When my Committee on Ministry asked me to “learn to speak a language of faith that is inviting, not off-putting,” I’ll admit my first reaction was mixed. On the one hand, I deeply value authentic, honest communication — I want to speak the truth in love, without varnish. On the other, I realized that “inviting” doesn’t mean softening the truth to make it palatable. It means choosing topics that are of collective concern and relevance to the whole community, and communicating them in a way that welcomes people in, even when we’re discussing topics that stretch their comfort zones.
This feedback prompted me to step back and examine my ministry approach. In the year since, I’ve internalized several core lessons — drawn from personal experience, pastoral mentorship, and theological education — that have profoundly shaped how I speak, teach, and lead.
1. Don’t Speak from Unprocessed Trauma
The first and perhaps most vital lesson I’ve learned is to avoid speaking from a place of active personal pain in the pulpit or other ministry settings.
When we speak from wounds that are still raw, our language often carries the energy of that pain — urgency, defensiveness, or unfiltered emotion. Congregants can feel that energy. While some might relate, others may feel overwhelmed, alienated, or even burdened to take care of me when I am suppoed to be taking care of them. As spiritual leaders, our role is not to ask our congregations to hold our unprocessed pain, but rather to share the fruit of our healing journey once it has ripened into wisdom.
I’ve lived this lesson. My viewpoints on ethical non-monogamy and the pastoral abuse I endured because of them at a prior church created a deep wound for me. When my former pastor reacted in a dehumanizing way to my belief that all models of relationships based on covenant can be good, it cut into my sense of justice and rekindled old layers of shame. At the time, speaking about it publicly meant speaking from the hurt — from the wound, not the scar.
Now, my commitment is to wait until I’ve fully processed an experience, reflected with my spiritual caregivers, and drawn lessons that can edify the church before sharing it. This is not hiding my truth; it’s stewarding it wisely.
2. Build a Strong Inner Circle of Care
To make that first lesson possible, I’ve developed a self-care practice that includes working regularly with my inner circle and spiritual caregivers. These trusted people — spiritual directors, close friends, mentors — form a confidential space where I can speak freely, work through raw emotions, and explore theological implications without risking harm to my congregation.
This practice ensures that by the time I bring a personal story or perspective into a sermon or teaching, it’s been sifted, prayed over, and aligned with the purpose of building up the body of Christ. It’s not that I avoid difficult topics; it’s that I enter them with the steady hands of someone who has been held, heard, and healed.
3. Don’t Get Too Far Ahead of the Congregation
Another crucial insight I’ve absorbed from my pastor is this: spiritual leaders can’t get so far ahead of our congregations that they can’t follow us. This doesn’t mean avoiding prophetic challenge — it means leading at a pace that invites people along, rather than leaving them behind.
It’s tempting, especially for those of us who are passionate about justice and inclusion, to rush ahead toward the vision of the Kin-dom of God that we see so clearly. But as my pastor has reminded me, leadership is not about racing to the destination; it’s about traveling together. Sometimes that means slowing down, speaking in terms that resonate with where people are today, and building bridges of understanding from their current reality to the future we hope for.
In practice, this might look like:
Introducing complex or potentially controversial ideas gradually, over multiple conversations or sermons.
Grounding new perspectives in familiar scripture and shared values like justice and mercy.
Making space for questions, doubts, and dialogue rather than expecting instant agreement.
This approach honors both the urgency of God’s justice and the pastoral responsibility to nurture rather than shock.
4. Theological Education as a Foundation for Inviting Language
Through my studies at Pathways Theological Education, I’ve learned how to express the language of progressive faith in a way that is grounded in theology, scripture, and ethics. This is a major shift from simply sharing my personal opinion or lived experience.
Now, when I speak on a topic — whether it’s inclusion of LGBTQIA+ people, racial justice, or the ethics of relationships — I root my language in the Gospel’s call to love, in the prophetic witness of scripture, and in the theological traditions of our church. This grounding not only lends credibility, but it also creates a bridge for people who might not share my personal experience but who do share my faith.
By framing conversations theologically, I can speak in a way that honors the diversity of perspectives in the room while inviting everyone into a shared exploration of God’s truth.
An example of this is a draft policy I wrote for the national MESA organization on Guidelines for United Church of Christ Committees on Ministry: Addressing Ethical Non-Monogamy in Ministerial Authorization and Oversight. Though it addresses a very challenging subject for many, it fully grounds its guidelines in existing UCC theology and established documents, building a bridge from what people know and value today to how we believe we need to "create more seats at the table" in the future.
ONA is a perfect example of this. When created as a program in 1972, the ONA designation was transgressive and revolutionary. Much education was needed before it could be adopted by churches, and even today, it is only embraced by approximately one third of UCC congregations. So the education continues on ONA, and on many new issues that are becoming the social issues of tomorrow.
5. A New Place Within Myself
Ultimately, this journey has brought me to a much better place within myself. I am less reactive, more intentional, and more attuned to the pastoral role I now inhabit. I’m comfortable holding my truth without needing to make it the centerpiece of every conversation. I’m able to discern when my words will open a door for someone’s spiritual growth — and when they might close it.
The transformation has been both inward and outward:
Inwardly, I’ve done deep inner healing, processing old wounds so they no longer drive my speech.
Outwardly, I’ve refined my communication so that it invites participation, curiosity, and dialogue.
I no longer feel the need to convince people of issues of justice in one conversation. Instead, I trust the Holy Spirit’s timing, knowing that transformation is often a slow, relational process.
6. Walking the Talk
This new approach isn’t theoretical — it’s showing up in my ministry. My conversations in church settings remain pastoral and the focus stays on shared values. I’ve preached sermons that weave together scripture, theology, and lived experience in a way that invites people into dialogue, even if they hold different perspectives. I’ve been able to discuss difficult topics without alienating those who aren’t ready to embrace my conclusions.
That, to me, is the heart of speaking an inviting language of faith: it’s about creating space where everyone feels they can belong to the conversation, even if they aren’t ready to agree.
Conclusion
Learning to speak a language of faith that is inviting, not off-putting, is not about avoiding hard truths. It’s about delivering those truths in a way that opens doors instead of closing them. For me, that has meant:
Waiting until personal trauma is fully processed before speaking about it publicly.
Using my inner circle and spiritual caregivers as a sounding board and support system.
Leading at a pace my congregation can follow.
Grounding my language in theology, scripture, and ethics.
Staying aware of my pastoral role and its expectations.
Doing the inner work to stay centered in Christ’s love.
These lessons — learned through pain, healing, mentorship, and theological study — have transformed not only how I speak, but how I lead. I believe my ministry is now more invitational, more grounded, and more effective at embodying the Gospel’s call to love God and love our neighbors.
