Couples will say: “We’re married because we love each other.”  But there is also an older and perhaps more meaningful expression:  “We love each other because we’re married.”

 When my grandparents married they did not love each other:  they did not know each other.  Like many marriages in their part of the world in 1890, it was essentially an arranged marriage, solemnized with a ketubah (marriage contract) like the one above.  Did they ever “fall in love” or grow to love each other?  I don’t know.  Were they happy?  I have no idea.  They had ten children, the youngest of whom was my father.  They addressed each other formally – as “Mr.” and “Mrs.” – just like Dr. Meade and Mrs. Meade in Gone With the Wind.  My grandmother died in 1938, and my grandfather, though he had not been ill, died less than two months later.

Some people think celibate clergy do not have the right to teach or counsel anyone about marriage since they are single.  But I would rather go to a good doctor who had had years of training and who had seen my kind of illness hundreds if not thousands of times, in many different people, rather than demand to receive treatment from someone who had had the disease himself.  Sometimes, in doing tribunal work, in reviewing case after case of failed marriages, patterns begin to appear, stories begin to sound very familiar, and the only surprise is that those who seek a declaration of nullity (not an “annulment” – a word which, as I mentioned in another post, doesn’t even appear in the Code of Canon Law) often seem to reveal aspects of their marriage to the tribunal which I suspect they would not even mention in confession.

And so even as a single person, I can attest to the fact that, unfortunately, some of what prompts people to marry – not lacking due discretion of judgment but sometimes against their better judgment in many ways, and in very subtle ways – is fear, primarily fear of being alone.  In the testimonies that every tribunal must review for its nullity cases, this is a theme heard over and over again.  Many will say, “I was afraid being old alone or of dying alone,” not realizing that at least among women, seventy-five percent of us end up alone in our later years anyway (never married, widowed or divorced).

I think I can assure everyone that as difficult as single life is at times, there are far worse things to face in life than waking up alone every morning, or spending Christmas or other holidays on one’s own.  What’s worse?  From all that I’ve gathered, this:  waking up next to someone, once beloved, who has become a stranger, and dreading going home to see one’s family for the holidays, knowing it will take weeks to recover from the trauma and that the painful memories of what Uncle Helmut or your sister-in-law did or said will last for a lifetime, casting a pall on all subsequent family gatherings.

But it is normal to want to love and be loved, in a definitive way and not merely as a passing romance.  It is not good for us to be alone, as Someone we know and love once said.  The fear of being alone is so profound, so primal, that it steers otherwise bright and capable people toward decisions they may come to regret.  And on that day of regret, they want “out” – which is something secular society broadly promotes.  But as Blessed Pope John Paul II taught us, human beings are not disposable (divorce), nor interchangeable (remarriage), nor are they to be made the objects of experimentation (living together or “trial marriage”).

In a recent article in The Tablet (or what Fr. Z. calls The Bitter Pill) there is a plea for the Catholic Church to do what our Orthodox brethren do with the numerous failed marriages in our times. In many, but not all, Orthodox Churches (remember:  no central authority, so no true consistency of doctrine or approach to this, only some loosely applied sense of oikonomia), a member of the faithful is allowed a first, sacramental marriage.  If that fails, especially if the person in question is the innocent party, then a second, non-sacramental “marriage” is permitted, usually after some sort of “penitential” period.  If the second one fails, then the person is permitted a third, non-sacramental “marriage” – but not a fourth one!  Have to draw the line somewhere.  Have to have some standards.

As I hope any Catholic can see, this is completely unworkable for a number of reasons.  In the first place, the first and only marriage, a sacrament, is still there.  A valid matrimonial bond can only be dissolved by death and doesn’t “go away” no matter how much one wants it to, no matter how painful or cold the relationship, no matter which spouse abandoned the other, or no matter how badly one spouse treats the other (and I am not going to tackle the Pauline and Petrine privileges in this forum…).  It is true that on occasion, severe problems in a marriage can be indicative of an antecedent incapacity to contract marriage or of an intention to enter into something other than marriage, but such cases are (or should be) quite rare.  So this second non-sacramental “marriage”…would be what?  Adultery or concubinage permitted by the Church?  And if that is the view of the human person (and not wanting to cause an ecumenical kerfuffle here…), then would it not make more sense for the Orthodox to allow an initial non-sacramental “marriage” or whatever, and if that fails then another, and then eventually and finally – third time’s the charm? – admit the person to a full sacramental marriage now that he has it all figured out?  Now that he has matured and has learned how to treat another human being?

