Over and over again. Help me. I need help.
I blinked, heart racing, and reread the words. Under the lovely handwriting of promises to love and honor were desperate cries repeated like a whisper only I could hear. Lifting my eyes.
Juliana was focused on me. She nodded briefly as we met, confirming what I had read. Marcus, unaware, smiled and winked at me as if we shared a secret looking out at the assembly.
The contrast chilled. My thoughts raced. Juliana couldn’t speak them.
She couldn’t run. She reached out for aid, but only I saw it. I folded the page and kept my voice steady.
“Just reviewing the vows,” I said when Marcus inquired what was wrong. I couldn’t stop my heartbeat during the ceremony. Her bouquet shook as Juliana held it.
She was pallid and shallow-breathing. When I asked if anyone opposed the marriage, I lingered longer than usual. Voice echoing in quiet.
“If anyone here objects to this union,” I added softly, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”
No one spoke. Church was quiet. But Juliana’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked at me with such forlorn hope that I knew what to do.
“Well,” I answered, “since no one else objects… I do.”
Members of the congregation gasped. The shocked crowd whispered and stood in bewilderment. Marcus’s face twisted.
“What?” He snapped, his voice nasty. I reiterated, “I object to this marriage,” louder. Marcus’s mother exclaimed, “This is outrageous!” “Can priests do that?”
I ignored her.
I focused on Juliana. Her body appeared to release a load when I spoke. Her tears fell freely, but for the first time that day, she appeared to breathe.
“You can’t!” Marcus barked, approaching. His fists clenched, his expression furious. “You can’t stop our wedding!”
“Actually, son,” I responded steadily, “I can.
And I am.”
I asked Juliana softly, “Do you want to leave?”
Deathly silence filled the church. Everyone focused on her. She swallowed hard and murmured “Yes.
I want out.”
My hand extended as I descended from the altar. She grabbed my without hesitation, her shaking fingers holding on. We returned down the aisle as priest and cage-escaping woman.
Marcus roared behind us. You can’t take her! Mine she is!
Getting married!”
I stopped, turned, and faced him. She’s not your wife. Not today.
Not like this.”
His father stood, demanding an explanation. The pews murmured. I said clearly: “No marriage should begin with a bride who is afraid.”
I led Juliana to safety.
She broke down in my office behind a locked door. She cried while telling me her story. When she was 25, her parents arranged her marriage.
They thought Marcus—successful, respected, and wealthy—was perfect. Juliana never loved him. Worse, he revealed himself once engaged.
“He controls everything,” she muttered. He monitors my phone and emails. He decides who I can see and wear.
He shouts till I acquiesce. I feel smaller every day.”
Her parents rejected her protests. “My father said it was too late, everything was planned and paid for.
Mom told me love isn’t necessary in marriage and I’d learn to love him. Shaking her head. But I can’t.
No way I can live like that.”
“You did the bravest thing you could,” I told her. “You requested aid.”
I called connections at Sister Beatrice’s women’s shelter, a sweet but forceful nun who had spent her life aiding women in trouble. Within an hour, she reached the back entrance.
Juliana hugged me passionately before leaving, her tears wetting my shoulder. “Thank you,” she muttered. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t seen my message.”
I gently told her, “God sees everything.” “Even pencil prayers.”
The weeks that followed taught me more.
Juliana accused Marcus of harassment. Her parents’ anger subsided after the truth was revealed. She slowly rebuilt her life on her own.
I found a bouquet of white lilies at the church door one morning recently. No card, only a note in the stems: Thanks for seeing me when no one else would. That wedding taught me something I’ll never forget: sometimes my job as a priest is to end bad marriages as well as bless them.
Sometimes rescuing a soul doesn’t involve a lecture. Sometimes it requires reading between the lines and acting bravely. Sometimes it involves canceling a wedding to let someone live.
