Thoughts On Divorce

From an Irish Interfaith Minister

A lovely wedding that I presided over this last year. My ministry has been such a priviledge and blessing.

A anam cháirde – dear soul friends,

Welcome to my Substack and thank you so much for supporting me in this venture together.

This is the time we have been waiting for when your generosity meets my soul work which is around ministry to your soul and ministry to the good of the earth and all of its inhabitants, human, animal and the world of nature in all its myriads of beauty and inspiration.

Recently, my mind has been pre-occupied with separation and its often ultimate destination of divorce. A primary motivation to embrace the world of spiritual ministry was to fill the glaring gap of a rite of passage or ritual for people who find themselves locked in the house of scarúint’ (pro. ska ROO int – separation in Irish)/ Here follows a first sharing and initial conversation between me, you and a third listening ear which I call Spirit or neart (pro. ny-ARTH, capitals denoting emphasis in Irish).

To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”

— Mary Oliver

These days, humanity is living longer. Research, books, media interest in longevity – the art of living a long life – abound. The findings highlight two main issues; heredity and lifestyle. The first is that what we inherit from our parents and ancestors is beyond our control. The second, our way of life, is, for most of us, our own choosing. Yet, however our inheritance, our genes and our daily life pans out, the bottom line is that, since our length of days is expanding, so too are our relationship durations. Maintaining and nurturing a marriage of sixty years, or until death is the final separation, where both partners age in tandem, is challenging. Wonderful and precious if it transpires - and it often does for many.

In the void between two people in love, a mysterious Spirit intervenes to tie a knot between two pairs of hands. There is an ancient Celtic ritual that enacts this called Handfasting; the four hands at the marriage ritual are momentarily held together by a cord or thread – a symbol of the love and the marriage that is about to be sealed. Sometimes, and in time, this symbolic thread frays and unravels and it becomes no longer fit for providing a durable connection. Four hands become two again and the release cries out for a rite de passage – an undoing of the knot.

Once, as I untied the thread of connection in a parting ceremony, I called on the saying of Dr. Seuss: Don’t cry because it’s over – smile because it happened. Yes, easier said than done. A word now around the words of ‘separation’ and ‘divorce’.

“Till death do us part” is an outdated vow nowadays. As a marriage celebrant, not one couple has ever opted for this clause which first appeared in the British ‘Book of Common Prayer’ by Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury in 1549.

There is an entirely innovative vocabulary nowadays around the apex and essential principal of a marriage ceremony – the exchange of vows. Most couples want to create their own promises to each other; sometimes safeguarding the possibility of closure or collapse, and not as morbid death vow, “I promise to love you as long as our love endures”, or “I vow to love you through the bad and good times” that I hear again and again.

What appears on the outside to be blessed bonds, we know that the silent , secret third party that supplies the glue is the phenomenon of change, and adjustment. Go with the restless flow of the marital seasons; chiselling the union sculpture requires the evenly balanced moulding of both partners.

The first bonding season is Spring love, full of raw excitement, exuberance and new beginnings. Summer love is all about working together, in career, in home-making and, for most couples, through children. Autumnal relationships face the ageing future ahead, shedding the leaves of past encounters and conversations that are now redundant, to make way for the period which is Winterland hibernation. This twilight stretch can be for shared grandparenting and a season to embrace physical frailty along with a supportive and loving respect. A time of taking down memories which will enhance these quiet, slow days. I leave the final word – the focal scor (pro. FUH– quill skur in Irish), to William Butler Years. The classic poetics of longstanding, deep rooted love, he captures in just twelve lines:

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
-W.B Yeats