People often say of marriage, “I had no idea what I was getting into.”  Of course not.  People never know what they are getting into when they embark upon a new situation in life.  It is the same with having children.  Even if couples wait years for a child, and anticipate every aspect of childrearing, it is another matter altogether when the little one finally arrives.  A couple I know had their first child in their thirties – they are both academics – and the little creature reduced them to utter helplessness within hours.  The baby cried, screamed, round the clock.  They could not let go of her or put her down for a moment.  She was healthy; but she could not bear being out of her mother’s arms (or her father’s, as a tolerable substitute).  The baby was not a good eater, nor did she sleep much, at least not at normal times.  Formerly in control of all aspects of their lives, these two intellectuals were now at their wits’ end.  And one cannot divorce the child or “send it back” and get another, better one – though I seem to recall this has been tried.

Some say that Catholics should not, or even cannot, receive the Sacrament of Matrimony if they lack faith.  But it is impossible to go the route of a faith litmus test for couples.  Provided they are validly baptized, and it has been determined, as it must be ahead of time, that there are no impediments, and they have some minimal understanding and acceptance of marriage as permanent, faithful and ordered to the procreation of children (not needing to know the mechanics of everything, but just some general idea), the bar is set very low.  Catholics cannot be prohibited from receiving the Sacrament of Matrimony, even if the people preparing the couple – the families, the parish staff – think things might not turn out well.  Take the case of a spoiled teenager about to receive the Sacrament of Confirmation.  She is only going through with it because her mother is insisting on it, and her father has promised her big party and a new car.  The girl has no interest in the Catholic faith, can hardly wait to stop being dragged to Mass every Sunday with her parents, and has no intention of living as a practicing Catholic once she leaves for college.  But if she presents herself along with her classmates to the bishop – and she’s just willful enough so that if she truly did not want the Sacrament she’d dig in her heels – then it is a validly, if not fruitfully, received Sacrament.  The grace is there, will be there, if she ever has a change of heart.

The new and prevailing theology of marriage is very beautiful, but I remain not entirely convinced of the wisdom or utility of turning it into canon law.  The old “contract” model has given way to the new “covenant” model of marriage.  I know a devout Catholic man who has engraved on the inside of his wedding band, “…as Christ loved the Church.”  When I related that to another young Catholic married woman, she burst out laughing:  “Really?  I can’t even get my husband to pick up his socks!”  And as beautiful as it is to see the marriage relationship as similar to that of God and His people or Christ and the Church, it is also important to remember that it does not exactly denote a relationship of equality.

Speaking of contracts, for your perusal and edification, the link below has a slideshow of some of the lovely ketubot like the one at the top of the post, which are still used in the Jewish tradition, from a different sort of Tablet:

http://www.tabletmag.com/arts-and-culture/61282/unveiled/

   There are WAY too many canon law types on this Blog.  Where are the Theologians?  But, just to prove that even canon lawyers can be wild and crazy (snort…), here is Magdalen, who will grace us with her presence.  Oh, and if you have any canon law questions, give her a holla at canonist.ross@gmail.com.  
From Magdalen:
A San Francisco native, I was brought up in a secular environment with no religious beliefs at all.  I did attend an Episcopal school in childhood, but also three years in Hungarian state schools under Socialism.   I had no secondary education; instead I was allowed to study on my own throughout my teens (long before “homeschooling”), and while spending my time roaming through museums and libraries I eventually encountered the great Catholic authors, St. Augustine and Sigrid Undset in particular, which led to my baptism at age eighteen.
When I learned the hard way what “lack of Catholic identity” meant at two different Catholic colleges, I enrolled in San Francisco State University and earned a degree in history.  I had a normal life for a dozen years working in a medical office and moonlighting as copy editor for a literary review.  I’ve enjoyed an attachment to the world of arts and letters since childhood.  
After both my parents were no longer living I joined a monastery in Wales.  I was happy there, but did not have a true cloistered vocation; I felt called to go on for ecclesiastical studies.  I moved to Rome and spent five years at the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross studying philosophy, theology and canon law, earning the Licentiate in 2009.  Following a brief period of time serving first in an archdiocesan chancery and then a metropolitan tribunal, I am currently at work on my doctoral dissertation in canon law under the auspices of Katholieke Universiteit Leuven (Louvain).

