I wore a shirt to church this Sunday that simply said:
“This Pastor Loves You”
—set inside a rainbow Progress Pride flag.
It wasn’t a big production. I didn’t think twice about it as I got dressed. I preached, I hugged people, I shared communion. After worship, I made a quick stop at the grocery store before heading home, still wearing the shirt.
And that’s where the real sermon happened.
A Moment of Holy Humanity
As I stood at the meat counter, one of the store clerks—probably in his early twenties—handed me my items. He glanced down at my shirt, then back up with a sincerity that hit me in the chest.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “I really appreciate your shirt. That means a lot to me.”
His voice cracked slightly. I could feel it wasn’t just small talk. There was pain in his tone. And joy. And maybe something else—relief. It was a moment. Holy. Brief. Deeply human. And undeniably sacred.
I walked away stunned—not by his words, but by how easily I had forgotten what I was wearing. I had moved from the pulpit to the produce aisle without realizing I was still preaching. That shirt carried a message I needed to remember:
Sometimes, the most powerful sermons are silent.
The Second Encounter
As I continued shopping, still reflecting on what had just happened, I found myself behind another customer in line. A well-dressed woman, likely just out of church herself, kept glancing at me. Or more specifically, at my shirt.
Eventually, she turned and said, “I was trying to read your shirt.” When she finally made out the words, her face shifted.
“Oh…” she stumbled. “Well, I just left church myself. My pastor—he’s the best.”
She shared the name of her church and her pastor. It’s a church I know. One that does not affirm LGBTQ+ people. A place where my existence—as a gay pastor—would not be celebrated or even accepted.
There it was again. Another sermon. Only this time, I was the one being judged. I could feel the tension in her awkwardness. She didn’t know what to say after that. I smiled, nodded, and let the moment be what it was.
Simon and the Woman with the Alabaster Jar
As I walked to my car, the story from Luke 7:36–50 came to mind—Simon the Pharisee, and the unnamed woman who anointed Jesus with expensive perfume.
And I realized something:
I had just encountered both of them.
The store clerk was the woman—bringing his full, vulnerable self into a moment of grace. No pretense. No performance. Just honest gratitude.
The woman in line was Simon—surprised, uncomfortable, trying to reconcile what she saw with what she had been taught.
But here’s the truth:
- I was both, too.
- I was the one being affirmed and the one being scrutinized. I was the one offering grace, and the one tempted to judge. I was the one pouring out love in the form of a rainbow-colored shirt… and I was the one realizing I still carry a bit of Simon in me when I’m caught off guard.
-
Where Are We in the Story?
So where do we find ourselves in the story?
Are we the one who comes with our whole, broken, beautiful self, trusting that love will receive us?
Are we the one who raises an eyebrow, unsure how radical grace is allowed to be?
Are we the one who creates space for the story to unfold?
Maybe, like Jesus, we are called to sit at the table with both—to remind Simon and the woman, and ourselves, that love is still the most powerful force in the room.
Preaching Without a Pulpit
I didn’t plan on preaching in the grocery store.
But maybe that’s the whole point.
Maybe we’re always preaching.
With our presence.
With our posture.
With our t-shirts.
With our quiet “Amens” whispered through smiles and awkward moments in the checkout line.
So today, may we wear the gospel well.
And may we remember:
This pastor loves you.
