LOVING THE UNLOVELY

Chapter Six:  The Wedding

by Tricia K. Brown

No one complimented his message that morning.  In fact, everyone left the building in quite a hurry, and not a word had been said—not to him, anyway.  A few people shook his hand, nodded their heads, but most simply left, as quickly as their legs could carry them.

G sat on the front pew, alone, listening to their whispers, feeling their stares, as they filed out of the room. 

“A pastor marrying a prostitute!  What do you think about that?” 

“How do you think he got to know her, hmm?  You know, I always wondered about that back entrance to his apartment.”

“What in the world are we going to tell the children? They have seen that, well you know, traipsing about before. Even they know what she is.”

Hos never thought it would be possible, but he was actually comforted by the absence of his parents. He had missed them so much in the years since they had died, but today, he was actually relieved. He could only imagine how difficult it would have been to explain this situation to his mother.

There would be no family at his wedding—no siblings, no aunts or uncles, no cousins, not even any childhood friends. There was no time for formal invitations, and Hos, not completely understanding the urgency, felt as if this couldn’t wait.

“Delayed obedience,” he heard his father’s voice in his head, “is not obedience.” Waiting might lead to a change of heart, a change of mind. It was best to get this done as quickly as possible.

Of course, he realized, that he never even consulted G. He never asked her about the details—the when, the where, the hows that most couples spend weeks, months, even years planning. The announcement had almost been as much of a surprise to her as to the congregation.

If G had any opinion, she never spoke up. If she had anyone she wanted to invite, she never said. In fact, she said very little since the announcement had been made.  She simply sat there, patches of bare thigh peaking through the tears in her net stockings, sticking to the wooden pew as the afternoon sun began to heat the room. She sat there, looking straight ahead, expressionless, as Hos plopped down beside her and called his friend.

As expected, Brother James had laughed at first, until he realized that Hos wasn’t pulling a prank. It was hard to gauge his reaction across the silent telephone line, but Hos could imagine the look on his face. The poor man, fresh out of his own Sunday services, agreed to come to the church, to speak with Hos. When he walked through the open doors and found Hos sitting on the front pew next to G, he seemed in shock.

Hos introduced G. She nodded at Brother James, and Brother James nodded in return. Hos once again gave him the play-by-play of the Lord’s command. Several times, Brother James opened his mouth as if to provide some sort of counsel, as if he were going to give some sage advice, but nothing came out, and he wound up staring at the couple mutely. Eventually, somewhat reluctantly, he agreed to perform the ceremony.

G wore the same outfit she had worn to church that morning and Hos the same suit.  At the last minute, Hos realized that there were no flowers, no bouquet, no decorations of any kind. There would be no photographer, no cake or punch, no gifts or cards. His heart sank. He remembered his mother and sister sitting at the kitchen table, planning her wedding. He remembered their comments. “

“A little girls spends her life dreaming of a wedding.”

There was nothing very dream-worthy about this day.

But, remarkably, there was no shortage of guests.

A half-hour before the ceremony began, church members began filing in the door, taking their normal seats. Then came the rest, the drug addicts, prostitutes, pimps, and just about every other person in the community who had heard the word and couldn’t believe it unless they saw it with their own eyes.

The church was full. Hos had never seen so many people in that little sanctuary before. The pews were filled, and people stood in the back, a few even lurked on the front steps, peering through the open doors.

Sure enough, the local Baptist preacher was marrying the community’s most infamous prostitute.

Hos tried not to think about it too much. He tried to remember how clearly he had heard God’s voice.  He tried to remember that God was in control. And as he stood there, in front of Brother John, with G at his side, he realized that he was whispering to himself.

“Trust, Hos. Trust. Trust. Trust in the Lord.”

Thankfully, Brother John’s tongue was loosened, and, as if by rote, he began the ceremony with a prayer. G never closed her eyes, never bowed her head. She just stood there, staring straight ahead, hands hanging limply at her side.

Mercifully, Brother John kept it short and simple. But as they prepared to repeat the vows and say the “I dos,” he asked the couple to turn and face each other.

“Red lips and fingertips,” he heard a man say, and several snickered.

In that moment, Hos wondered how many men sitting in those very pews had been with this woman, this woman that he was taking for a wife. He almost turned and ran.

Later, he would realize, it was only by God’s grace that he stood there, unmoving as he looked at this broken, damaged, used woman in front of him. Even as he repeated the words, even as he said, “I do.” Hos was questioning what the future was going to bring.

And then, he remembered a lesson he had learned as a child, a lesson his parents had taught him by word and example.

“Love is not an emotion, Hos. Love is a choice.”

Hos gently took G’s hand and placed the thin, golden band on her finger, the band that his mother had worn and his grandmother before her.  He looked into her eyes and repeated his vows out loud, but deep within his heart he made a vow to himself and a vow to God. 

“I choose to love this woman, Lord.  I choose to love G because that is what You have commanded me to do.  I may not feel it, but I choose it. I choose love.  I will love G because You, God, first loved me.”