Occasionally my brain will shift out of normal operations – thinking about cooking and my patron saint and what’s next on the movie channel and Van Eyck and shoes – and go into canon law mode.  Random canonical thoughts and musings on ecclesial matters start pinging around.

The word “annulment” does not appear in the Code of Canon Law.  

My mother once gave the explanation for Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn not getting married as his being too devout a Catholic to divorce his wife.  I believed that for years uncritically, until I realized that living in sin (uh…Kate and Spence were pretty clear about that, no?) wasn’t usually the sign of someone truly devout.

In the old prayer books, an “indulgence of 300 days” did not mean that many “days off” purgatory, since there are no days or nights or time in eternity.  “300 days’ indulgence” meant that by praying a certain prayer or a series of prayers and/or performing the prescribed good works, it was as if one had done three hundred days’ penance for one’s sins.  

The wretched science versus religion debate.  Geocentrism was wrong, but so was heliocentrism (as in…the sun is not the center of the universe, as was finally figured out by Herschel while taking a short break from composing symphonies).

The female students at the Angelicum liked the new student who was sort of thinking about seminary, but they knew he attended the usus antiquior of the Roman Rite, the classical Latin Mass.  “Sort of thinking,” because he had asked out one of the young ladies.   She wasn’t sure if she should or could go out with him, because, she said, “I get the feeling he just doesn’t accept Vatican II.”  So I asked:  “What about a guy who doesn’t accept Lateran V?”  I pressed her.  “Would you date a guy who rejects Lateran V?  Or Lyon II?”

Wait.  Up there…did I use the word ecclesial?  Bad canonist!  

Intrusive thought about my old Latin class: 

Father Reginald related the following story.  It happens in religious life, in a monastery or convent, that the less-talented members are assigned the humbler tasks, no surprise there.  Unfortunately that can all too often mean…the kitchen.  And so it was with the brother who was innocent and devout but not a great intellectual.  Removed from the university after only one semester of philosophy, he was given the job of cook, the superiors not realizing his lack of ability with studies might in some way be reflected in his cooking skills.  They soon learned.  The meals he concocted were as indigestible as a bad term paper.  It was too late to make another change in the kitchen, and thus the community suffered through inedible meal after inedible meal.  But he was good, even saintly.  So as a tribute to him, the brethren inscribed in Latin over the kitchen doorway that “he knows the Faith”:  FIDEM SCIT.

Digression about my former life in Italy:

On Facebook today a young acquaintance, just settling into her first semester in Rome, posted that the flat she is sharing with several other students keeps having power outages.  “Welcome to the Eternal City,” is what I posted on her wall.  Which brought to mind the following, which she will no doubt also experience.  Recalling endless treks from one store to another perfare la spesa, I always knew that that I had to have exact change.  There’s no such thing as merchants’ services in local banks, and so stores rely exclusively on their customers to keep them supplied.  Heaven help you if you do not have correct change, in Italian called spicci (pronounced like “s-peachy”).  Never did so cute a word convey so much menace.  The people at the cassa won’t place the money in your hand – you may have some rare disease which is transmitted only by handling coinage.  So they’ll plunk down your Euros on the clear plastic prop that is a fixture of every cassa, because the germs might leap from the palm of your hand, scurry up the edges of the coins, and make a flying run at the cashier’s skin.  And who knows where the germs might go after that.  In the cases where the plastic prop is lacking they’ll simply put the spicci down on the counter.  Because that’s so much cleaner.

That’s Father DeViese at a grocery store in Rome, his hand resting on the plastic thing, ready with exact change.

