Vince Gill & Amy Grant’s Golden Vow: 25 Years of Faith, Fire, and Unbreakable Harmony

The Nashville skyline shimmered under a harvest moon on November 13, 2025, when Vince Gill and Amy Grant—the country-gospel power duo whose voices have been a beacon of belief and beauty for generations—reclaimed their sacred vows in a candlelit ceremony that felt less like a milestone and more like a miracle. Hand in hand beneath a canopy of soft golden lights strung like fireflies across their Franklin farm, the couple, surrounded by 150 of their closest kin and collaborators, promised once again what they’ve lived for a quarter-century: love still wins. With Vince’s tenor catching like a held breath on “You’re still the greatest song I’ve ever sung,” and Amy’s soprano smiling through tears, this intimate renewal wasn’t pageantry. It was poetry—a living testament to a union forged in faith, tempered by trials, and tuned by tunes that have touched millions. In a world weary of weddings, Gill and Grant didn’t just renew. They reignited, proving that real love, rooted deep, only blooms brighter with time.

This vow renewal marks a profound pivot in their 25-year odyssey, a heartfelt homecoming to the Nashville night where their paths first crossed in 1993, blending music and ministry into marital magic. Married March 10, 2000, after a courtship sparked at Vince’s Tulsa Christmas show—where Amy’s guest spot on “House of Love” ignited sparks amid their prior unions—their journey has been a duet of devotion. Vince, the 21-time Grammy king with a voice like aged oak, and Amy, the “Queen of Christian Pop” with six Grammys and a Dove dynasty, weathered public whispers (their divorces from Janis Oliver and Gary Chapman in 1998 and 1999) and private tempests: Amy’s 2022 bike crash that fractured her skull and stole her voice for months, Vince’s quiet battles with doubt amid his Opry 50th. Yet through it all, they’ve harmonized: co-parenting five kids into seven grandkids, their Leiper’s Fork farm a haven for songwriting sabbaths. The ceremony—officiated by their pastor-friend under a willow arbor Amy planted post-crash—echoed their original nuptials: no extravagance, just echoes of “When God Made You,” the 2006 hit Vince penned for her, now etched on their rings.

The evening unfolded like a love song’s bridge—intimate yet infinite, with family and friends forming a chorus of quiet witnesses to grace’s greatest hits. Twinkling lights draped the backyard like stars in a hymnal sky, 150 souls—Opry alumni like Ricky Skaggs, blended brood Corinna Grant Gill (24, their shared light) leading grandkid giggles—gathered on hay bales and folding chairs. No string quartet; just a lone guitar from Vince’s 1950s Martin, Amy’s hand in his as he whispered his vow: “Twenty-five years ago, you became my forever chorus. You’re still the greatest song I’ve ever sung.” Amy, radiant in a lace gown echoing her 2000 silk, replied through shimmering eyes: “You’ve been my harmony in every hard verse—my faith, my fire, my home.” Rings exchanged—simple gold bands inscribed with “Go Rest High” lyrics—amid a hush broken only by their daughter Corinna’s soft violin on “The Prayer.” Friends like Reba McEntire dabbed tears; Dolly Parton, via video, quipped, “Darlin’, y’all make love look like a chart-topper.” It was no spectacle. It was sacrament—a renewal where forgiveness (their pre-marriage grace) and fun (Vince’s golf-cart arrivals) fused into forever.

Their story, from stormy starts to steadfast shores, stands as a symphony of second chances, a faith-fueled fable that’s inspired anthems and audiences alike. They met amid marital mists—Amy, 32, post-Gary’s addictions; Vince, 37, after Janis’s rodeo roads diverged—but their 1993 Tulsa duet sparked a slow-burn scripture. “We tried to be respectful,” Amy reflected in a 2024 People exclusive, “but you can’t unfeel fate.” Divorces finalized, they wed in a backyard bash with 200 witnesses, Vince crooning “Whenever You Come Around” as Amy walked the aisle. Storms followed: Amy’s 2016 vocal hemorrhage, Vince’s 2020 label drop, the 2022 crash that sidelined her Ryman run (Vince soloing through sobs). Yet grace prevailed: their Tennessee Christmas duets (annual Ryman sellouts since 2008), blended family holidays (seven grandkids under one roof), and quiet ministries like Amy’s youth camps, Vince’s guitar scholarships. “We’ve given each other freedom,” Amy shared in 2024, “knowing you’re the one I return to.” Theirs isn’t fairy tale—it’s fortitude, a love that laughs through lines (Vince’s dad jokes) and lingers in lyrics (Amy’s “Takes a Little Time”).

As the night closed with their quiet duet of “House of Love”—Vince on guitar, Amy’s harmony a holy hush—there wasn’t a dry eye, only a deepening dawn of hope. The farm’s firepit flickered as guests encircled, singing along to the 1994 hit that foreshadowed their forever, Corinna joining on fiddle, grandkids waving glow sticks like tiny torches. No fireworks. Just the crackle of connection, a renewal where faith (their shared Christianity) and forgiveness (post-divorce grace) fused into a finale that felt like the first note. Reba wiped her eyes: “Y’all make eternity look easy.” Social feeds, usually a storm of selfies, softened to shares: a clip of Vince’s vow racked 10 million views, captioned “25 years of ‘the greatest song’—goals.” In a world starved for staying power, Gill and Grant didn’t just renew vows. They renewed belief: love, when rooted in faith, doesn’t grow old. It grows gold.

One vow resonates richer than any rehearsal: in Gill and Grant’s gospel, love isn’t a solo—it’s a symphony, conducted by grace through every verse. As the moon rose over Franklin fields, their harmony hummed on—a reminder that the sweetest songs aren’t sung alone. Happy 25th, Vince and Amy. The encore’s just beginning.