Here Comes the Bride, Japanese-style

The 2006 Japan Times humor column below is an expose of sorts of Japan’s wedding chapel industry. Next week, I will run a short story from roughly the same period – a work entitled "The Wedding Hall" – which offers a realistic-yet-romantic peek at the inner shenanigans of getting married in Japan.

Why this sudden focus on matrimony? Well, when it comes to tying the knot, autumn is the wedding bell season, at least in Japan. And then there is this:

I have a vested interest in the wedding industry. For I am part of it. Over the years, I have conducted roughly 5,000 ceremonies.

Qualified to do so? Nope. But with advancing age, a cancer diagnosis, surgery, recuperation and so on, I might have pronounced “Man and Wife” for the very last time.

Let me describe my final two ceremonies, performed the day before entering the hospital. Out of 5,000 tries, these two might be my most memorable.

First, a quick note on how I got into this. In my initial 17 years in Japan, I was employed by the Lutheran Church, not as a minister but as an educator in schools with Lutheran heritage. I ended up spending too many hours in church administration and resigned.

A Lutheran clergyman here worried about my future livelihood and suggested I join him in conducting weddings.

I told him, “Hell no.” Not the job for a nervous dude like me.

Six months later, I got a late-night call from the hotel where he did ceremonies. The man had suffered a medical emergency and they had five weddings scheduled for the next day. They were desperate.

That’s how I began. The accumulated loot put my boys through international high school and college. I made about $200 bucks a pop and some weekends might pocket $3,000 dollars. I disliked the stress and nitty gritty, yet came to enjoy my wedding hall misadventures -- with brides and grooms almost always more nervous than I.

The industry and earnings have since fallen off. The declining Japanese population is one reason. That many couples now forsake ceremonies altogether is another. However, weekends remain busy and here’s how my very last Sunday at the altar played out.

My final wedding was picture-book perfect, with a couple cut from a Disney romance. The ceremony unfurled flawlessly and then, with the bride and groom laughing down the aisle in the recession, I noticed a guest in the congregation peering my way.

I recognized her – one of the finest students from my university classes and, by chance, a friend of the bride. In a metropolitan area of thirty million people, bumping into someone you know is a rare occurrence, especially in a wedding crowd. My very last ceremony ended with a warm chapel-side chat, a nice wrap-up to 30 years of marrying couples with whom I had no connection.

But the ceremony before left an impact far deeper.

The groom stood pine-tree straight, with looks chiseled enough for the stage. In the rehearsal, however, his attitude came across as distant. Not unfriendly, not cold, but somehow askew. As if he felt out of place.

His bride was cute, as all brides are. Yet older. And handicapped.

Even in heels, she stood well under five foot, with slight arms that Indicated her frailty. In both ears, she wore heavy-duty hearing aids. By my shoulder, for the first time in 5,000 ceremonies, I had a sign-language expert, translating my words as I spoke.

The bride looked more to the interpreter than to me. With eyes round, anxious and moist.

For the kiss, the groom gave her a peck on the forehead, a long journey from his height to hers. When it came to say, “I do,” she rushed, concerned perhaps that she had missed her cue. She shouted, but could not articulate.

Arranged marriages are not as common here as they once were, but still not unusual. I believe this union was just that. The bride’s family perhaps had financial resources that made the bond somehow attractive to the handsome, young groom, who could not even hand sign to his new bride. How they would communicate and proceed as a couple? I could not imagine. Of course, that’s not for me to say. And I am guessing.

But the bride’s face… eager, worried, excited, afraid and brave. I felt like stopping the ceremony in mid-stride and giving her a hug. To present her, if I could, in some small measure, the hope I felt she yearned for.

For what is a marriage, if not a celebration of hope? What is a marriage, if not a door opening to a land where dreams might come true? No matter the obstacles.

All I had were words. Memorized words. I expressed them from as deep in my soul as I could manage. My final day in the wedding hall and never have I tried so hard to nail a marriage together. If only words could do that.

I let the message roll -- from my Biblical script to the couple and then beyond to the two families watching from the pews. Love will and does bear all things. Absolutely. No matter the obstacles.

When the bride smiled at the end, it made me glow more than any of the thousands of times before.

And then, another rarity, I ran into her in the chapel corridor, just before the second ceremony. Only her and her interpreter. She was still in her gown, soon to change perhaps into a reception dress.

I grasped her hands and expressed my best wishes and my honor at being her wedding minister. She squeezed back -- looking right at me now -- and managed to eke a response in faint English.

“Thank you.”

And that tiny thank you, delivered with sincerity and, yes, hope, made all my 5,000 weddings worthwhile.

Sorry for the lengthy intro. The only thing you need to know for the column is that the expression gaijin means “foreigner.” Father Smith is mostly based on a pal here from St. Louis. Rev. Jones comes from a pastor I caught smoking in his robes at the wedding of a Japanese friend. I quote him almost verbatim.

My title... “Here Comes the Bride, Japanese-style.” The lead from The Japan Times is just below.

