“And yet, He blesses them”: What God blesses is not perfection, but hope.
- Cyprien.L
- Apr 9
- 14 min read
Introduction
“You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination.”— Leviticus 18:22
“An abomination in the eyes of God” — What it really means… and what it might mean differently
This verse is often quoted as a final verdict. It appears self-evident, definitive, beyond appeal. The word abomination resonates with immense moral gravity. And yet… a careful reading of Scripture reveals that this word is used far more broadly — and, at times, for things we no longer consider abominable at all today.
So what does “an abomination in the eyes of God” truly mean? And more urgently: why do some abominations still echo loudly in Christian consciences, while others have faded almost entirely?
A troubling inventory: what God really finds abominable
a) Pride and arrogance
“Everyone proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord; though they join forces, none will go unpunished.”— Proverbs 16:5
b) Lies and deceit
“Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who deal truthfully are His delight.”— Proverbs 12:22
c) Human sacrifice
“They even burn their sons and daughters in the fire to their gods — something the Lord your God detests.”— Deuteronomy 12:31
d) Injustice in judgment
“He who justifies the wicked and he who condemns the just, both of them alike are an abomination to the Lord.”— Proverbs 17:15
e) Dishonest commerce and economic fraud
“Dishonest scales are an abomination to the Lord, but a just weight is His delight.”— Proverbs 11:1
The conclusion is clear: the word abomination is not reserved for sexual misconduct. It encompasses lies, injustice, hypocrisy, cruelty, arrogance. Yet some sins — equally grave and widespread — no longer trigger such strong public outrage. Why?
What we conveniently forget: clothing, food, and ritual
purity
Some biblical commandments that are today dismissed as “folkloric” are also explicitly labelled as abominations.
a) Mixed fabrics
“You shall not wear a garment of different sorts, such as wool and linen mixed together.”— Deuteronomy 22:11
b) Unclean animals
“You shall regard them as detestable; you shall not eat their flesh…”— Leviticus 11:11 (referring to sea creatures without fins and scales)“The pig is unclean… you shall not eat their flesh or touch their carcasses.”— Leviticus 11:7–8
c) Other dietary and clothing prohibitions are also considered abominations — including carrion birds (Lev. 11:13) and certain reptiles.
Why are these laws — equally labelled abomination — now ignored, while the prohibition against homosexual acts remains enforced? Why has the Church ceased condemning mixed fabrics, but upholds this particular moral precept?
Ritual law vs. moral law: how to distinguish?
Catholic theologians generally respond by distinguishing two categories:
Ritual (or cultic) law: tied to the ceremonial sanctity of the people of Israel, fulfilled in Christ (cf. Mark 7:18–19).
Moral law: rooted in human nature and divine order, universal and immutable.
Yet this distinction, though doctrinally valid, is not always intuitive. The Hebrew word to’evah is used in both cases. And what Jesus brings is not merely a legal clarification — but a complete revolution of perspective.
Jesus and the word “abomination”: a revolution in the gaze
One thing stands out when reading the Gospels: the word “abomination” disappears entirely. Jesus never uses it to condemn a person. He never says, “You are an abomination” — but rather:
“Go, and sin no more.”— John 8:11
Sin is acknowledged — but the sinner is saved, loved, restored.
“Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”— Mark 2:17
Where we use the word abomination to exclude, Jesus speaks of sin in order to heal. He sees the sinner not as a scandal, but as a soul in need of salvation — not a monster, but a patient. And He goes even further: He reverses the accusation. Those who believe they see clearly may in fact be the most blind:
“If you were blind, you would have no sin; but now you say, ‘We see.’ Therefore your sin remains.”— John 9:41
In the Gospel, the ultimate abomination is not sin itself, but the refusal to recognize oneself as a sinner. It is the pride of the Pharisee, the hardness of heart, the rejection of mercy. And if this is what Jesus condemns most fiercely, how can we not tremble when we ourselves are tempted to close the door of the Church to those still in struggle?
Toward a Catholic theology of demanding mercy
The Catechism of the Catholic Church never uses the word abomination. Instead, it offers a threefold distinction:
Objectively disordered acts: e.g. homosexual acts (CCC 2357), adultery, murder, etc.