Well, I hadn’t intended to start my initial post by mentioning my great time at canon law camp.  Yes, canon law camp.  In Los Angeles.   Last summer.  Long story.  

But since Father Christopher lists me among the contributors as an “expert in Jewish bathing suits” I thought I had better explain. 

So even though salvation is from the Jews (John 4:22), my swimsuit is from the Mormons.  As you can see from the photo, camp was quite lovely.  For years I had given up on swimming, being unwilling to subject myself to the string that passes for swimwear in stores.  Even the one-piece suits in the granny department…just didn’t work.  In desperation I searched online for “modest swimsuits” and hoped against hope what I found wouldn’t look like the “shwimvear” in the 1985 Wendy’s “Soviet fashion show” commercial.  Among the many purveyors of modest clothing online – Jewish, Muslim, Mormon and a few others of indeterminate affiliation – I found one site I liked and even though a lot of the clothes scared me, the bathing suits were worth a try.  It was insanely fun to get back in the pool.  I did not go to canon law camp this summer, but there’s always “next year in Jerusalem.”

I had also not intended to mention my background for starters either.  But for the record, my father was born into a big Orthodox Jewish family in Hungary, and he married a nice Irish/English Catholic lady:  my mom.  That makes me a Gentile.  Having abandoned their respective traditions early in life, my parents had no interest in organized religion, except that some religions, Catholicism in particular, produced high art, great literature, beautiful music, and that’s what I grew up with.  However, in his own way, my father taught me much of what I later identified as part of basic Judaism, even if he had not given it a name.  Not that I was a star pupil, but he quietly insisted on things like kindness, fairness, love being shown more by deeds than words, sensitivity toward the poor and afflicted, respect for parents, respect for learning, the ineffably sacred Name of the Almighty.  

Over the years I’ve earned plenty of failing grades in those subjects and more.

My parents gave me a ridiculous amount of freedom.  I did not always use it well.  But part of that freedom was freedom from high school, though unlike other “dropouts” I did not spend my teens hanging out with the stoners in 1970s Marin County.  Spared the anxieties typical of many a daughter of an immigrant, I studied quite intensively but at my leisure, drifting through libraries and bookstores, largely unconcerned about “my future.”  I would meet with friends (some of whom also skipped high school and eventually turned out o.k.) somewhere in San Francisco’s North Beach or Mission District to explore hole-in-the-wall restaurants, where the waiters only spoke Cantonese or the menu was in Arabic or Spanish, to talk about movies and books, politics and ideas, frequently gossiping about people we knew.  We stayed out of trouble – serious trouble – for the most part.  With such liberty, and such a keen interest in everything, it does not now surprise me that one day at the San Rafael Public Library a book called The Wisdom of Catholicism literally fell on me.

Come to think of it, things have not changed much.  There are a few new friends, and the restaurants are different.  The people we sometimes gossip about (ahem…express our concern for…) are a bit different, e.g. some are clerics.  Though not as often, we still roam through libraries and bookstores, plus churches and museums and cafés.  In addition to books and politics, we also talk about Catholic stuff, liturgy, theology.  But when the conversation gets around to Origen I bail out.  That’s my cue.  Il conto, prego… 

I am neither revolutionary nor traditionalist, merely Catholic, and not always a very good one.  It’s an honor to be included among Father Christopher’s bloggerini, even if the qualifications require us to be “fun, stylish and faithful.”  Father Christopher, with typical generosity, expressed his gratitude for the blessing of his many friends, people he thinks of as “amazing” or “extraordinary,” and some of whom are contributors here.  While I too am blessed to know Father Christopher, what I’d like to remind him is this:  I am a relentlessly ordinary person, who so far has had a life that has been somewhat out of the ordinary.  Unlike most of the other contributors, I am not a writer.  That should be obvious by now.  However, it’s possible I might be able to tackle the occasional topic in canon law or related issues in this forum, perhaps in tandem with Father James DeViese, even if I’ve discovered that canon law and blogs can be a bad mix.  And speaking of grannies, I think I’m also the oldest of this group (really stretching that “young adult Catholic” demographic) and though I try to be faithful and even fun once in a while, I have no claims to style.  Exhibit A:  the bathing suit.