NOW, FOREVER, NEVER

Every time I visit the St. Louis Cathedral Basilica, I am denied entry, due either to mass or- more often- matrimony. I tiptoe through the opening mosaic hall and view once and over again the golden, glittering acts of the zealous Louis IX, namesake of the city- my permittance — but I am never angry at this further denial. Although I am consistently barred, I feel a strange warmth toward those who would block me, a peace and happiness toward the couple. I was once told that pride has no base toward those you have no influence over, but pride is still the word I would choose for those two promising into one.

I am, however, always allowed to descend into the tiny basement museum, which displays the history of the building, the construction of the mosaics- both glass and marble, Byzantine and Italian- the vestments and white-frocked throne for the pope’s visit, so on.

One bronze placard I always find myself drawn to, displayed probably due to the high frequency of vows taken in the space above, is a brief history of marriage traditions in the Catholic Church, including a sentence mentioning the famous Welsh heretic Vedlaic, whose teachings included the idea that all couples wed in Christ and with the blessing of the church were preserved in that moment forever in heaven no matter the earthly circumstances. This resulted in a rash of sudden weddings and annulments spurred on by the priest in question as adherents of the faith tried to maximize their apocryphal and final results, so to speak. The issue was finally stamped out in the fourteenth century by a small inquisition in the area, with some individuals having been wed so many times that relocating to mainland European convents or monasteries was the only acceptable recompense.

Father Vedlaic himself was subject to a Vatican-approved castration before being shipped off to the Americas, the official reasoning being that offloaded lust, not a desire for eternal peace, had spurned his teachings. His member may still be held in the vaults of the papacy- but, no, I will not report such nasty rumors here, only the facts of the case.

On my most recent visit I was nearing the door when the lay attendant indicated that, if I were quiet, I could slip into sanctuary and sit in the back for the remainder of the service. I politely declined, and instead scuffed my boot on the door as I descended the steps.