The Union of Your Spirits

{Prompt: What was your wedding like?}

The Beginning

The best part of my wedding was in its beginning.

I’m not kidding when I say that.

Of course, there was relief that the ceremony had begun, after weeks of planning.

And I was encouraged that our union would really take place, after sitting with my brother in the back of the church… isolated from the wedding party… waiting for the seats to fill.

But the beginning of our wedding was also a beautiful experience. I saw Dianne walking down the aisle, towards the altar (and me), with a radiant smile. She looked unbelievable to me, in a lovely, lacy white wedding dress that nearly matched the glow of happiness in her face.

Everything after that moment… the processional… the ceremony… the reception… pales by comparison.

The beginning of the wedding also featured two pieces of beautiful music — two pieces that we had not only requested, but insisted upon.

One piece was “The Wedding Song” (There is Love) by Noel Paul Stookey (a member of the band Peter, Paul, and Mary). The lyrics made reference to Matthew 18:20, a verse that I knew well from my inculcation in the Methodist church.

Here is a portion:

“The union of your spirits here has caused Him to remain; For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name… There is love….”

That song was played before the processional began — a beautiful mixture of Stookey’s resonant voice and layered arpeggios on guitar. I felt the tingle of goose bumps listening to the music and the lyrics — a blessing on our union, me and Dianne.

The Wedding Song

The other song was Schubert’s Ave Maria — a traditional and religious song set to a classical melody. This piece was sung from the balcony by Dianne’s brother, Maurice, while we waited together at the front of the church. It was a prelude to the wedding sacrament. I feel sure that Dianne was as moved by her brother’s falsetto voice, singing the Ave Maria, as I was moved by The Wedding Song, before.

Those two ethereal songs, Dianne’s angelic walk down the aisle, and our reunion at the altar are priceless memories.

I should stop here. I really should.

But then you would never understand my dealings with the Greek mafia, my camaraderie with the belly dancer, or my loathing of Bette Midler.

The Greek Orthodox Church

When I first met Father George Rados, I thought he might be a part of the Greek or Middle Eastern mafia. He wore a big pair of partially shaded glasses, a big gold cross on his chest, and a clerical collar. His mouth said, “Nice to meet you”, but his eyes said, “Don’t get too comfortable.””

We met with Father George to discuss our plans for marriage, and, as it turns out, my plans to join the Greek Orthodox Church! We met with Father George at the Saints Peter and Paul Antiochian Orthodox Church — the church for Dianne and her family. According to Father George (…and who was I to contradict him), there could be no wedding of a Greek Orthodox woman to a Protestant man.

For a moment, I thought that the wedding was off.

But Father George graciously offered a practical solution. I would simply have to join the Greek Orthodox church, pledging my allegiance.

Father George with Steve & Dianne Gallup

Back in 1991, I had been busy studying medicine and public health, and I was not particularly well acquainted with the history of the Greek Orthodox Church. I knew practically nothing about “her mystical vision of God and His Kingdom… the beauty of her worship… the purity of her Christian faith, and… her continuity with the past.” I was woefully uninformed about the “Great Schism” or the subtleties of Orthodox worship.*

Fortunately, Father George gave us both a primer on the tenets of the faith — one of the oldest denominations of Christianity on Earth. For those of you who are less familiar, the service is composed of long passages of Divine Liturgy, Litany, and Sacraments. There is Communion at every service. I learned later that the part in which the congregation typically responds, “Lord, have mercy,” or “Grant this, O Lord,” is called the Litany. It is a petition for divine intervention.

The Greek Orthodox service can be a comforting ritual. The services are always sung or chanted, often in a language other than English, according to the needs of the congregation. According to a church website, “Although Orthodox Services can very often be elaborate, solemn, and lengthy, they express a deep and pervasive sense of joy.” I had seen this for myself on a few occasions, before our meeting with Father George.

The Ceremony

With our religious affiliations sorted out, we scheduled our wedding to be held at Saint Katherines Greek Orthodox Church, in Falls Church, Virginia. I had never been there before, but when I saw it, I was happily surprised. As Saint Katherine’s website itself says, “The rich color, distinctive iconography and beauty of the interior of an Orthodox Church generally are in sharp contrast to the simplicity which one finds in many… Protestant churches.”

Humor me a moment, as I describe it for you.

As you walk into the nave, your eyes are instinctively drawn to look up at the circular dome, with its muted painting of Jesus, surrounded by an array of stained glass windows, light shining in all directions, illuminating an outer circle of saints and apostles. These heavenly beings are further encircled by finely painted scenes from the life of Jesus, which in turn are lit from below by dozens of panels of stained glass where the dome meets the ceiling.

St. Katharine’s Greek Orthodox Church

Below the dome are the church nave and the Altar. The church nave holds wooden pews for the congregation; and the church altar holds the Iconostasion, an ornate wooden screen decorated with a panel of icons. The Iconostasion separates the altar from the sanctuary, where the processional cross and the censer are kept, until needed for the service.

