How to prevent divorces

Image from City With No Divorce

I attended a wedding ceremony today at St Xavier’s Church near Kottayam in Kerala (India). What I liked most was the homily which was based on the fact that a particular town in Bosnia-Herzegovina has no divorces. I checked it out with the help of Google and got this: City With No Divorce. “Siroki Brijeg is a rural town of 30,000 inhabitants… The city has suffered centuries of war and famine, cultural and political strife. Yet, not one single divorce has been recorded.”

The secret is the cross. Of Jesus. The homily said.

The wedding ceremony in Siroki Brijeg has an additional ritual: the couple are made to choose a cross on which they pledge to be faithful to each other till the end. ‘Marriage Crucifix’ is the name given to the tradition. It’s not just a wedding ritual; it’s meant for the entire married life. The cross on which they pledge is taken home as a holy icon to be looked at every day!

What the ritual means is this: you are not marrying the best partner in the world. Don’t expect your partner to be any ideal. He/she is as imperfect as you are. She/he is going to be your cross. Accept it. Accept the cross. There is no other way if you want to make this journey together to its possible end.

I liked the homily. It kept me engrossed till the end and beyond.

Yes, we are all limited individuals. With too many shortcomings and imperfections. Loathsome, quite often. How will any individual tolerate all that nonsense of yours for years and years 24x7? There will be disagreements. There will be fights. There will be bouts of depression. You might even want to murder the other!

Yes, living with another individual is tough. It is a crucifixion.

But it is a lot more than crucifixion. That is where I disagree with the homily.

I have completed nearly three decades of married life. I have never thought of my married life as any crucifixion. On the contrary, Maggie was my best friend all through.

Friendship. That is what marriage should be.

Friends don’t impose themselves on each other. They understand each other. They accept each other. They renew each other.

Maggie is a devout Catholic and I am an apostate Catholic. I don’t go to church on Sundays but I drive Maggie to the parish church on any Sunday that she asks me to – the church is just walking distance, but when it rains she prefers to have a ride. What matters is that I don’t question why she goes to church and she doesn’t question why I don’t. We accept each other’s differences. She has every right to practise her religion as much as I have every right to practise my scepticism.

Maggie believes that grammar plays a vital role in the learning of a language and I don’t give two hoots to teaching grammar. We are both language teachers. We both teach English. In the same school. And we are both doing fine there. She checks her students’ grammar and I tell my students to wield the language more stylishly. Maggie is right and I am right too. We have our own teaching methods and strategies which are different but are effective in their own ways. The classroom requires that diversity. The nation requires it too.

The couple requires it all the more!

YOU ARE YOU AND I AM I.

You are not here to live up to my expectations. Nor am I here to live up to your expectations. [Heard of Fritz Perls?]

Maggie knows too well how I decimated my life trying to live up to somebody’s expectations in Shillong. My youth. Silly. That’s what I was. That’s what most of us are if we dare to admit it.

You are you and I am I. Let me borrow this homily from Frits Perls. Be yourself. And let me be myself.

Maggie agreed. So sweet of her. To this day. We are a wonderful couple. Claps, please.

Thank you.

When I failed to be myself, when I pretended to be somebody else, when I thought my mask was the real me, Maggie chose to remain as my good friend. Instead of asking for divorce. Even when I suggested divorce as the only solution. That was long ago. In the initial years of our marriage. When we were still grappling with our mutual differences and my idiosyncrasies on top of those differences. Add my masks too. Must have been a crucifixion for Maggie.

The society of Shillong didn’t help in any way. The Catholic Church was worse. [The Church loves crucifixions!] When you are down and out, you don’t usually find friends around. I did. My wife was my friend. The only one. She has remained my best friend until today. She will be so until the time’s winged chariot will carry me - like the end of a sour joke perhaps, but inevitably.

And I am her best friend. In spite of myself. In spite of my lingering idiosyncrasy.

Not a crucifixion, however. No, Maggie and I won’t ever think of our life together as some crucifixion. Let the town in Bosnia-Herzegovina go on with their wedding ritual. What suits them need not suit others.

The homily-preacher used a word that I liked, however. You are marrying a cross. Embrace that cross. Embrace. That word.

Embracing the cross is quite different from being crucified. If you are interested in knowing more about that, tell me. I will write the next post on that. [This is getting too long.]