Learning the Grammar of Love

David Palmieri

Today’s post is from guest contributor David Palmieri, a theology teacher and founder of Without Exception, a grassroots network of secondary educators dedicated to discerning the art of accompaniment for LGBTQ+ students in Catholic high schools, and received an award from the National Catholic Educational Association in 2021.

I attended a conference recently, where there was a panel presentation on LGBTQ+ ministry. As the session began, the facilitator offered a greeting and explained how things would proceed: a few rounds of dialogue among the panelists, followed by time for audience participation. The facilitator also offered a standard disclaimer that panelists would speak only from their own experiences, and the audience was asked to hold their questions and comments until the end.

Despite this last request, the panel did not get past the first exchange before someone in the audience interrupted a panelist in mid-sentence to challenge their claim to “accept” LGBTQ+ persons.

“What do you mean by accept?” the objector demanded, before elaborating on a defensive position against the word.

The panelist and the facilitator de-escalated the situation gently and effectively. They offered a clear and simple response, reminded the audience not to interrupt, and moved the conversation forward without further incident.

I’ve thought a lot about this moment—less about the interruption and more about what it revealed. Too often, LGBTQ+ ministry becomes contentious when there is a deficit of trust and words become points of tension or tests of allegiance. That seems to be what happened here. 

I took three lessons away from this experience.

First, in matters of theology and personal identity we must resist the urge for iron certitudes. Our Catholic faith teaches us that language is limited and “our human words always fall short of the mystery of God” (CCC 39–43). This is not a denial of objective truth; it is an acknowledgement that human language never exhausts the search for meaning. While the Church professes binding teachings, human experience often introduces complexities colored in gray rather than black and white.

Second, especially in today’s hostile social media culture, we have a moral obligation to avoid rash judgments (CCC 2478). These happen when we draw conclusions based on assumptions and insufficient evidence—especially about what is in another person’s heart and mind. It is really tempting to lean into conflict, into poles that position rightness against wrongness, and righteousness against evil. But the model of a Catholic life is to presume goodwill, to ask for a listening heart, and to seek understanding. The interruption at the panel was not simply a breach of etiquette; it was an example of falling short by policing words instead of one’s own actions.

Third, when we use words that are contested, we should pause to define what we mean by them. Much of the conflict surrounding LGBTQ+ ministry is connected to the implications of specific words. For example, take the word accept. Does it mean acknowledgment or approval? To acknowledge is to recognize that something is present; to approve is to endorse that something is good. That judgment of “goodness” is an obstacle for those who read LGBTQ+ identity through the lens of “intrinsic disorder.” In that case, the conversation is over before it begins.

But some historical clarity can help this particular misunderstanding.

When the modern Catechism of the Catholic Church was written under the direction of Pope St. John Paul II, it was first published in French in 1992. One sentence in paragraph 2358 is particularly relevant here. Referring to those with “homosexual tendencies” the French text reads, Ils doivent être accueillis avec respect, compassion et délicatesse (my translation: “They must be welcomed with respect, compassion, and sensitivity”). 

The 1994 English translation rendered this sentence as “They must be accepted with respect, compassion, and sensitivity.” Concerns soon emerged about the meaning of accept in English, given its potential to imply moral endorsement rather than moral regard.

In 1997, the Church issued an official Latin translation of the Catechism which rendered the sentence as Excipiendi sunt observantia, compassione et suavitate (my translation: “They must be received with respect, compassion, and sensitivity.”) While the English translation of this Latin sentence retained the word accept, the Latin version’s use of excipindi sunt (they must be received) made clear the Church’s intent is one of hospitality. Any  controversy here is linguistic not doctrinal.

Welcomed. Received. Accepted. These are the Church’s own words. Properly understood, they are not vague, nor do they split hairs or sow confusion. They describe a posture that reflects Jesus’s own desire to unite himself with every person. These words belong to the “grammar of love,” a phrase Pope Francis used to describe “the language of closeness, the language of generous, relational, and existential love that touches the heart, impacts life, and awakens hope and desires.” This is how faithful Catholics ought to speak and act when human dignity is at stake.

Quite simply, LGBTQ+ persons must be treated with the virtue of kindness in the same way Jesus welcomed, received, and accepted Zacchaeus by name (Lk 19:1–10). Of course, the crowd grumbled that Jesus would “stay at the house of a sinner,” but Jesus transcended the conflict. He acknowledged Zacchaeus’s shared humanity and reminded critics that salvation has come for all.

The deeper lesson here is that  if we fixate on word choice rather than meaning, then we risk missing the Gospel. The Church’s call is not to be the grammar police, but to form missionary disciples who accept one another with respect, compassion, and sensitivity—without exception.

–David Palmieri, January 13, 2026