Platitudes disturb me. And those given to young ones dressed in their finest, sitting before the most important persons in their life, about to promise their entire lives to one another truly disturb me.

I wonder if it was because I am now a ten year veteran of marriage that I felt so. I wonder if its because I’ve heard too many harrowing stories too recently from friends of the trials of married life. I do know that I sat in that church watching a young friend get married and the priest said something that made me want to walk out: If you live a good life, God will reward you and you will be happy. If you wander and live a not so good life, it will be fraught with worry and hardship.

As I let my eyes wander through the pews, everyone’s pious face seemed so concentrated and the words met with silent approval. Afterward, all through the communion service, I found it so hard to pray. I had to keep eyes closed and head down. I didn’t want to see the piety that allowed a falsehood to walk and breathe and have life. What will this bride and groom think of themselves when they meet upon their first wall – argument – trial – miscarriage – death?

For me it was most vapid because myself and my closest friends have struggled fiercely through marriage lately – and those I don’t know of I am convinced they have also but are silent – and so I think it’s evil {almost} to give platitudes when there is no guarantee – no magic formula – no living well enough that will save them from the crucible that is marriage.

It is partly a personal struggle. My parents ended up divorced, but for years before, the threat of it was a living being in our home. And to ward off that serpent Mom thought that religion would save them. If she was a certain kind of wife or mother or saint, it would all be ok. And it just was not.

The voice of reason against my hormonal rant in the car ride home was, as always, my husband. The point is encouraging the couple, celebrating a joyful day, hearts raised up in love for the other. And in that vein, I do remember that my wedding day was without exaggeration one of the best days of my own life.

My anger is in the masquerade of the Christianity. It is why I can not usually walk into a church right now. I was told the lie too many times. I hate hearing others told the same. I hate knowing that one day they will feel the same wreckage and betrayal I feel now.

When in fact life has taught me that it is the cross that brings about the miraculous – the youth minister who held my hand when no one else did, the husband who was simply there and let my wracking tears fall without comment, the children whose joyous eyes act as support beams to my heart.

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