Water and Whiskey

Avoiding marrying a stranger while we’re on earth

01/11/2018

Mark 1:40-45 A leper came to him and kneeling down begged him and said, "If you wish, you can make me clean." Moved with pity, he stretched out his hand, touched the leper, and said to him, "I do will it. Be made clean." The leprosy left him immediately, and he was made clean. Then, warning him sternly, he dismissed him at once. Then he said to him, "See that you tell no one anything, but go, show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing what Moses prescribed; that will be proof for them." The man went away and began to publicize the whole matter. He spread the report abroad so that it was impossible for Jesus to enter a town openly. He remained outside in deserted places, and people kept coming to him from everywhere.

            I spend several hours every week preparing young couples for marriage. I can’t help but smile as I see how they talk and laugh and gaze at each other through rose-colored glasses. They walk into my office as if they were walking on the clouds, and they are preparing to marry an angel from heaven. Well, part of my job is to bring them back down to earth, and remind them, paraphrasing the country song by Frankie Ballard, “Every time you kiss me it [may not] be like sunshine and whiskey.”

            I use a phrase that sort of grabs their attention and helps them think a little more soberly about the reality of marriage. I suggest to them that “the worst thing that can happen to you on your wedding day is that you marry a stranger; that is, you marry someone you don’t really know very well.” That is, put down the whiskey and drink a little water. Now, my suggestion is not easy to put into practice because when we’re dating and courting someone we try to put our best foot forward; we try to look like the knight in shining armor. It requires, therefore, real humility, honesty and trust to remove the shining armor and let another person see our shortcomings and weaknesses. But on the other hand, how wonderful it would be to look at each other on your wedding day and say: “I know you’re not the knight in shining armor, but I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.” To win that kind of love, we risk rejection, it is hard-fought and it just takes time. In other words, it’s very hard to avoid marrying a stranger; you have to drink a lot more water than whiskey.

            In the gospel today, someone looks at Jesus through rose-colored glasses, and our Lord suggests he drink a little more water and a little less whiskey. Jesus cures a man of leprosy. But then Jesus surprisingly warns him: “See that you tell no one anything but go show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing what Moses prescribed; that will be proof for them.” Why did Jesus not want people to praise him for his powers of miraculous healing? Well, for the same reason I tell engaged couples be careful not to marry a stranger. In other words, Jesus true identity is not as a miracle-worker, but as the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53, who was destined to die an ignominious death on the Cross. As a matter of fact, Jesus’ shyness to strut his superpowers is a biblical motif called “the messianic secret,” especially showcased in the gospel of Mark. Why? Well, because while Jesus wanted people to love him, he didn’t want them to marry a stranger. More water and less whiskey.

             My friends, this lesson of love is not only useful for engaged couples preparing for marriage, but for all of us. Sometimes we think we know people, but we don’t. Each human being is a profound mystery, and never just what meets the eye. Therefore, be careful in categorizing people with labels, like “liberal” or “conservative,” “traditional” or “progressive.” No person created in the image of God is that simple or that shallow. This temptation is especially strong with our own family members. We think, “Well, I know him!” or “I know her!” and we level those comments at others with a critical eye. But we don’t know our family members fully and completely; indeed, we are often a mystery to ourselves. Even St. Paul struggled with self-understanding when he lamented: “What I do, I do not understand. For I do not do what I want, but I do what I hate” (Romans 7:15).

             I believe it will only be after death, and God-willing when we’re finally in heaven, that we’ll know each other well, and know ourselves well. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches this was the case even with St. Peter’s understanding of Jesus. We read: “The true meaning of [Jesus’] kingship is revealed only when he is raised high on the cross.” And further, it adds: “Only after his resurrection will Peter be able to proclaim Jesus’ messianic kingship to the People of God” (Catechism, 440). In other words, maybe only in heaven will we no longer marry a stranger.

Praised be Jesus Christ!