The human person: always worthy of dignity, always loved, always called to holiness.
Inclinations or tendencies: morally neutral in themselves, unless freely chosen and enacted.
This distinction is vital. It allows the Church to affirm the gravity of a given act, without condemning the person, especially one who struggles, searches, hopes.
As Saint John Paul II reminded us in Reconciliatio et Paenitentia:
“Sin, however grave, never has the last word. God never tires of forgiving, so long as man does not tire of asking.”
This echoes the concept of spiritual gradualism, recognized in Amoris Laetitia (§295–305) by Pope Francis: every person is on a journey, even if not yet fully conformed to the Gospel ideal.
And Benedict XVI said it beautifully in Deus Caritas Est:
“Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a Person.”
And this encounter transforms. Slowly, yes — but truly. It does not justify sin, but transfigures the sinner. It leads not to compromise, but to hope.
What God truly hates: the refusal of His mercy
Scripture is clear on what God detests: injustice, lies, cruelty, pride. The Hebrew word to’evah covers all that violates the dignity of the human person. But in Christ, it is the rejection of forgiveness itself that becomes the supreme abomination.
“The tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the Kingdom of God before you.”— Matthew 21:31
This is not a glorification of sin — but of repentance. It is not that these people were good; it is that they knew they were not. It is not up to us to sort the impure from the pure. It is up to us to recognize that we are all wounded, all called, all in need.
So let us ask ourselves, especially in this Lenten season:What I call “an abomination in the eyes of God” — is it truly because God abhors it? Or is it because I am disturbed, frightened, uncomfortable… because I don’t want to see my own reflection as a sinner?
Homosexuality and Homoromanticism: What the Church distinguishes, and what we too often forget
In many debates, words are blurred. The term “homosexuality” is used interchangeably to describe an orientation, a sexual practice, or even a purely romantic or emotional attachment. This confusion is not just imprecise — it is dangerous. It makes every discussion unnecessarily violent, and it betrays the careful clarity with which the Church speaks.
Inclination, attraction, acts: three distinct realities
The Catechism of the Catholic Church is explicit. It makes a vital distinction:
Homosexual inclination (CCC 2358):
“A number of men and women have deep-seated homosexual tendencies. [...] They do not choose their homosexual condition.”
The homosexual person:
“They must be accepted with respect, compassion, and sensitivity. Every sign of unjust discrimination in their regard should be avoided.”
Homosexual acts (CCC 2357):
“Homosexual acts are intrinsically disordered. [...] Under no circumstances can they be approved.”
We see clearly: it is not the person who is condemned, nor the inclination. What is called disordered is the sexual act itself — a genital union outside the framework God has willed for the full, faithful, fruitful, and sacramental gift of self in heterosexual marriage.
But this distinction — so precise in the Catechism — is often lost in public discourse, even within Catholic circles. Too often, we forget that chastity is demanded of all, not only of homosexual persons. And that chastity is a path of grace, not a presupposed virtue. It is a pilgrimage, not a possession. A road, not a trophy.
And that road must be supported, not made so heavy that it crushes the soul beneath it.
“They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger.”— Matthew 23:4
How can we not hear in these words of Jesus a direct warning to those who would impose unbearable rules on others — burdens they themselves barely carry? This is not a call to relativism. It is a call to remember that law, without grace, kills (cf. 2 Cor. 3:6).
And that is where the blessing enters — and the heart speaks
The recent declaration Fiducia Supplicans, issued by the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, has been widely misunderstood. Some saw in it a blessing of homosexual unions — which it explicitly excludes.
“This is not a liturgical or ritual blessing of same-sex unions, but a blessing of persons.”— Fiducia Supplicans, §31
So what is being blessed? A heart in pilgrimage. A soul that turns to God, not in triumph, but in desire. The trust of a person who approaches, though still imperfect, still in process, still struggling. It is not a situation that is being blessed — it is a person who hopes. And a person blessed is not a person approved in all that they do — but a person entrusted to God, with all their contradictions, wounds, longings, and flickers of light.
And here, we must speak of a reality still too little known: homoromanticism — the deep emotional attachment between two persons of the same sex, without necessarily a sexual relationship. Can one love deeply, share life, daily intimacy, spiritual friendship, a path of faith — while living chastely? Can such a bond be blessed?
