Created for Love

A sermon preached at St Martin-in-the-Fields on November 12, 2025 by Rt Revd Olivia Graham

I’m delighted to be here this evening, to be with you. Quite a few of us here are joining you because after the service is the launch of the book which Sam mentioned, and which I have contributed to: Created for Love. And so my reflection this evening picks up some of its themes.

Untold damage is being done to God’s beloved children through the denial of their full humanity by the institution of the Church of England. This, sadly, isn’t a new story. The Church has damaged people throughout history, in the way that it has imposed a rules-based order, rigid, cold; the way in which it has upheld the social power structures of the patriarchal cultures in which it has found expression; the way it has upheld the economic interests of the haves against the
have-nots; the way it has supported the ownership of human beings by other human beings, based on accidents of birth and entitlement.

And the Church has also had, throughout history, another face. The face which has knelt at the side of the wounded; tended the sick; cared for the lost, the lonely, the aged; spoken up for the vulnerable, raged against injustice, recognised in each person the image of Christ, God with us.

We know that we can be better than we have sometimes been.

Psalm 139 begins with breath-taking intimacy: ‘O Lord, you have searched me and known me.’

It speaks to the deepest yearnings of our souls — the need to be known, fully and completely, and yet still to be loved.

It speaks of a God who is not distant or disinterested, but a God who is present in every moment of our existence, who formed us in the womb, who hems us in behind and before, and whose thoughts toward us are more than the grains of sand.

So tonight we gather not only around this sacred text, but around a book, Created for Love — a book that dares to speak prophetically and pastorally. A book that does not dismiss scripture, but leans deeply into it. A book that challenges us to inhabit what it means to live faithfully in the truth of our createdness, our belovedness, and our dignity.

We hear these astonishing words: ‘You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.’

This is not a casual knowing — it is the knowledge of the One who perceives every thought before it is formed, every word before it is spoken. This is not surveillance; it is soul-knowledge.

For many LGBTQIA+ people in our churches, the idea of being ‘known’ can be terrifying. Too many have been taught — implicitly or explicitly — that their true selves are unwelcome. That to be loved by God, they must be something other than who they are. That they must live in hiding. That their deepest and most intimate relationships are unacceptable; that their sexuality is unacceptable. That actually, God loves some people more than other people.

But Psalm 139 cuts through this fear. There is no mask we must wear before God. God’s knowledge of us is not partial, and it is not conditional. God does not recoil at what God finds in us. God delights in us.

God has seen every part of us — our identities, our relationships, our longings, our struggles — and still wraps us in divine affection. The Church of England must echo this: that people of all sexual and gender identities and orientations are already known and loved by the Creator of the universe. There is no best and the rest. There is only us, each one, naked and beloved.

‘Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?’ The psalmist cries.

There is no place where God is not. Whether in the heavens or in the depths, in light or in darkness — God is there.

For those who have been pushed to the margins of the Church, this psalm is a source of profound hope. When communities close their doors, when pulpits speak words of exclusion, when bishops and synods made decisions which place some in second place; when the worldwide church cannot agree and when the body of Christ forgets its own diversity — God remains.

God is not confined to the sanctuaries of orthodoxy or the declarations of synods. God is with the queer Christian, sitting silently in a pew, praying for the courage to stay. God is with the couple who have built a life together in faith and love, yet are told that their covenant cannot be blessed. God is with the one whom God has called to be a priest in God’s Church, and who must choose between the vocation to be married and the vocation to serve in ordained ministry. God is present in the hurt and in the hope. In the silence and in the song.

The Church must be reminded: our theologies must never suggest that God is absent from people because of their identities or because of their relationships. The Spirit goes where the Spirit wills — and Scripture testifies that God makes a home even in the places we have called ‘dark’.

‘You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.’ The psalmist whispers.

These verses are often quoted, but seldom are they fully embraced. The psalmist asserts that every part of their being — physical, emotional, spiritual — was intentionally crafted by God. There is no accident here, no mistake.

How often has the Church used the language of ‘disorder’ or ‘brokenness’ to describe LGBTQIA+ people? How often have we told those who are gay, lesbian, bi, trans, ace or queer that their very bodies — the way they love, the way they express themselves — must be denied, disciplined, corrected or improved?

And yet they, we, are fearfully and wonderfully made. Not in spite of our whole selves, but in the fullness of them.

The image of God is not confined to heterosexuality or to binary categories. It is expressed in diversity — in the infinite complexity of human identity and  relationship. The Church’s theology must reflect this divine creativity. We must stop seeing queer bodies as problems to be solved and start honouring them as sacred. We must allow our understanding to sit alongside Scripture as we shape our theology. The Kinsey report, back in the 1940s, expressed sexuality as a spectrum. More recent thinking and study have begun to express an even more wonderful and complex picture. Fearfully and wonderfully made.

‘How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!’ The psalmist wonders.

God’s thoughts are not limited, narrow, or fearful. They are vast, precious, expansive, beyond our understanding.

The psalmist invites us to wonder — to embrace mystery, to acknowledge that God’s ways are bigger than ours. And wondering is a good posture for us to adopt as a Church in our ongoing conversations about sexuality and marriage.

We are not abandoning Scripture when we open ourselves to new understanding. We are living more deeply into it. We are trusting that the Spirit is still speaking — not contradicting the Word, but unfolding its richness in every generation.

In every generation we are asked to consider: what does love require? What does justice look like? How can we bear witness to a Gospel that sets captives free? How can we enable every beloved child to grow into the deep reality and fullest expression of who God has made them to be?

God’s reality is not boxed in by ancient cultural constructs. The Spirit doesn’t lead us into nostalgia or dogma, but into transformation.

And here is the wonderful truth:
We are known — not the version that the Church accepts, but the real us. We are loved — not in spite of who we are, but precisely because of who we are. We are fearfully and wonderfully made — our bodies, our loves, our whole being. We are called — to live fully, to love faithfully, to be part of a Church that is always being reformed by grace.

As we gather this evening to worship God, to gather round the table where all are welcome, and later to launch this book, we remind ourselves that our deepest  identity is that we are created by and for Love, and we commit ourselves again to a Gospel that sets us free. May we listen more carefully, love more deeply, and proclaim with confidence that there is room in God’s house for everyone.

Loving God,
You have searched us and known us.
You see every heart, every story, every struggle.
We thank you for your Word that declares our belovedness.
We thank you for voices that speak truth in love.
Bless this book and all who read it.
Let it be a seed of justice, healing, and inclusion.
And may your Church rise to reflect the breadth of your grace.
In Christ’s name we pray,
Amen.