Pie Town - Lynne Hinton [109]
There would be no invitations extended to those known by titles or elected duty. The diocese was informed but not expected. The newspapers were given a public announcement, but nobody in Pie Town wanted to see anybody other than those who had actually participated in the church’s creation and completion. In fact, the only famous person in attendance was the owner of a restaurant in Santa Fe, Cowgirl BBQ, who was asked to be the guest judge of the town’s first annual pie contest, a main attraction event to be held at the festival following the service.
When the day came, all of the townspeople, arriving in procession, forming a line of hope and community, agreed that it was a perfect day for a wedding and baptism. Clear sky, warm air, the smell of lavender lightly drifting with the breeze, the desert ground coming alive with blooming willows, black-eyed Susans, and full golden bushes of Chiamisa, family and friends reciting prayers, laughing and eating and dancing and embracing the goodness, the bounty of life, it was all that was needed for a day of celebration and blessedness.
Father George was in particularly good spirits, donning a floral shirt and white linen pants, his boots replaced by a pair of teal hiking sandals. He made sure the windows were open during the service and spoke of the land upon which they stood, the land of dreams of homesteaders, and the generosity of the indigenous people, those who arrived there first. He spoke a prayer in Navajo, read scripture in Spanish, and quoted a poem by Emily Dickinson.
He asked Roger and Malene to speak from their hearts of their love, and everyone cheered when they said they had never really stopped loving each other and this was more a reunion than a wedding. And everyone wept when they called out the name of their beloved, dearly departed Alex, who had brought them back together and brought them back to love. They made their promises to each other to love and respect, to honor and cherish, and then they made their promises to Trina and her baby girl, naming their dreams for a child so full of hope, who had come at a time of such great need for them and the others. They vowed their love to each other and to the God who had walked with them through the dark valley, holding their hands and pulling them back to each other. And after they had said all that they wanted to say, Father George placed rings on their fingers and pronounced them husband and wife.
Then he called the people to the front of the church and filled a baptism font with cool water collected from spring rains by all those gathered and brought to the service in pitchers, plastic cups, and glass jars. He said a prayer over the water, thanking God for that gift of life in which they found refreshment, and he baptized little Alexandria Georgia in the name of love and with the hopes and prayers of the whole town. With the sacrament completed, he walked down the aisle, holding the baby in his arms, while grandmothers and children, old men and teenagers, reached out to touch her fingers and tenderly lay their hands upon her head. He brought her back to Trina and then stood, raised his hands, and blessed them all.
“Let us go forth, people of God. Let us go forth in joy, in the delight of spring and the bounty of love. Let us go forth and be good to the earth and to one another. Let us bless this union with prayer and encouragement. Let us bless this child with protection and community. Let us bless this place with our honesty and our eagerness to reach out. And let us bless this town with our willingness to welcome all.
“For, like all towns, we are a gathering of weak and strong, male and female, young and old, frail and robust. We are different, choosing to pray in many voices to a God with many names, choosing to sing many songs, dance many dances, and yet we are the same. We try and we fail and sometimes we succeed, and we cheer