During a normal service, when the priests and the acolytes enter, and when they leave, they make their way through the congregation with the censer swinging puffs of incense from side to side, while the priest issues blessings upon the faithful.

In our wedding, the usual procession of priests and acolytes, at the beginning, was replaced by a procession of mothers and fathers, bride’s maids and ushers, and finally (and best of all), by the bride herself.

After “The Wedding Song” and the Ave Maria, the service began in earnest.

And it went on… for quite a while.

The vows were taken care of right off the bat, but they weren’t the kind of vows you see in a soap opera wedding. We never actually said, “I do”, and I don’t think we were addressing each other, or looking deep into each other’s eyes. The vows were promises to God and the Church, addressed to Father George and the congregation, and the response each time was, “I will”, or “We will”. It was just a little disappointing.

That was just the beginning.

There was an exchange of rings, which went by in a flash, and then Father George told us with a wink, “Now we go for a little walk.”

From the altar table he took a pair of crowns, attached one to the other by a band of gilded ribbon. He put them over our heads, and he said some religious words, swapping them back and forth, like a magician with some golden hoops, about to perform a magic trick.

Then he placed them on our heads — a crown of gold, precariously perched on each of our brows. And then the five of us (Father George, Me and Dianne, the bride’s maid, Kelly, and my best man, Mike) went for a “little walk” around the middle of the altar, circling once or twice or three times… Dianne and I balancing our crowns… and holding candles… before that portion of the ritual concluded.

(Placement of the “Stefana” (crowns) during the ceremony)

The service wasn’t nearly finished.

We also performed a sacrament of communion, sharing a common cup, before the service was completed.

And then came the photo session.

Planning the Wedding

If you ever plan a wedding, give yourself some down time before the photo session. Even five minutes would be enough.

Our photo session was held right after our wedding service, and by then I had already been on an emotional roller coaster.

I had locked my keys in my car. I had been sitting in isolation near the church’s rear entrance. I had been elated by the processional, and deflated by the (unfamiliar) vows. I had exchanged rings, circled the altar in a golden crown, and completed my first Greek Orthodox communion. Now I was expected to smile for about a hundred photographs.

Of course, I was happy to oblige, and I was happy to be married, but I was ready for a break, and there were a lot of photos to smile for.

Photos with each member of the wedding party. Photos with each parent’s family, and extended family. Photos with everybody.

Let me fill you in.

Our wedding party included five bridesmaids and five ushers. Most of them were friends or family of the bride. My brother — my best man — was the sole exception. Dianne had three female cousins, her sister, and her best friend for bridesmaids; and she had an uncle, male cousin, brother, and college friend for ushers. Another cousin was the flower girl.

Dianne has a lot of relatives.

And they were all invited.

We knew going into the planning of the wedding that they must all be invited. This was the first wedding in the Shihadi family. And it was the time that her father’s generosity (at other weddings) would finally be rewarded.

We were certainly able to include our own friends and family as guests, but there was never any question that the ceremony would take place in DC. And everyone known to Dianne’s parents would be invited. It was a concession. But it was well worth it.

In most respects, our wedding plans were unimpeded. Dianne could choose her own wedding dress. We could choose the bakery for our wedding cake. We could choose the outfits for the wedding party. We could choose the flowers and table decorations. We could choose the photographer and videographer. We could choose our DJ (more on him later). And we could choose the invitations themselves. If anything, there were too many choices to be made. (It was almost as bad as all the choices we had to make for our home addition, years later, when we even had to decide where to put the light switches.)

Our Wedding Invitation

The first thing we did, was open a bank account. Mr. Shihadi “helped” us set it up. We all went to the strip mall together to sign the paperwork.

“Why do we need another bank account?” I asked Dianne. (We each had separate accounts already.)

“Because these are Arabs,” she whispered back. “They’re going to be giving us money!”

That’s about the time when Dianne began giving me a tutorial on Arabic custom and her relations. She tutored me on the names of her aunts and uncles, cousins, and their spouses. She taught me how they would say “Congratulations” (“Mabruk”), and how I should say “Thank You” (“Shukran”).

So when we entered the Knights of Columbus dining hall in Arlington, Virginia, for our reception, there was a nice big decorated gift box at the entrance, with a slot at the top for monetary gifts. (Those gifts paid for our French Renaissance style bedroom suite, including the tripartite mirror, which we later purchased from the Furnitureland showroom in High Point, North Carolina.)

I said “Shukran” repeatedly, leaning over to kiss each aunt and female cousin on their cheek, and I did my best to greet them by name, as they filed into the hall for the celebration.

The Reception

There were dozens of tables in the reception hall. Almost all of them were filled with Arabic friends and family. One or two tables contained the extended Gallup family, such as it was. And one or two tables contained a contingent of friends from Chapel Hill (where we were living at the time) and elsewhere.

