be in a place where the majority was also gay women. I found myself keenly aware that I was lacking the veil of heterosexuality. We were all there based on the shared interest in a famous lesbian woman of the time who for some reason wasn’t afraid to belt out song after song conveying our deepest, darkest, most prominent issues at the top of her little blond lungs. I mean I’d been shaking over the very act of buying myself a ticket, while she sometimes screamed from a stage furies I wouldn’t share with my closest friends and relatives.
Now Jones Beach is one of the few outdoor theaters and the weather was pretty precarious that day. But the stadium was sold out and everybody had shown up. I can remember judging everyone – people I didn’t want to be associated with; people I suddenly really wished I could be associated with. There is this one song called “Silent Legacy” where Melissa sings about how we should stop teaching prejudice and discrimination to our children, especially when it’s under the guise of religion. It’s a powerful song that questions the validity of “some man and myth they made up a thousand years ago”. I mean I was a good little Catholic school girl most of my life so when the crescendo of the song was accompanied by a crack of thunder and pouring rain, I nearly peed! We were all asked to leave as the lightening made it dangerous to be amongst the metal seats in the stadium. So picture this, thousands of drenched lesbians, half of them wearing white Melissa Etheridge concert T-shirts, hundreds with bras, pouring into the little underpasses between the seats and the parking lot. We all huddled together to wait out the storm. It felt palpable that we were facing demons we’d all thought that we alone only knew, but there we were facing them head on – together. That was the first time I really felt a part of a community, or a church, at least a community or church that for me included love.
People need each other to face the scary unknowns. One thing was for sure, no one was leaving because once love reveals itself to you, it’s over. Your illusions no longer sustain you. It was somewhat scary, but tremendously euphoric, and real. It wakes you up.
In the end, the storm passed and even though it kept raining, everyone returned to their seats and Melissa went back on for another couple of hours. She was promoting her new album, I remember, so she ended with a song I’d never heard before that night. And that song has become my wife’s ringtone. It’s become a part of me in a way I want to take this opportunity to share with all of you today. It’s a very simple, soft tune. I remember Melissa repeated just the title over and over in a way that softly delivered a message I needed to hear that night and, especially after meeting my wife, a message that I’ll never not feel again. The refrain goes: “All the way to Heaven, is Heaven; caught between the spirit and the dust. All the way to Heaven, is Heaven, deep inside of us.”
Es and Viv know this. Look around, it’s what makes them irregular. You can’t be together this long and still laugh and smile as much as they do together without knowing this. Love makes the difference. There are some who would put a value on one marriage above another. And I’m sure there must be something special about a wedding between two people of exactly the same faith performed exactly the same way. But there is value in change too. There is value in the choices made because of change and the directions those choices lead to. It’s true you can’t have the good without the bad. I’ve been to enough of just my father’s weddings alone to know that sometimes it’s just not the real thing. We need to see the irregular Britney Spears’ marriages in order to fully appreciate the actual celebrations of love. This, however, is an actual celebration of love. Anybody who knows Es and Viv know that these two see love every time they look at each other, and blessedly we see it whenever we look at you. So may that never change. May the promises you make today withstand the test of time, and may your children bask in that love. May they grow from the lessons your lives have taught you.
Sometimes it’s the irregularities that remind us of the real point. Life is not easy. Love, - finding, keeping, and deserving love, is not easy. But it is the point. From you, from love, from marriage, we learn to find that real place; to find Heaven, and instead of setting it high above in some abstract universe, we learn to come from there. We exchange vows to create good.
I’ve been blessed with 13 of the liveliest, most colorful, happiest years of my life. Through my relationship, I’ve learned to value communication, and honesty. I’ve learned to accept another person. I’ve learned to face the imperfections in myself. I learned to work on those imperfections, and I’ve learned to trust. As your friend I’ve seen you do the same. I've seen you choose to be helpful, endearing, respectful, loyal, positive, fun, honorable, and loving, - at least with each other. Marriage at its root is a beacon, a model, an example to use for all other relationships. The important thing to remember from now on is that you’re coming from a good place. But let’s face it, nobody can ever really give you any answers. All anybody can ever do is wish you – on this highly most irregular day – all the best in your life, love, and future endeavors together. And that’s what I, and everybody else, is here to do – to the best of our abilities – for you today, every time we wish you well and say congratulations, - right? Congratulations!