“It is not good for man to be alone.”— Genesis 2:18
This foundational verse from Genesis is not only about sexual complementarity. It touches on existential solitude. The human being, created in the image of a relational God, needs presence.
And yes, let us be clear: God did draw woman from the side of man, not from above nor from below — from the side. This expresses what God willed naturally, theologically speaking, in His benevolent design for humanity.
But — we have fallen. And this fall is not merely individual. It is collective. Personally, I have never lived in Eden. I have never tasted any fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil — apple, fig, or otherwise. And yet, I bear the consequences. I symbolically eat that fruit every time I miss the mark. My body is marked.
“We know that the law is spiritual; but I am carnal, sold under sin.”— Romans 7:14
This is what Saint Paul calls the body of sin: not that the body is evil, but that it is wounded, disordered by the Fall. We are all marked. Homosexual persons too. And because these brothers and sisters are marked like we are, shall we burden them even more?
Let us not make them scapegoats — again
We must not exploit them — as has been done far too often in the course of history — by making them the perfect scapegoat. But is it not Christ Himself who has become the final scapegoat, the innocent Lamb, offered once for all?
And what are we doing — each time we turn upon our brothers, each time we isolate, accuse, humiliate — if not sacrificing Christ anew?
“Truly, I say to you, whatever you did to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.”— Matthew 25:40
“But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a great millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.”— Matthew 18:6
Now that we know homosexuality has, at least in part, biological and genetic origins, we must acknowledge that our very biology has been wounded by sin. Not only at a moral level — but down to our very flesh. We are the fruit of a disordered world. The sin of Satan and his legions does not only touch souls. It poisons creation, corrupts order, disfigures harmony.
This does not mean God willed this state. Homosexuality is not, in itself, a good. But the person born with such a tendency is not a mistake of creation. He is a brother. She is a sister. A fellow pilgrim, marked like we are — but called to salvation, not to rejection.
So what do we do? Do we brutalize what is already bruised? Do we condemn to loneliness those whose hearts cry out for presence? Do we ask them to carry a burden Christ did not impose on others?
“Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”— Romans 7:24
“We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin.”— Romans 6:6
Are we truly to add sorrow to sorrow — asking ten percent of the population to live in isolation, without companionship, without a face to love or be loved by? And all this, in the name of an ideal that we ourselves only follow in theory?
Even monks — those often cited as examples — do not live alone. They live in community, with a rule, with liturgy, with fraternal support. Can we then demand of a layperson with homosexual inclinations a total solitude, when they have neither monastery, nor structure, nor daily ecclesial guidance?
The call to chastity remains valid. But Christian chastity is not abandonment — it is a school of love. And sometimes, love must also pass through the right not to be alone.
“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”— Galatians 6:2
Chastity, yes. Abandonment, no. Two people of the same sex can live a bond that is strong, chaste, and oriented toward God. Perhaps this is what Pope Francis seeks to bless: not sexuality, but a fidelity of heart, a struggle, a human relationship sanctified by the Gospel.
Ancient blessings, spiritual friendship, and the voice of the Church
In the early centuries of Christianity, blessing persons united in chaste friendship or spiritual companionship was not uncommon. The rite of adelphopoiesis — present especially in Eastern traditions — united two people of the same sex in a solemn commitment of mutual support, shared life, and spiritual fidelity. It was not a marriage. But the Church recognized the sanctity of a bond rooted in Christian love and transfigured friendship.
Scholars such as Fr. John Boswell, in Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality (Yale University Press), have documented these practices. Theologians like Fr. Louis Bouyer have studied these rites with great nuance. While interpretations may vary, one thing is clear: the Church has, at various moments, known how to bless forms of communion without confusing them with matrimony.
Among the Fathers of the Church, St. Aelred of Rievaulx, in his treatise De spirituali amicitia (On Spiritual Friendship), elevates friendship to the heights of Christian virtue. He speaks of love between two men as a reflection of the Trinity, provided that love is lived in virtue and in the grace of Christ. Friendship, for Aelred, is not a danger but a path to sanctification when it flows from and returns to divine charity.