We sat down for dinner at a table at the front of the room, for a few moments of relative comfort. But the respite was very brief. A performative kiss was given each time the audience started to ding their wine glasses.

And there was a big surprise.

What we didn’t know was that Dianne’s father had hired a belly dancer to perform at the reception. What he didn’t know was that she was a blond-haired American — not an Arabic dancer as he had assumed. We were both embarrassed — I by the unexpected, sensuously gyrating dancer, and Mr. Shihadi by her unexpected ethnicity.

But the belly dancer was an unabashed and sensational performer. She started to dance for the entire hall, showing enough grace and skill to convince anyone that she was legit, Arabic or not.

Then she came up to the wedding party table to give a personal dance for the groom! I wanted to crawl under a rug. But there was no way to hide.

I would have preferred to be anywhere else, but I got up the gumption to get on my feet and give my finest imitation of an Arabic man dancing with a belly dancer, as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. It must have been hysterical.

Dianne and I with our belly dancer.

When she was done with her dance with me, the belly dancer was encouraged to dance with Mr. Shihadi, the instigator of this whole charade. So Mr. Shihadi got up, with her persuasion, and he did a little Arabic shuffle across the dance floor.

Mr. Shihadi and the belly dancer at our wedding reception.

I didn’t enjoy it at the time, but in a way, I was happy to have that belly dancer at our wedding. It made our wedding impossible to forget. That’s for sure. But it also made me feel a little bit less like a fish out of water. In a way, we were both trying to fit into the Arabic culture. She was embracing an Arabic dance, and I was embracing an extended family of Arab descent.

After the belly dancer left the reception, we finished our dinner, and we visited each table of wedding guests, one by one. Then we sliced our cake and served dessert. Then the Arabic band played some music for the traditional Palestinian dance; the Debka… three steps to the right, turn, hop, skip, repeat.

When the Arabic band and the dinner were done, our DJ took over the festivities, starting with a dance for the bride and groom. We danced to the song “Beautiful” by Gordon Lightfoot.

Then there was a Mother-Son and Father-Daughter dance, which we did to Shower the People, by James Taylor.

Then there was an insane mixture of music ranging from songs we requested to the Chicken Dance and the Electric Slide. Lots of semi-inebriated celebrants took to the floor.

Every now and then a ballad would be played, allowing for folks to slow down and catch their breath. The Wind Beneath My Wings came on and we joined the crowd to slow dance around the dance floor.

Then, a little bit later, it came on again. I thought, “That’s strange. Why is he playing it again?”.

Then it came on again… and again… and again. It seemed like it was the default tune for any pause in the rotation of songs.

I started to cringe each time the song began: “It must have been cold there in my shadow…” I started to hate the DJ, and Bette Midler, with each refrain of “Did you ever know that you’re my hero…”

I’ll never know what possessed the DJ to play Bette Midler over and over again. I mean, after all, it’s about a woman that dies when she’s still young. It’s maudlin. It’s saccharine. It was just too much.

If you ever have a wedding or an event with recorded music or a master of ceremonies, choose your DJ like your life depends upon it. They can either make the party swing, or they can make it a real drag. Maybe we should have stuck with the Arabic folk music instead.

At the end of the night, the music came to an end, we said our goodbyes; we got into our white Acura Integra, decorated by a white water-soluble marker — “Just Married” — and we headed to a hotel suite for our first night of wedded bliss.

The bliss was getting a full night of sleep, and then getting to sleep in late. We got some rest and recovery before we headed out of town for the rest of our Honeymoon.

A Union of Spirits

Our wedding was literally a wedding of cultures, equally influenced by American traditions and Palestinian customs. We had heartfelt folk music by Noel Paul Stookey, rapturous classical music by Schubert, and the Byzantine chant of the Greek Orthodox Church.

We had ululation, affirmation, undulation, and celebration— Palestinian expressions of joy… Greek Orthodox vows of commitment… gyrations of Arabic dance… and the festivities of a marital union.

A wedding is heavily planned and choreographed, fraught with anxiety and emotion. It can seem like the longest day of your life, but when thoughtfully done, there are moments that resonate with each of the participants. There is something for everyone.

In the words of my favorite song, “…whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name, there is love.”

…there is Love.

Dianne and her father - June 23, 1991.

Footnotes:

*“While Christianity in the West developed in lands which knew the legal and moral philosophy of Ancient Rome, Eastern Christianity developed in lands which knew the Semitic and Hellenistic cultures. While the West was concerned with the Passion of Christ and the sin of man, the East emphasized the Resurrection of Christ and the deification of man. While the West leaned toward a legalistic view of religion, the East espoused a more mystical theology. Since the Early Church was not monolithic, the two great traditions existed together for more than a thousand years until the Great Schism divided the Church. Today, Roman Catholics and Protestants are heirs to the Western tradition, and the Orthodox are heirs to the Eastern tradition.”

*https://www.saint-katherines.org/about-orthodoxy/