I always thought I would name my little girl Grace. That little girl never came. I was born gay in the 1950’s a time when no one thought a child might be possible. But Grace came and times changed. I saw a wedding picture in the New York Times last Sunday, two men in tuxes, their heads tilted together, as if their love were the most natural thing. Family. The thing we never thought would happen.
Grace, the unearned, undeserved goodness which simply is. We can’t force it. There is nothing we can do to earn it. It spreads its love in ways that can never be imagined, widening the circle, expanding the possible. Grace, a beautiful word, is feminine, almost lacy in its feeling quality. How long have we lamented the present, cried out against our bitter fates, hoping but never really believing in the thick of the struggle that change would come and God’s inclusive love would appear, tender and filled with compassion, lifting us above torn hearts, beaten spirits, an unending stuck-ness, and the inability to ever see our way out.
Grace is. It comes rolling like a river, spreading like the sun, dancing, invisible like the wind. Its power is dazzling, making all things new, restoring our spirits, calling us to love and greater love. Grace is awesome, never running on human time. Grace is and then it comes, changing our lives, making visible the hopes so high we almost never dared to dream. Grace is life restored, hearts nourished, love revealed. All things possible. God’s grace surrounding us.