I have officiated more than 250 weddings over 40 some years. But only one in front of six Supreme Court justices. It was at the historic St. John’s Episcopal Church in Virginia, 1991.
(Clarence Thomas wasn’t there. His contentious confirmation hearing had just ended.)
The justices were there because the bride’s father was a beloved and long time clerk at the Supreme Court. I was there because the bride was a parishioner of the Shepherdstown Presbyterian Church. She invited me to co-officiate with the rector of her childhood church.
(Have stole. Will travel.)
I went. I saw. I felt out of place.
I mean, look, the rehearsal dinner was at the Chevy Chase Club where a strict dress code is enforced. Luckily, the doorman let me in anyway.
In the church I wore a white alb, just like the rector. I felt at ease.
(No one looks uncouth in a white alb.)
The wedding reception was at a mansion near Dupont Circle in Washington, DC. Paula and I worked our way timidly around the parquet floor nodding to bejeweled and swankily dressed guests.
And then I saw Justice Antonin Scalia approaching.
Nice service, Father. I really enjoyed your remarks, he said.
Thank you.
(The Clarence Thomas hearing cried out, but I bit my tongue.)
So, what do you think of the new “designated hitter” rule in the American League? I asked.
(I knew he loved baseball.)
I hate it—and astroturf too!
We talked baseball for a while and then his wife joined us. She chatted with Paula and me and then asked, Where are you from?
West Virginia.
(You could hear her brain spinning.)
Oh, yes. West Virginia. I understand that Governor Caperton is the MOST cultured person in your state.
(I couldn’t let that stand.)
Actually, he’s not. He has a house on my road outside Shepherdstown, and he’s not even the most cultured person on that road.
(Befuddlement.)
Really? Who is?
My neighbor Phil Bufithis, professor of English at Shepherd College.
Really? I don’t know him. Do I?
No.
Our chat ended.
As they strode away, I thought I heard her say: Who knew, Nino? Who knew there are TWO cultured persons in West Virginia?
No one sang “Country Roads” at that reception. But it was on our minds all the way home—over country roads, to the place where we belong.
Mountain mama.
Take.
Me.
Home.
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