Most of us pastors will take a funeral over a wedding any day.
A funeral requires no rehearsal. There are no formal meals or receptions involved. There is no mother of the bride–or bridezilla!–insisting that it be done her way.
The minister simply stands in front of the honored guest, does his thing, says his prayers, everyone enjoys a couple of great songs, and we all go our way.
With weddings, a thousand things can go wrong. The bride and her mother argue, bridesmaids sometimes see how risque’ they can dress, and the groomsmen how rambunctious they can behave. You have a wedding director who may or may not be capable. (Pastors will take a drill sergeant from Parris Island any day over a lazy director who has no idea all the bad things that can happen the next day.)
Weddings have a hundred moments where slipups can occur and trouble can happen. Brides are late to church, grooms forget the rings, someone has been drinking, the flower girl is crying, photographers are arguing, the wedding director is pulling her hair out, and the caterer is trying to get paid. The candles either did not arrive, will not light, or are dripping wax on the carpet. The limo is late bringing the maids and the bride because, this being his third wedding of the day, each one took more time than he had allowed, so instead of arriving at the church at 6:30 for a 7:00 wedding, the limousine pulls in at 7:45.
Charles and I were standing outside the sanctuary waiting for the musical cue from the organist signaling time for us to enter. He was marrying a lovely young lass whose father was an Air Force officer. We had done the obligatory pre-marital counseling sessions, although they both seemed reluctant and uninvolved, like this was something they wanted to get over. My watch said “Two o’clock,” but the organist kept playing. He and I had done a hundred weddings before, so I knew to listen for the Trumpet Voluntare and not to enter until he sounded it out.
Something was amiss.