Berkley Center

“Kelly, what’re you talking about Christmas for? It’ll be alright, just get some more sleep,” Adelle murmured to me at around 3:30 a.m. in the morning. It was the day of my second cousin Mairead’s wedding to her fiancé Robin, and I had apparently talked in my sleep throughout the night. For me, that meant one thing—I was extremely nervous! I was about to attend a massive wedding in a small town named Corby, about an hour north of London, which had been my new home of about two weeks. In just a few hours, I would be surrounded by hundreds of relatives. Of the hundreds, however, I had only met three prior to the event.

We entered our cars and made our way to St. Brendan’s Church, driving on the left side of the road. The choice of the church itself was a beautiful testament to my extended family and their commitment to Christian values. I learned that the small church was adjacent to the primary school my father’s cousins and their children attended. It is where they were baptized and where they hoped to marry. I had not been to a wedding service in over 10 years, so I was unsure of what to expect. 

The service was lovely. We were prompted to stand as the flower girl, bridesmaids, and groomsmen walked down the aisle. Though I was sitting in the front row, I knew that Mairead had started down the aisle when I heard the congregation gasp in awe. She looked absolutely marvelous. She made her way towards the altar as Robin waited facing forward. When she approached him and kneeled at his side, he looked over and could not contain the wide grin spreading across his face. Mairead and Robin hand-selected each of the readings and prayers for their ceremony. The priest delivered a sermon, encouraging the lovebirds, “To never let a day go by in which [they] don’t love each other a little bit more,” and urged them to allow their love and appreciation of each other to grow for eternity. After they shared their first kiss, we exited the church and waved goodbye as they took off in their white and blue buggy. 

I have studied that Britons are becoming increasingly non-religious. Staying with my great aunt the night after the wedding allowed me to gain insight into how religion in Britain seems to be on the decline. As I got ready the next morning, my Auntie Bridie was preparing an English breakfast. I asked her how her morning was, and she explained that she had just returned from Saturday Mass. “You’ll always find me at St. Brendan’s,” she exclaimed. I told her that I would have enjoyed attending Mass with her and that she could have woken me up. She shook her head and justified that it was important for me to get my sleep, and that she didn’t want to make me feel uncomfortable if I didn’t want to attend. “The younger people just do what they want these days, and I respect their decisions,” she clarified. As I said my goodbye to my Aunt Birdie, she dipped her thumb into a vial of holy water and traced a cross onto my forehead, praying that I’d stay safe in the city. Upon seeing this, my second cousin called her crazy. My experiences with English relatives as well as my studies in London have made it clear that the religious decline is a largely generational phenomenon. The younger people may identify with their religion, but they attend services less frequently, only going to Mass on holidays, or not at all. 

Despite the varying degrees of devoutness to their faith, every member of my extended family made me feel extremely welcomed and at home. As I tried to express my gratitude for even receiving an invitation, I received puzzled looks and shouts of, “Well of course, you’re part of the family!” My nerves finally completely settled, and I slept through the entire night.