Voice = Evolution.

You know what sucks about being gay? - Being edited. I know that I should look at my life against a backdrop of my historically oppressed social location and be grateful. But, with marriage headed for the Supreme Court at the same time children are hanging themselves in their closets; it's just no longer acceptable to allow our voices to be edited.
I've read that while in some ways being the child of a same sex couple can be a burden because of the possibility of bullying; I've also read that another by product is a feeling of being special. That's nice and in some ways, and I can relate to that. My experience is limited: I was the only child of a loving couple, the child of a widow, the step child and step sibling, a child in a single-parent divorcée, and finally, one of many step children in a kind of Brady Bunch sort of thing. I've never however, been the child of a same sex couple. I imagine however, that it's kind of like what we go through as lesbians. I've often felt my culture is more a blessing to me than a burden. Taking the good out of what can be a burden, is powerful.
So, truth be known, I love being gay. I love the discomfort I had to face when my heart didn't mirror what I saw on tv; I love the past angst that made me who I am; I love my wife; I even love our rainbow towel set. What I don't love is when I get edited out of life because of I'm gay.
Not too long ago, my wife and I were on a Delta Airlines plane on our honeymoon when we heard the pilot announce his congratulations to another honeymooning couple. The whole cabin smiled and clapped as that couple smiled and was served champagne. My wife, a rather demonstrative woman new to what I'd call the "gay" life, enthusiastically called the stewardess over to share our circumstances as well. Turns out, we weren't even the only ones to do that. Before the stewardess even got over to us, two other couples were being publicly congratulated and served my favorite drink - sweet champagne with strawberries. But here I was, cringing as the love of my life was leaning over to wave at the happy couples while summoning the stewardess to come faster over to us.
The stewardess tried to feign a smile and said she's see what she could do. Now, I love my wife and would defend her to my death, but it's a shame that in a situation like this what should be a euphoric time span of our lives can get interrupted with all kinds of feelings, like embarrassment or even anger. Of course, the stewardess returned with some excuse about how they couldn't announce our engagement due to their "reluctance be too political". I think they eventually did offer us a couple of complimentary glasses of some very cheap, dry sparkling wine, but the moment had certainly passed.
Too political? No fair! It's only political when they stop joyous announcements like that and blame us for "ruining marriage".
This again happened recently to me in a way that ticked me off.
I'm not a reality tv watcher or anything but apparently Kim Kardashian recently had some kind of encounter with her sister about co-Breastfeeding. My wife and I happened to be big advocates on the subject, so when the Long Island Newsday called my friend Donna Kimick, IBC Lacation Consultant for a statement on the subject, she suggested my name as a further source for the article's resources.
Co-Breastfeeding is geographically and historically common, but fairly rare in the United States. However, why would lesbian parents be more apt to perform this locally rare activity? More breasts perhaps? This reporter, Jenny Berger, took my statement about how I'd induced lactation for our first born which my wife birthed, and how my wife was able to sustain our second while I recouped from an emergency C section. She thanked me for my contribution, and I walked away - feeling a little special. The article looked good and fair and short and sweet, and I felt good that our unique experience might enliven a discussion on the topic. I felt good, that is, until the article I saw got chopped!
I got edited out entirely. At first, I thought there must have just been a spacing issue. In hindsight though Donna pointed out that it may have been considered by some to be too "political" for Long Island's Newsday. It's bad enough that we can't even vacation certain places, and that I still have to struggle with labels and pronouns sometimes with students or having to decide if it's safer to just tell this cab driver that "Yes, my husband is home waiting for me". But when I am living my life and someone else edits me to save their status quo? I want to vomit. This is how we wound up here. There's nothing fair about saving the peace of mind of the ignorant, insecure, and bigoted who might be bothered by a lesbian's tit. What I want to know is how we are to gain our independence if we are dismissed and silenced by complacency? This editing is not political. It's oppressive. Even little things can make big ripples but they have to be thrown out there in the first place, ya know what I mean?