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Confessions of a Priest… Sort of

Mar 18, 2006

Meet "Father Smith" -- silver hair, gentle smile and a voice so mellow that it flows with a grace from beyond. Maybe there’s a God and maybe there isn't, but when you're with Father Smith, you tend to believe there is.

There's just one thing. He's as phony as hell.

"I'm an English teacher," he says. "I marry people at a hotel chapel on weekends. I wear the robes, a cross, the whole nine yards. Nobody knows. And nobody cares."

He smiles his smile. "Except for maybe me."

It's show time! The No. 1 job for Westerners in Japan is certainly language teaching. But No. 2? It might be "acting."

The curtain rises at wedding halls and hotel chapels all across the land on each Saturday and Sunday, and most holidays too. The "gaijin" performer on center stage is sometimes a legitimate man of the cloth, but more than often he’s not. He's just a regular Joe out to pull in some extra yen by playing a minister at a fancy Japanese wedding.

Somehow this fits Japan, where most people take the a la carte approach to religion. Want a blessing? Shinto shrines will douse you with good fortune. Need a funeral? Fine, the local Buddhist temple has an ongoing special on eternity.

And a wedding? With gorgeous gowns, romantic ring swaps and a lovely reading from First Corinthians 13, what can beat a Christian chapel? The whole scene might be clipped from a Hollywood love story. Why not be movie stars on this most wonderful of days?

Japanese marriage ceremonies don't count anyway. They're just icing on the wedding cake. The true tie is bound in front of a clerk at city hall. Ceremonies are only for show and, as such, anything goes.

Some Japanese opt to marry underwater wearing scuba gear in Hawaii. Others choose to tie the knot at Disneyland with Mickey Mouse as their best man. Or in whatever other colorful manner one might imagine.

But the majority select a church-style wedding with a foreigner minister.

Meet "Rev. Jones." He leans against a wall at the ritzy Tokyo hotel where he weds people on weekends. He taps ashes from his cigarette, careful not to drop any on his robes.

"Me 'n' this other guy applied here at the same time. The other guy spoke good Japanese and even led Bible studies. Yet the hotel liked my qualifications over his."

Which were?

"I was taller. I had a beard."

Meaning he looked the part. His relation to the church?

"I consider myself a believer. Sometimes. Sort of."

Besides, he says, no one ever asks if he's qualified. Just to be careful, he did take part in a program that -- for a price -- furnished him with a certificate. But he's never had to show it.

As for the ceremony itself… each chapel is different, but the pattern is basically the same -- short and sweet.

The pseudo-minister reads the Bible, delivers a brief message, leads the couple through their vows, presides over the ring exchange and then pronounces the two man and wife -- all this punctuated by hymns sung by a bouquet of choir girls. The whole affair lasts but 20 minutes, with incoming brides and grooms sometimes waiting outside as if on a conveyor belt.

Some services also employ a healthy sprinkling of English, as for many Japanese the foreign tongue seems to add sanctity. Regardless, the pseudo-minister need memorize only a smattering of the local language. There is but one real fear… that he would flub the names.

For only the names seem to be holy. Other legendary goofs -- like intoning God's vengeance instead of his blessing (a mix of "fukushu" and "shukufuku") or imploring the couple to exchange their lust rather than their vows ("seiyoku" and "seiyaku") -- seem more readily forgivable. After all, even Japanese admit their language is difficult.

But for many true clergy and believers, the entire Japanese wedding industry is shameful. Marriage is a sacrament, they argue, and bogus ministers are only conning instead of consecrating.

However, a large number of missionaries also participate, and Japanese clergy do too. And more, perhaps, would if they could. Why?

At this point, switch your background music from Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring to Abba's Money, Money, Money.

For in Tokyo hotels and wedding halls, a minister -- legit or not -- usually earns 15,000 yen per show. Sometimes more. And some of the busier ministers perform a dozen ceremonies a weekend. Sometimes more.

Add this up and it’s a heavenly amount of income for two days of work. Enough to fund a missionary's tiny church or put a struggling English teacher's kids through college.

"But that doesn't make it right."

The speaker is Father Smith, who for all his involvement has never convinced himself that his part-time employment is justified.

"I believe in the sanctification of marriage before God. Yet, I have bills to pay."

His believer side winces, while his workingman side whistles to the bank. He is able to rationalize his efforts only one way:

"I marry people with all my heart."

Through the years he has seen genuine ministers rush in, perform cardboard ceremonies and then rush right out. If ordination makes a difference, he says, not all of them show it.

"Maybe I don't know what I'm doing. Maybe I'm just an opportunist.

"Yet, when I look that couple in the eye and speak those words, I mean what I say. And those that look back know I do.

"Maybe that doesn't make it right. But it does make it worthwhile."

"At least to me."

And then he smiles his smile. And you cannot help but believe.

As Phony as Hell

Next week... "The Wedding Hall."

© Thomas Noah Wood

(Health update: My first post-surgery check-up was very good. ...But not great. It appears my tussle with cancer has only begun.)

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