Where's the Bible?

What prompted a lost-lost memory of a bizarre afternoon wedding to float up from the depths of my deranged memory file system? It was a FB post by the mother of my two favorite Ministers. Thank you, Adrell. Where did this event take place? In the back yard of a total stranger’s home. I have no idea where it was but a vague image of a new housing development nestled into the hills to the southeast of me comes to mind. A place elevated from the cow pastures and meaner streets that filled in the valleys. When did this happen? You tell me. I was old enough to be the oldest person to arrive, before an uncomfortable cadre of mature relatives showed up. Certainly I was the only adult in the vicinity for the first few hours, so I’m guessing in the late 1980s? Why was I invited? I have no idea. Perhaps because I took Tai Chi lessons from someone who knew someone. There’s a thread of a notion that I might have been acquainted with the groom for some reason. Or maybe not. I had an address and a time and I arrived early, as usual, dressed sedately for an afternoon soiree, so I must have known either the bride or the groom or one of their buddies. How did the afternoon play out and how does it apply to a Bible? That’s what I’m about to tell you. My first memory was stepping very carefully in my modest low heeled shoes and conservative attire through the empty rooms of a large home to reach the back yard. An enormous pool drifted off to my right and a swath of green grass flanked the left portion. It was a lovely vista, marred slightly by the sight of the groom, who was wearing low rider jeans and nothing else except perhaps boxer shorts. His bride-to-be was wearing something equally casual. I’d be lying if I described it. All I can tell you is that they were not what I expected. Also, they were clearly unnerved. “We’re so glad you’re here! The wedding is supposed to take place in half an hour and”…insert any young man’s name here. Let’s call him Leon…“when we called Leon he said his dad took the car and he can’t come! Could you go get him?” “Ahh…I suppose so. Where does Leon live?” This was before GPS. This was when I carried a Thomas Guide to Los Angeles County in the slot between my bucket seat and the passenger seat. For those of you born after GPS, this was a thick spiral-bound magnum opus with an alphabetical index of every street in the county and pages of maps that showed you how to get there. Many the hour was spent idling by the side of the road, pondering whether east meant turn left or right. Thomas Guides were the best thing ever invented before flip phones. Someone gave me an address and I set out to retrieve Leon. What else could I do? They were babies and I was the only adult on campus. I had to go, right? Leon lived down the hill. I don’t mean half way up to the wedding venue. I mean down in the valley, next to the cow pastures, where regular folk who rented small houses accessed by long driveways lived. I found the address, parked on the street, and walked down the driveway to reach a small house, an open door, and a couch upon which sat another young man clad in low rider jeans and brightly visible boxer shorts. Nothing else. “Um, hello.” Leon looked up at me without comprehension. “My name is Carol and”….insert any young man’s name here. Let’s call him Jake….“Jake told me you needed a ride to the wedding.” In front of Leon on the floor was a round plastic laundry basket filled with towels. During this whole introduction he had continued to focus on the task of lifting out a towel, folding it neatly, and stacking it on the couch next to him. When I got to the part about taking him to the wedding, he stopped in shock. “What do you mean a ride to the wedding?” “Jake told me you are licensed to marry them. You’re supposed to be there now so you can perform the wedding ceremony. He said you told him you don’t have a ride. I am your ride.” I was trying to be calm and logical, just like Mr. Spock. We anxiety prone people tend to do that. If you see us doing that, don’t believe us. We want to run away as much as Leon did at that moment. “I thought it was a joke!” “What was a joke?” “That he was going to get me licensed to marry them.” “Apparently it was not a joke. He has the paperwork.” “I can’t marry them! I don’t know nothing about marrying people!” This was not going well. I gently moved the stack of towels aside and sat down next to Leon to convince him otherwise. “Jake and (Betsy?) are waiting to get married and it’s too late to call anyone else to officiate.” “I don’t know how to do that! I’m not going; no way!” Did I mention that Leon was maybe eighteen years old? There he was, a frightened young cowering thing, and there was I, praying for inspiration. “Leon, there’s nothing to be afraid of. As soon as we get back to Jake’s house I’ll find the family Bible and I’ll open it up to where it talks about marriage. All you have to do is read one or two paragraphs. You just hold the book in your hands, read what I’ve pointed to, and then say ‘I pronounce you man and wife.’ You can do that much for your friend, can’t you?” Leon continued to look at me in horror but I refused to budge. Finally he muttered, “I guess so.” He put aside the towel in his lap and got up to follow me to my car. No, that’s not quite accurate. He put on flip-flops and followed me to the car, shirtless, with a waistband of bright red boxer shorts. Jake was so relieved to see his buddy he gave him a great big hug. Then I said, “We need to borrow your family Bible.” “I don’t think we have one.” “Perhaps you could ask your mother or father.” “They’re not here. They’re in Vegas.” “I see. Do they have a bookcase?” “Yes.” “Could you look in the bookcase to see if there is a Bible?” Jake disappeared into a den and reappeared shaking his head no. Leon looked at me in terror. I grabbed his arm before he could bolt. “What about your friends or neighbors? Do you think they have a Bible?” “Do we need one?” “Yes. Yes, we absolutely do need one.” “I guess I could send someone to my Uncle’s house. It’s not far.” “Good. Do that as fast as you can.” Jake believed me. He sent friends out to the four corners of the earth, in search of a book called The Holy Bible, or at least one that had the word Bible on the spine. Their search was fruitful. Someone showed up soon after and handed me the book. You have to understand that I had never in my life up to that moment held a New Testament in my hands. However, I’d been to many a Christian wedding where someone opened the New Testament and read what a disciple had to say about marriage. I figured today’s adventure was going to be a One-Jew event, so the New Testament would be my best ploy. For Leon’s sake. Let me make another thing clear. I had never, not once in my entire life, been in a home that did not have a Bible on the shelf. Okay, mostly it was what I now realize folks referred to as The Old Testament. (At home, we just said Bible.) However, whether Old or New or any other variety, including the Quran, every household had a Bible. There was a law written somewhere about that. For a house to have a bookcase bereft of Bible was unthinkable. I knew I had entered a strange new world. Children were getting married next to the pool while the folks were in Vegas and a million dollars had been spent on decorating the house but no one at home needed to put an unopened Bible in the bookcase. My head was spinning but I had no time to turn turkey. I said a silent prayer and started flipping pages of the borrowed book. Matthew? Corinthians? Ephesians? Who knows? I kept flipping until I found something sweetly familiar, a paragraph or two I’d heard at my in-laws’ weddings. “Love is kind, etc.” I pointed at it to Leon. “See this part here?” “Yeah.” “All you have to do is walk outside when Jake tells you, read this, and then tell them they are married. You can do this. I know you can.” “I guess.” Leon was still unconvinced until Jake showed up with a surprise. “Look what you I found for you to wear!” Jake was holding a very long, very full, very shiny royal blue cape. It had white ribbons to tie at the neck. There were no Avenger heroes emblazoned on the back. We hadn’t invented those costumes yet. Leon took one look at that cape and his entire demeanor changed. Aha! Now he knew what was happening! It was play time and he was going to play the King! I stayed behind with Leon to give him extra moral support and make sure he didn’t change his mind. While we waited for his cue, the bride and groom donned their costumes: Renaissance Faire garb. He wore a Pirate’s hat and baggy black pants; she wore a wreath of flowers in her hair and a skirt instead of her shorts. The soon-to-be married couple were standing on the grass, surrounded by their friends, who wore who knows what. I couldn’t see them because by now I was walking behind Leon as he strode out to do his duty. His blue cape swung from side to side as he confidently walked forth. Once he reached the grass, I stepped aside to stand with the couple’s few adult relatives who had placed some food on the dining room table and then stood as far away from the ceremony as possible and still be outside. Leon did great. He mumbled through one of the two paragraphs and said he pronounced them man and wife. The couple kissed enthusiastically and then they and their friends ripped off their costumes with glee and all of them leaped into the pool, with or without bathing suits under their wedding attire. It took me a while to realize none of them were going to be getting out of the pool any time soon. They also wouldn’t notice if I remained at my post or not. I remember ambling into the dining room and nibbling on a finger sandwich while the few other adults tried to make polite conversation with each other, which was strange because they were relatives. You wouldn’t think they’d be so uncomfortable. But I guess they were as nonplussed by the revels as was I. So I left. No one missed me. The thing that troubles me now, as I’m dredging up these vivid pictures, is not that I can’t remember who got married or why I was there. No. I’m trying to remember if I went over to the grassy knoll to pick up the fallen Bible before I nibbled on pretty appetizers. I’d like to think I paid attention and made sure it was returned to its rightful owner. But I suspect the pool party distracted me. I certainly hope that when the owner asked, “Where’s the Bible,” someone handed it back in its original condition. The odds are not good, but hope burns eternal.