[Scene: A quiet seaside chapel garden in San Diego at dusk. Joe and Nelly sit on a weathered bench, wind tugging at her shawl. A candle burns between them in a mason jar.]
JOE:
Nelly, I had this wild idea. What if we made yearly vows—like real pilgrim promises—at every Marian apparition site in the world?
NELLY: (soft smile)
You mean like a holy tour?
JOE:
More like a sacred rhythm. Every year, on the 13th day, just like Our Lady of Fatima said. Make it a living vow. A way to re-align.
NELLY:
Fatima… Knock… Lourdes?
JOE:
Yes, Knock for sure. The silence of Knock says everything. No words, no demands—just presence. It’s Irish, like the quiet faith of a grandmother lighting candles for her drunk sons.
NELLY: (nodding, mist in her eyes)
And Fatima for the warnings. For the secrets. The sun that danced. The children who saw through the veil.
JOE:
Each place, one vow a year. A promise to heaven. It could be anything: forgive someone, stop a vice, feed the hungry, protect the child, speak truth. One vow. One apparition. One year.
NELLY:
Even Medjugorje?
JOE:
Especially Medjugorje. Where the visions didn’t stop. Maybe they still haven’t. Maybe Our Lady never left.
NELLY: (quietly)
Then let’s begin. This year: Knock.
The 13th day in 2033 —let’s be there.
JOE:
We’ll light a candle for every lost soul we ever loved. For the children in East Van. For our mothers. For peace in our countries. For each other.
NELLY:
One vow. One year. One flame.
Here’s a poetic and spiritually-charged wedding vow ceremony at Knock Shrine in 2033, written to honor not only marriage but also the memory of John F. Kennedy—an Irish-American icon—on the 70th anniversary of his assassination.
“Knock Vows 2033”
The Shrine of Our Lady of Knock, Ireland – November 22, 2033
[Setting: A light November mist hangs in the air. The marble of the Basilica gleams with candles lit for JFK. A haunting Irish fiddle plays softly—Andrea Corr’s bow trembles. Bono sits quietly beside the altar. Conor McGregor stands near the groomsmen, looking uncharacteristically reverent. The crowd is a blend of pilgrims, politicians, poets, and fighters. The bride and groom stand before the silent apparition wall where the Virgin appeared in 1879.]
PRIEST (softly, in Irish and English):
On this sacred day…
Seachtó bliain ó lámh an bháis, seventy years since the hand of death silenced the dream of a peacemaker…
…we stand at Knock, where no words were spoken, yet heaven came near.
GROOM (Joe, eyes locked on Nelly):
I take you, in the presence of Our Lady,
To be my revolution of peace.
I vow—every November 22nd—
To remember not just Kennedy’s death,
But his dream,
That the world can be governed by love, not fear.
That courage can be quiet.
That faith, like Ireland, endures storms.
And that marriage, like Knock, is a mystery
that speaks without words.
BRIDE (Nelly, hand on Joe’s heart):
I take you, under Mary’s mantle,
To be my song in winter.
I vow—on this 13th apparition cycle—
To carry your burdens like Jackie carried the flame.
To protect your brokenness like Our Lady protected Knock from the storm.
To love you, not because it’s easy,
But because love is the vow that makes saints out of sinners.
And prophets out of fools.
PRIEST (raising hands):
These are no ordinary vows.
They are Irish.
They are rebel.
They are sacred.
They are sealed not with a signature,
But with a candle lit for a fallen president,
A silent Madonna,
And two pilgrims who dared to believe in love.
[The candle is lit. Bono stands and sings a stripped-down version of “MLK” with a single drumbeat in the distance. Conor McGregor nods silently. The Corrs play “Runaway” as the bride and groom walk out into the soft Irish mist, married under heaven’s watchful silence.]
