
I share three things in common with the newly elected Archbishop of Wales, the Most Rev. Cherry Vann. We were both born in 1958, she in Leicester, England, and me in Victoria BC, Canada. We were also students at the Royal College of Music in London in the late 1970s where, as a colleague reminds me, we were in a choir training class together. I don’t remember her and I doubt she remembers me. That said, we both moved eventually towards theological studies, ordination, and Anglican ministry. I became a small cathedral dean, and she, an archbishop. Who knew?
Now retired from parish and cathedral ministry I remain loosely connected with church structures and responsibilities. Archbishop Vann moves in a different direction, into the very belly of the whale, as she now takes up a most demanding and complex role given recent diocesan controversies and conflicts. Based on what I have read in media reports she is the perfect person for the job. I wish her well in her new ministry.
And yes, from the safety and opportunity of student days, now long gone, you never know where folks will end up, including ourselves.
Enjoy the appreciation below currently circulating on social media — I am unable to find the original source.
For decades, Cherry Vann wore the collar and carried a secret. Behind the measured voice, the robes, and the unwavering faith was a woman quietly carrying the weight of two identities—female and lesbian—in one of the most male-dominated, tradition-bound institutions in the world.
She was ordained in 1994, among the first wave of women finally allowed to become priests in the Church of England. But with every sermon, every handshake at the church door, she knew that being honest about who she loved could end everything she’d worked for. She didn’t march. She didn’t shout. She endured. Her faith kept her rooted, even when the Church refused to see her fully.
Now, at 66, she stands as the UK’s first female archbishop—and the first openly gay one. Partnered, out, and in power. She never set out to be a symbol, but that’s exactly what she’s become. A lesbian in love and in leadership, rising through the stained-glass ceiling of a church that once wouldn’t have allowed her to hold a chalice, let alone lead a province.
She speaks with grace, but make no mistake—she’s a quiet storm. For #LGBTQ+ people of faith who’ve sat in pews wondering if God had room for them, her story is a living, breathing answer. She didn’t survive the system. She outlasted it, transformed it, and now presides over it in full light, with love in her heart and a partner by her side.
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