More recently, Cardinal Christoph Schönborn — Archbishop of Vienna, theologian of the Catechism, and faithful son of the Church — said in a 2015 interview:
“There may exist between two persons of the same sex a bond that deserves recognition — not in the sense of marriage, but in the sense of accompaniment in what is good, faithful, and generous within that relationship.”
And further:
“We must discern, as Pope Francis invites us to do, what in the lives of these persons is worthy of support, accompaniment, and blessing.”
This is not relativism. This is not dilution of doctrine. It is the exercise of Christian discernment, the call to see persons before we see categories, souls before situations, destinies before definitions.
Seeing the person, not the label
One of the gravest distortions of modernity — and sadly, it has infiltrated even certain Christian environments — is the reduction of the human being to a sexual, political, or social identity. Everyone becomes the walking billboard of their category. But we are not our impulses, nor our wounds, nor our hashtags. We are, first and foremost, sons and daughters of God.
“The tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the Kingdom of God ahead of you.”— Matthew 21:31
This verse does not glorify sin. It glorifies mercy. It reminds us that those who know they are fallen are often more open to grace than those who imagine themselves righteous. Many homosexual persons live with fervent faith, disciplined prayer, and sincere chastity — perhaps more so than many believers whose lives outwardly conform to Church norms. And yet, they are often silenced, shamed, or excluded.
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! You shut the kingdom of heaven in people's faces. You do not enter yourselves, nor do you allow those who would enter to go in.”— Matthew 23:13
The Church must resist two symmetrical errors:
Morality without mercy — the law without love.
Mercy without truth — sentiment without structure.
The true path is the one walked by Christ Himself: a mercy that is demanding, and a demand that is merciful.
Conclusion – What God truly blesses: the heart in motion
To bless someone is not to canonize their actions. It is not to approve everything they do. It is to welcome them into the rhythm of salvation, to surround them with an ecclesial gesture that says — as Christ said to Zacchaeus:
“Today, salvation has come to this house.”
To bless is to say: You are not alone. God sees you. He does not turn His face away. He walks beside you. And He wants to lift you up.
Christ does not bless merits. He blesses hunger. He does not congratulate the well-positioned. He bends low over those who thirst, over the blind who cry out, the lepers who kneel, the sinners who dare to draw near. He blesses the reaching of the heart — even wounded, even clumsy. He blesses the road, not the finish line. He blesses those who walk — even if they stumble.
That is why to refuse a blessing to one who sincerely struggles is to risk — unknowingly — refusing Christ Himself, who often hides behind the faces we reject. The one we see as impure may be the very one where God is at work most powerfully.
Yes… what of the disciples on the road to Emmaus?
Those two, who walked away from Jerusalem, sad and discouraged, believing everything was over. They did not flee into visible sin — they fled the place of testimony. They abandoned the others. They turned inward, defeated. Their hope had vanished.
“That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened.”— Luke 24:13–14
They don’t just talk. They complain. They murmur. They scold the stranger who walks beside them — almost reproaching him for not knowing the tragedy they had lived:
“Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”— Luke 24:18
And then this heartbreaking phrase:
“We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”— Luke 24:21
We had hoped… but we hope no longer. Their faith has collapsed. Their eyes are closed. And yet, Christ does not reject them. He does not say: “Go back to Jerusalem, then I will appear.” No. He draws near, walks beside them, listens to their grief, teaches them, kindles their minds, and warms their hearts.
“O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe…”— Luke 24:25
Yes, He corrects them — but only to draw them closer. He lets them invite Him, and in divine humility, He enters their house:
“Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.” So he went in to stay with them.— Luke 24:29
And there, in their confusion, their doubt, their slowness, He gives them the Eucharist. Not to the brave. Not to the unwavering. But to two men in crisis, walking away — yet whose hearts had not yet closed.
“He took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.”— Luke 24:30–31
They were no less sinful before than after. Their hearts were still slow. But Christ went further: He gave them His body. The sacrament was not a trophy for the strong, but bread for the journey.
Does this not prove that Christ blesses the heart that searches, long before it arrives? That He gives Himself not to the perfect, but to those who simply make room?
Emmaus is the sacrament given to the weak — to the ones who doubt, who complain, who flee… but who still keep a door ajar. And that, even today, remains the beating heart of the Gospel.
Comments