Multi-Faith Ceremonies

How do you celebrate your union when you don't share the same religion? Three couples mixed his and hers to come up with ceremonies that were distinctly their own.

• By Sarah Bernard
• Published 2002

Jewish & Catholic
Marc Bergen knew he wanted to propose to Laurie a month after they met. But actually doing it took seven months of preparation. "Laurie is very musical," he says, "but I'm not musical at all." Four times a week, he took voice lessons with Gina, the chorus teacher at the Long Island middle school where he taught math, so he could pop the question by singing "Forever I Do" at their favorite restaurant. Laurie cried — as did just about everyone else.

But the work wasn't over: Getting engaged the hard way was effortless compared with the Bergens' next hurdle — finding someone to officiate at their interfaith wedding. Marc is Jewish and Laurie is a divorced Catholic. "I knew being married in a church was going to be out," says Laurie, "but we wanted to get a priest and a rabbi to marry us together." The Catholic priests they approached wouldn't perform a second wedding. Rabbis rejected them because Giorgio's, the restaurant they'd had their hearts set on, only had a Friday night — the Sabbath — available.

It is a problem many couples of different faiths experience when they try to plan a ceremony that incorporates both of their denominations. But a secular ceremony is not the only alterative. In Marc and Laurie's case, it was Marc's mom who found a solution when she came across an article about Reverend MarciaGrace Tropin, an interfaith minister for the past seven years (www.interfaithservices.com). "We see beyond the small things that make up the differences: skin color, sexual preference, religious beliefs," says Tropin. "We see beyond that to the heart of a person."

The Bergens worked with Tropin to construct a ceremony that would acknowledge both their faiths. At the wedding, each one's parents walked them down the aisle, a Jewish tradition. "My dad thought it was kind of strange," confesses Laurie, "but he went with the flow." There was no huppah, but no mention of Jesus either. They had two readings, one from 1 Corinthians and a second of a Native American wedding chant. They lit a unity candle, a practice from Christian weddings, and ended by breaking a glass, a Jewish custom. During the reception, friends took over the dance floor and raised each member of both families up on chairs, as is customary in Jewish receptions. "I actually think my parents liked that more than Marc's did," says Laurie. "My mom was the one high-fiving people!"

Catholic & Muslim
When Ramon Munoz and Safia Fatimi were planning their September wedding, "I basically told her everything was up to her," says Ramon, "except for who was going to marry us." Safia's father is a Muslim from Pakistan; her mother is a Hindu from India. Ramon grew up in a Dominican Catholic family in Washington Heights, although these days, his idea of religion is closer to a mantra he learned in yoga class — truth is one, paths are many. Last summer, Ramon and Safia were convinced they'd never find someone who could accurately represent their spiritual ideas. But Safia was determined to find a way. "It has a lot to do with who I am, who my parents are. I prayed every night when I was little, and I still do that." At the last minute, through Safia's little sister, they met Renwick Jackson, a Presbyterian minister who performs interfaith marriages (631-286-7955). "I see all religions as having value and contributions to make," says Jackson. "The traditional view that Christianity is the only true religion — well, I departed from that some time ago."

For their ceremony, Safia wore a red sari and later a champagne-colored lehenga; Ramon wore a suit. The multicultural theme even carried into the reception, where guests danced to both bhangra music and merengue. "It was really very interesting," recalls Jackson. "Ramon didn't want the word God used. To appreciate the integrity of his own quest, I used phrases like the ground of our being, and that seemed to be okay with him. Paul Tillich, the great twentieth-century theologian, used that phrase often." The couple lit a unity candle but kept the ceremony short. "My husband has a lot of Muslim relatives," says Khem, Safia's mom. "Some are fanatical about their religion. But that day, a lot of people were in tears. It was done in a very sensitive way. I think it opened their minds a bit." Ramon agrees. "I remember looking out at the audience at one point — the Catholics, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists," he says, "and I thought, This is so cool."

Methodist & Jewish
Once Mark Wilder, a Methodist, and Corrie Wilder, a self-described "practicing Reform Jew," felt their relationship heading toward marriage, the religion conversations began. "We assumed we'd have a rabbi and a minister. We thought we wouldn't be representing who we really were if we didn't have both," says Corrie.

After a few phone calls to unenthusiastic rabbis, they looked on the Internet and, at www.lovingheartsceremonies.com, they found Rabbi Roger Ross, associate rabbi of the New Synagogue, and his wife, Reverend Deborah Steen Ross. "We told our families not only are we going to find somebody to do this," says Mark, "but they're married to each other! It sounded like the beginning of a joke."

The Rosses have overseen many interfaith pairings, from Buddhist-Jewish to Hindu-Muslim. Not all the couples were particularly religious. "People who don't go to synagogue or church still seem to want a ceremony that means something to them and to their roots," says Deborah. "Marriage is a sacrament no matter how you look at it — and I don't mean that in a holy way; I mean something that is very special. People want God to be a part of that sacrament."

When the four of them met at the Rosses' Upper West Side apartment, it was clear to Mark that Ross — the rabbi, not the minister — had a lot in common with him in terms of their views on religion. "He was saying what I was saying," says Mark. "Why are we making so much of the differences?"

Using the Rosses' extensive library of ceremonies they'd performed, Corrie and Mark set about creating their own. Since Mark is half-Irish, they chose a Celtic tradition called "wrapping of the hands," in which the couple's hands are joined, then wrapped with a satin sash as a prayer is recited. They also chose to light a unity candle and include a reading from 1 Corinthians, as well as to follow the Jewish customs of saying Kiddush, a blessing over wine, and breaking a glass. "We signed the ketubah" — a Jewish wedding contract — "which was all in English except for a small portion in Hebrew, which neither one of us can understand," says Corrie.

"Neither one of our faiths was more important than the other," she notes. "And I think that was very apparent. One Jewish girl we know who's dating a non-Jewish boy said, 'This is like a template!' That made me happy. We went out of our way to show people not only is it not scary," she says, "it's exciting."