Sermons & Pastoral Resources

Signs of Love, Prophets of Hope:
A Homily for the Celebration of a Same-Sex Union
in a Liturgy of Holy Communion

Good Shepherd Berkeley
1995

by Rev. Jay Emerson Johnson

Texts: Zephaniah 3:12-20; II Corinthians 5:17-20; Luke 10:21-24

The following sermon was offered by Jay Emerson Johnson in 1995 at the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd in Berkeley, California, in a liturgy of Holy Union for two women. At that time, the Episcopal Church had not officially sanctioned such liturgies. On this particular occasion, however, the Bishop of the Diocese of California (the San Francisco Bay Area) had given his permission for the liturgy to occur as a way to provide experiential data on which the wider church could reflect as it considered this issue.

As part of that process, the Bishop invited the congregation at Good Shepherd to engage a year-long study of liturgical rites for blessing relationships. Rather than simply changing the pronouns in the marriage rite, the congregation was asked to reflect on the meaning of such rites and what the blessing of relationships signifies, both for the people in the relationship and for the community gathered to witness and participate in the celebration. Good Shepherd produced a report and a Eucharistic liturgy as a result of that study and the liturgy was offered at the church shortly thereafter, for which the following sermon was preached. (Copies of the Good Shepherd report and liturgy is available on this website: read report).

The triennial General Convention of the Episcopal Church held in Minneapolis in the summer of 2003 considered the question of approving the development of liturgical rites for same-sex couples. (This was the same convention that approved the election of Gene Robinson as Bishop of New Hampshire.) While that liturgical development resolution failed, the convention did approve what is known as "local option." This allows each diocese to make its own decision about liturgical rites and to develop such rites for same-sex couples if they choose to do so.

The longing and desire of the human heart.

The hopes and dreams of God's people.

Today's celebration is about such lofty things as these. It's about what human beings truly long to see, what we truly long to hear.

Luke's Jesus says to his disciples, "Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For many prophets desired to see what you see—but didn't. Many prophets desired to hear what you hear—but didn't."

It seems we may have to revise our usual caricature of prophets as generally irritating, disagreeable, and divinely appointed curmudgeons. Luke's Jesus would have us believe that prophets give voice to the deepest longings of the human heart. "Blessed are the eyes that see what you see," Jesus says. Blessed are you who actually witness what God's people have desired for a very long time, what the prophets, for many generations, have only dreamed.

We have just heard such dreams from the ancient Hebrew prophet Zephaniah. To a people living in exile comes the promise: "Have no fear; I am bringing you home. From the distant margins, from the diaspora of your exile, from your outcast state among the oppressors I am gathering you," says the Lord God, "and I am bringing you home."

"Sing!" Zephaniah says, "rejoice and exult with all your heart. For the Lord is in your midst, rejoicing over you with gladness, renewing you in love, turning all your shame into praise."

What is the desire and longing of the human heart? What are the hopes and dreams of God's people? Rather simple things, really: to love and be loved; to love without fear and to rejoice in our loving; to find and know that we have a home. These are the things we are celebrating here today, and in a very particular way. This couple standing before us and committing themselves to each other are signs for us. They are signs of love and prophets of hope.

In a society whose popular culture reduces love to fleeting moments of passion, that sells it like any other commodity, that buries it behind political slogans, we hunger for signs of something different, for signs of that love which is life-giving, abundant, and faithful. We hunger for it and we give thanks for it in this celebration as this couple's love rings true in our own hopes and dreams.

But let's be clear about this: The vision of love we celebrate here today does not reject passion, the erotic desire that makes us yearn for communion. As Christians, we need not be embarrassed or self-conscious about the erotic, about that deep desire that draws us together. Indeed, passion can take root and flower. Passion can bring the deepest desire of the human heart to blossom and we dare to believe and proclaim boldly in this celebration that such desire is holy and God-given.

So we gather in this place, around this table for a holy meal, and we pray with thankful hearts for a rather simple reason: We believe that in such relationships as we celebrate here today God is truly present. We believe that these two people are signs of the God who gathers us in love; of the God who rejoices over us with gladness; of the God who welcomes us to the table of love's feast without question or condition.

We cannot, however, celebrate such love without also being prophets of hope. I suspect that few of us gathered here with any such intention. Still, if the Hebrew Scriptures are any indication, being a prophet is not usually a vocation of choice, but one of necessity: Come what may, the word must be spoken.

The particular love which is a sign for us tonight is still that love which dare not speak its name—if so, then please, not too loudly. But there comes a time when such love cannot keep silent. It must be spoken. It must be celebrated. For such is the nature of intimate commitments. They spill over, like a harvest too plentiful for a single basket; like a mighty but quiet river brimming over its banks; like the prophet who must give voice to the yearning of a people and speak the language of hope.

So it is for us today. We celebrate, but we also remember all those others who have, for so long, yearned to see what we see here today, but haven't; all those who have longed to hear what we hear today, but haven't. Yes, all those whose experience in our culture is one of exile, but we remember especially in this celebration all those gay and lesbian people who hope, who dream, who long to find a home.

So we gather in this place, we pray, and we share a holy meal together for another rather simple reason: We believe that through the relationship we celebrate here God renews an ancient promise. Exile is not forever. Shame will turn into praise. And we have, even now, in the midst of an alien land, a place and a people we can call home.

Do I mean to suggest that our voices are the only ones of prophetic hope? Does the relationship on center stage for us today manifest God's love perfectly and completely? Certainly not. Relationships are not perfect, nor are they ever complete. That too seems to be the point: To be more and more completely known for who we are and all the while loved more fully. That, surely, is part of what we mean by finding a "home." That, surely, is what we mean by "Gospel."

So we celebrate and we dare to speak of desires, hopes and dreams because of what we know about God. And what we know about God in today's celebration is this: God makes all things new. We heard it from Paul's second letter to the Corinthians. Our God is also a God of passion, just as we are people of passion, and God's passion is reconciliation. God's unending work is making a new creation from the age-old hostilities that divide us, from the factions and labels and politics that keep us sequestered in fear, from the divisions that make an exiled people long for those pastures where no one shall make us afraid.

We heard about God's passion from the Apostle Paul and we see it here today. We see it in the people God has gathered here for a celebration. We see it in the lives of a couple willing to make their love public, even when such an act carries risk and even threats. We see it in the meal we shall soon share, a meal born from the risk which God took in the cross of Christ to reconcile all people.

So as they should be, passionate love and reconciliation are linked for us this evening as we speak the language of hope. For wherever and whenever any of us love one another and rejoice in our loving, whenever we struggle to build a home and set the table of hospitality, whenever we speak the language of hope for an exiled people, God is there. God the Holy Spirit is there, bringing forth a new creation.

So blessed are you—you, here today—blessed are all of us who see what others long to see, who hear what others yearn to hear: From the distant margins, from the borders of exile, from the land of outcasts God gathers us together. God brings us home.

Sing, therefore! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, say the prophets. The doorway is flung open. Even now the fires are lit and the hearth is warmed. The table is being set, and the feast is spread out before you.

God is bringing us home—a home which doesn't look or feel so very different from this celebration here today.

Amen.

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