Interfaith Wedding Vows (2 Minutes)

The vows

Dunya, the first time your grandmother let me into her kitchen, she handed me three ropes of dough and said, "Show me what your hands know." My hands knew nothing. The challah came out looking like a shoelace. She ate a piece anyway and told me I'd get there.

A month later my mother had you at our counter, up to your elbows in soda bread, and you told her it was just a scone that went to church. She laughed so hard she had to sit down on the step stool.

I think that was the day our families decided to like each other.

We grew up praying in different words, in different rooms, on different days of the week. I don't pretend to understand all of what your faith holds for you, and you have never once asked me to set mine down. What you do instead is ask good questions and then listen to the whole answer. Almost nobody does that.

So here's what I promise you.

I'll stand at your family's table and learn the words, slowly, and I won't be embarrassed to get them wrong in front of your uncles. I will take you to midnight Mass at Christmas and hold your coat. When our kids ask why we do things two ways, I'm going to tell them it's because they come from two good families who prayed for them long before they were born.

When we disagree about something that matters, I choose to stay at the table until we've both been heard.

And every Friday, I'll braid the bread. It still looks a bit like a shoelace. Your grandmother says I'm getting there.

So am I.

Why it works: Bread gives both families a seat at the table without the vows having to say anything about doctrine. The promises are things he will physically do, learn the words, hold her coat at Mass, so they stay respectful and concrete. The shoelace challah comes back at the end, and the grandmother's line becomes the last word.