As a result of a Christmas present and some paperwork filed with the Alabama Secretary of State's office some years ago, I became an  ordained minister, capable of performing weddings, christenings and funerals (and I know enough of the Torah to fake my way through a bar or bat mitzvah).

Because of these credentials, I've been asked from time to time to officiate nuptials for friends and strangers alike.

I've often said that if I'm your minister, clearly something has gone wrong - as my best friend Kendra so often reminds me, I am to the ministry what Dr. Pepper is to medicine.

There was the Toomer's Corner wedding, set up by an Auburn blogger on Twitter for two die-hard Auburn fans who wanted to get married under the Toomer's Oaks before they came down for good.

There was the Halloween wedding of some of my former journalism students, where the bride was dressed as Lois Lane and the groom as Clark Kent - until the end of the ceremony when he ran off to strip off his suit and reveal the Superman costume he had on under it the entire ceremony.

And, at the end of this month, I'll travel to Massachusetts for my friend Dr. Ashley Jones' "Civil War" wedding, so that good Southern gal can marry that damnable Yankee, and I may be forced to get into fisticuffs with literal Canadian Vegan Communists.

However, none of those weddings compare to one I performed shortly after moving to Baldwin County, the wedding I've come to call "The Star Wars Wedding."

I should have known something was amiss when the bride sent me a Facebook message with the program for the ceremony and her bridal processional was "The Imperial March" (that Darth Vader dum dum dum dum da dum song), but my Admiral Ackbar "It's a Trap" senses somehow didn't alert.

The wedding rehearsal raised no red flags, as we did two quick walk-throughs to hasten our journey to the open bar that awaited us at Tacky Jack's.

No, it wasn't until right before the ceremony, when I entered the bridal chambers for a quick word of advice and comfort for the bride that I realized the wedding might be veering into slightly odd territory.

The bride's sparkly silver shoes were proudly adorned with a circular symbol I quickly realized was the flag of the Rebel Alliance, the same symbol emblazoned upon Luke Skywalker's X-Wing as he blew up the Death Star.

 From her ears hung strange baubles that I soon realized were Imperial TIE Fighters, the hexagonal-shaped Lord Vader model, if memory serves.

Since I knew the bride and groom to be fairly unique individuals, I wasn't terribly surprised by these decorations - maybe the earrings were her something borrowed, courtesy of a galaxy far, far away.

Who was I to judge?

We soon assembled the wedding party and took our places near the outdoor chuppah constructed for the wedding.

When John Williams' rolling anthem to the Sith Lords began, I motioned for the audience to stand before I fully realized what was going on, and I'm thankful I was able to maintain a straight face - for walking down the aisle with his daughters arm entwined with his was the father of the bride, decked out in a Vera Wang black tux ... and a fully functional Darth Vader mask, wheezing all the way.

I was so shaken by this I forgot to ask the guests to be seated, so they remained standing the rest of the ceremony. (When questioned about this anomaly later, I simply said the bride requested everyone stand, just like the crowd gathered for the medal ceremony at the end of the first "Star Wars" film. They seemed to buy it.)

And, of course, when declaring the couple as official, I was required to claim "By the powers vested in me by the Force..."

While all of this may seem beyond bizarre to most of you, I can assure you all of the galactic goings-on was a great reflection of a couple  I've come to know and love, so I had to say "Yes" to their curious ceremony.

After all, does not the Good Book say: "Do or do not. There is no try."

Well, the Good Book or Jedi Master Yoda... but it’s wise words either way.

Cliff McCollum is managing editor of the Gulf Coast Newspaper Group. He can be reached at cmccollum@gulfcoastnewspapers.com.