You want "advice" about marriage? I'm guessing I'm qualified to give it, since I've been married to Ann for more than 28 years.
It staggers me to say that. 28 years. I've lived with Ann longer than I lived with my parents… and, quite obviously, much longer than I ever lived alone. She knows me more intimately than any parent ever would. She knows all my warts. And she still loves me.
Now there's a miracle!
When I got married, I was a mere lad of 25. And Ann was even younger. But I felt all grown up. I thought I was reasonably mature. I had my fancy college degree. I was responsible. I was in seminary, for heaven's sake! In fact, I was so impressed with myself, I was convinced I was wise enough to avoid all, or at least most, of the "mistakes" my parents made in their marriage.
That's what I thought. But what I discovered was actually more like the revelation of historian Thomas Carlyle's wife Jane, who said to her husband a few years after they had married, "I am not at all the person you and I took me for."
This is the first grand insight of marriage: you are both more prideful, stubborn, self-centered, and inconsiderate than you ever imagined. And if you ever vacillate or have any doubt about it, your spouse will be only too happy to explain to you the truth…or at least, the truth about you, if not him- or herself. The fact is, you take your mess along with you when you get married. All the neuroses of the family, all the anxieties, secrets, resentments and feelings of anguish come with you, like it or not… not to mention the ones you cultivate all on your own. They're like the smelly old gym bag your mom keeps throwing out but somehow keeps showing up in your closet. You just can't let it go.
Once the truth dawns, what then? Well, you have three choices:
You can opt out. Lots of folks do. Most divorces happen within the first seven years of a marriage. People think, "This is too hard. I'm too crazy, you're definitely too crazy, so I'm outta here!"
You can stay, refuse to change, and be miserable. Some folks do take this option, to save face, or "for the sake of the kids".
Or you can grow up… together… at last.
But it must be done together. When one spouse wants to change and the other refuses, it's a very sad thing and no good can come of it. It can only be done together. In fact, this is precisely why you have one another, it's the reason marriage exists, the deepest, truest reason. You are to be the instrument of one another's transformation, a transformation into a person more loving, more honest, more open, more wise, more whole than you are now. This is the work of love. Because you have made this covenant together, it is your work now, the work of a lifetime.
And it is hard work. You have to fight against all the bad habits of the past, all the unkind words and inconsiderate gestures. You have to change behaviors you were hardly aware of. You have to confront yourself. You have to find the courage to enter into and look upon forbidden psychic and spiritual landscapes where signs warning "Don't go there!" are posted, with your eyes wide open. And you have to place your mind and heart in the mind and heart of the other, not only as a way of offering empathy and compassion, but also so you might understand how best to challenge the other, confront the petty cruelties and unkindnesses, the denials and self-delusions we are all guilty of, so that he or she may hear you. It is work that requires a tender heart and a very tough mind.
The Russian philosopher Nikolai Berdyaev once pointed out you cannot love in general. You can only love someone, and it can only be done "in minute particular." In other words, the little things matter. The greetings in the morning, the tone of voice, the gentleness, the touch of the hand: they matter. So does doing the laundry, making dinner, cleaning the house, lending a hand. Listening matters, and so does talking, honestly, openly, kindly… though listening matters more. You cannot remain obsessed with your interests, your wants, your needs, or assume they are identical to those of your spouse, and expect love to do its work. It won't. That's why you need so much to listen: to know the difference.
And while marriage is a cooperative venture, you cannot expect it to be "50-50" all the time. There will inevitably be times when one or the other of you will carry most of the load. Grief, depression, disability, illness and addiction can afflict any marriage. Inevitably, one or more of them will afflict yours. This is when your vows really begin to matter. The traditional vows pledge fidelity "for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health" until you are parted by death. I expect you promised something similar. So when your beloved loses a parent and is lost in grief for months on end, you open your heart. It does not matter how painful it is or how lonely it makes you feel. When he is sucked down into the vortex of dementia, you open your heart. When she is facing breast cancer and possible disfigurement, you open your heart. You must expect it to be painful… but take courage: God will help you, because it is the work you have covenanted to do. It is how love is made real in a world of flesh and blood. It is how it is lived. The reason St. Paul compared marriage to the union of Christ and his Church is because husband and wife are called to be Christ to one another, to incarnate him by offering a deep, sacrificial love to each other.
If you are both true to this calling, in heart, mind, and action, however imperfectly, something mysterious begins to happen, something that truly is miraculous. The rough edges begin to wear smooth. Somehow that smelly old gym bag doesn't keep showing up in the closet the way it used to. You find yourself growing gentler, more compassionate, more hopeful, more at ease with yourself in the world, and more capable of courage. Both of you, together.
The Canadian writer Robertson Davies wrote a wonderful novel called The Lyre of Orpheus, much of which is spent contemplating how men and women love one another (or don't) and how their relationships fit into the grand scheme of things. At one point, the protagonist, the Rev. Simon Darcourt, turns to his psychiatrist friend and says, "Marriage isn't just domesticity, or the continuance of the race, or institutionalized sex, or a form of property right. And it damned well isn't happiness, as the word is generally used. I think it's a way of finding your soul." As a man married for 28 years, I couldn't agree more. When marriage does its work, it reveals a truer, deeper vision of the persons you were meant to be, and gives you the strength to live into that vision.
Of course, it is always a work in progress. And there is much stumbling and fumbling along the way. You will hurt one another… sometimes inadvertently; sometimes, sad to say, on purpose. It can't be helped, human beings being what they are. But if you are true to the struggle and work to live your vows daily, there will be healing… and, one day, unfathomable blessing, a sense of grace beyond deserving. You'll look back and wonder, how did it happen, that we should come to this place, so bright and beautiful, when all we did was try to love each other? And you'll but barely remember the tears that made it possible.
I promise you.
