Beware! Our God welcomes all
Bishop Cherry preaching at Open Table East Cardiff on Sunday 1st June 2025. Cherry Vann is the first lesbian bishop in the Church in Wales, and in a civil partnership. As Archdeacon of Rochdale for 11 years, she celebrated with Open Table communities in Liverpool and Manchester, and supported a community consultation which led to forming the Open Table community in Derby.
WATCH Bishop Cherry’s intro video [2.5 mins]
Watch the recording of our Q&A with Cherry, in conversation with OTN Co-Chair Sarah Hobbs here [58 minutes]
JUNE is Pride Month, marking the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots in New York in June 1969, which raised the profile of the LGBT+ rights movement worldwide.
Right Revd Cherry Vann, Bishop of Monmouth and OTN Patron, celebrated Pride Month with our community in Cardiff on 1st June. She has preached at several Pride events, including one last September in Newport Cathedral, when she offered this reflection on how love that is truly inclusive casts out fear - especially the fear LGBTQIA+ people experience in the face of rejection, hostility, and exclusion from the Church.
The first time that I walked through the doors of this Cathedral, my civil partner and I had come down from Manchester just after my election as bishop to have a look at our future home.
Just inside the west doors was a banner, taller than I, which I couldn’t help but stop to read. It said:
‘Here, we try to practise the inclusive Gospel of Jesus Christ. That means that here you may be mixing with seekers, searchers and those who are bruised; those who limp and those who mourn and those wounded by war; refugees, asylum-seekers and foreigners of all kinds, citizens of different colour from yourself; women bishops (yes, there are a few) and priests who may be struggling, leaders who are worn out, clapped out, burnt out; lesbian and gay couples and even singles…’
“God, who is love, is forever meeting each of us where we are and gently drawing us more deeply into that love; healing our hurts and assuring us that we are his beloved and precious children.”
It went on for much longer but those few words were enough to assure me that here I could feel I belonged in a way that I’d never felt in a church before. Here, in what would be my cathedral, I would be genuinely welcomed for who I am. This could be home where I need not feel afraid.
Because I had felt afraid. Because I knew deep down and from an early age that I was different. The expectations that I picked up as a child, that I would get married (assume to a man) and have children (assume again with a man) was not going to happen. I knew I was attracted to women. I also knew that this was not acceptable. It was deemed not normal, confirmed for me one day on a visit to my aunt and uncle when in conversation my uncle declared that ‘all gays should be lined up and shot’. So, like all LGBTQIA+ people, I learnt very young how to live a double life. How to mask who I truly was - my hopes, my feelings, my desires. How to speak about ‘me’ rather than ‘us’ when, in the sixth form, my first relationship began. How to hide, lie, pretend, even in the thrills of being in love; even in the devastation of a relationship breakdown; and particularly, as I started to feel drawn to ordination and the life of a priest in a church that was hostile to anything that deviated from the heterosexual norm.
It wasn’t until I came to take up this post in the Church in Wales that I began to realise just what a life of fear I’d led. Fear of being found out. Fear of being shamed, of losing friends, of being rejected by my family. And, because I’m an ordained member of the church, with a vocation that is bound up intimately with the person God has made me to be, a deep and abiding fear of being discovered by the church for who I truly am and so losing my job, my house, my church family and perhaps worst of all my vocation.
This is nothing new to LGBTQIA+ people. We have all had to learn to navigate a hostile world and a hostile church. Even with someone to love and be loved by, even with friends and family who support us, it’s hard and difficult work to get beyond the fear we’ve lived with for so long. And so, seeing that banner at the west end of this cathedral was a sign and symbol that here I could be me and, at last, begin to ingrate fully my private life and my public role without having to hide; without having to fear.
But here’s the irony. At the head of that banner at the west end of this Cathedral was the word ‘Beware’ in big red letters followed by an exclamation mark. It’s a salutary word of warning that this place and the faith it proclaims is not about making people feel comfortable. It’s not about shielding them from the challenges of the gospel. Rather, it’s the opposite. The word ‘beware’ speaks into the fear of those who can’t cope, and don’t want to cope, with people who are different from them. In our case, the fear our heterosexual and cisgender sisters and brothers feel who find us challenging and offensive, who believe that we’re sinful and disgusting and beyond the love and salvation of God because we knowingly and deliberately flout God’s word. Those people too are frightened. Frightened of the unknown and what they don’t understand. Frightened of people like us who challenge their views, their assumptions, their small and comfortable world populated only by people who are like them. But our God is bigger, much bigger. And ours is a God who welcomes all.
In the apostle John’s first letter, he writes, ‘There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear’ [1 John 4:18]. What is this perfect love that casts out fear? What does it mean for those of us who continue to fear what society or a particular church might do to us; who, despite having learnt to love ourselves as we are and despite knowing that we’re loved by God, loved by our partner or spouse, nevertheless remain wary, fearful even, of what might at any time get thrown at us - verbally, spiritually, or literally physically?
For even when we’ve found spaces and communities in which we feel safe, loved and accepted, we continue to live in a society where violence of all kinds is done to LGBTQIA+ people. Many across the world (some in the UK too) are killed because of who they are or who they love. And there are some in the church too who struggle to reconcile our lives with their faith. What then does this perfect love mean for those who fear us and whose fear leads to rejection, hostility or worse?
Jesus, in John’s gospel, urges us, commands us even, to love one another - as he has loved us [John 13:34]. And it’s those last five words that are crucial. We are to seek to love as Jesus has loved us. To love our enemies and forgive as Jesus forgave those who tortured and persecuted and killed him. That’s a massive ask and it’s why the gospel is so challenging. It’s a love that is sacrificial, that requires us to draw near to those we fear and those who fear us, rather than ignore, dismiss or back away from. It invites us to seek to create spaces where we can be together, listen and learn from one another and develop a mutual respect, even if we continue to disagree. It asks us to see those we fear and those who fear us as friends - friends because they are friends of Jesus, loved and cherished by him just as we are.
That’s more than a lifetime’s work, and for many it will feel impossible and not something we want even to try to do.
When I was in Manchester, I set up a group made up of women priests and those who were opposed to the ordination of women. We met regularly for prayer and food and conversation and in the first years it was one of the hardest things that any of us had done. The tension, the mutual suspicion, the hurt and the anger were there, in and between us, and it took years before we began to feel anything like comfortable with each other. But the bonds of friendship grew in time and our group became a blessing to the diocese and we to one another. That said, there was no way on earth that I could have done the same thing around the issue of sexuality. Because then, I was too frightened to be known for who I was. Even though many might have suspected I am gay, I was not ready to come out and claim that identity openly and unashamedly.
Some of us are so damaged and hurt from the experiences we’ve had to endure that reaching out to those who fear and harm us is never going to be something we can readily contemplate. But God, who is love, is forever meeting each of us where we are and gently drawing us more deeply into that love; healing our hurts and assuring us that we are his beloved and precious children. That journey will continue until death takes us to that place where love is perfected and fear is no more.
I for one am grateful to have seen that poster and thank God that there are church communities as well as this Cathedral who seek to offer a genuine welcome to all. The poster concludes with these words.
‘This is not a private club but a public space open to all people of goodwill. And although we are not yet strong and vulnerable enough to show the unconditional love of God at all times, we hope we are moving in that direction.’
