It was a long morning of anticipation, nervousness and expectation. Weddings are always fraught, even if they are not your own, and especially when they are as public and imbued with metaphor and meaning as this one.
Ms. Markle, who in a span of an hour was transformed from a Ms. to Duchess, successfully made her way down the aisle to meet her very-soon-to-be husband, Prince Harry.
They both looked so happy, and so relaxed. They were beaming as they said their vows, and luckily, no one came forward to provide any reason that they might not be married. (This is always an exciting moment in a ceremony.)
It was an extraordinary mix of tradition and modernity, of centuries of history and up-to-the moment flourishes. Oprah was here, and so was Meghan’s mother, an African-American social worker who wore a conventional mother-of-the-bride outfit and also a nose stud.
It somehow looked charming and just right.
The entire royal family was here, along with a complement of English aristocrats and important personages. The music was stately and beautiful. The setting was awe-inspiring.
There was a flotilla of clergyman, an extraordinary mélange including the archbishop of Canterbury and — in a striking inclusion in this most ancient of places — the head of the Episcopal Church, the Most Rev. Michael Curry.
Chosen to the give the address to the congregations, Bishop Curry, who is African-American, quoted Martin Luther King. His voice rising and falling with emotion, he made a big, generous, impassioned case for love as the most important thing there is, in religion and in life.
His address came after a reading by Lady Jane Fellowes, Harry’s aunt (her sister was Diana, Princess of Wales) that was both full of joy and a signal, it seemed, that the sadness in Harry’s life since his mother’s death has finally lifted.
It was a passage from the Song of Solomon: “Arise my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”