Why I won’t wear a collar at the protests

Asked to wear a collar at a protest, I declined because when I say “we’re all priests,” I mean it.

I often ask people not to call me “Pastor Jonny.” “Jonny” will do just fine, no honorific needed. The heart of my request is that I don’t want my job, the office I hold, to set me apart from my congregation. I’m an Anabaptist—a tradition that roots itself in a radical rejection of worldly hierarchy. I want to fully live into that conviction, even when it comes down to my title. We’re all one in Christ, submitting to Jesus as Lord. There’s no King but Christ, and so clergy and laity alike, we’re all the same.

At the risk of jeopardizing my job, I want to say that though we are all equal, Anabaptist pastors have an essential role in the church. Melissa-Florer Bixler says that our job is to pay attention. Churches have needs that can be daunting for a group of volunteers to fulfill, and so those needs—related primarily to teaching and shepherding—can be assigned to a pastor. It’s simply a matter of training, and it doesn’t make me particularly special. In fact, many members of my congregation—such as our building committee, nursery team, our song leaders and pianists—are exceptionally skilled, and indispensable.

It is with humility, then, that I take my position as pastor. I do it not as the “leader “of my congregation, but as its servant. My job is to try and amplify the voices of our worshippers, while also doing my best to hold them together. To listen to everyone and try to make sure everyone is listened to. That process means moving as slowly as we need to move to get where the congregation wants to go.

Because of my clarity about my position, and my ongoing intention to reject worldly hierarchy and clerical status, I do not use a collar, stole, or other ornaments associated with being a pastor.

I have to admit, first and foremost, that my decision not to not wear something that marks me as a pastor could be rooted in privilege. I am queer, but became a pastor while still closeted, and as far as the world was concerned, I was a straight, male pastor. One could say that it's easy for me to discard symbols of my office because I didn’t have to “fight” for it. Women and other minorities who have a different experience may have unique reasons for wearing a stole or collar. My choice is in no way a prescription for anyone else.

Recently, though, I was asked to wear a collar at a protest. The goal was to mark myself as a potential conflict de-escalator, as someone to whom people could turn for support—and even as someone whom police might hesitate to arrest. I can understand this argument. I reject it, however, because it would bestow on me the kind of power I am trying to defeat. Wordly status and power is what got us into the messes we protest.

A radical, non-hierarchical ecclesiology—along with a commitment to peace, nonviolence and the assurance of the reign of God—is exactly why I became an Anabaptist. I believe that status, hierarchy and worldly power fuel social and economic disparity. I don’t want to compromise my beliefs.

I do think there may be a time and a place for this. White people have often shielded Black and brown people from arrest, and while that also feels compromising, I understand it and I respect it. My convictions are personal and not meant for everyone. They are rooted in my own theological tradition, one I wouldn’t trade for political expediency. The idea of wearing a collar to protect myself against arrest is a bit offensive. collar so as not to get arrested? I have been targeted by police specifically because of my race. A bearded Arab man draws a bit of extra attention at a pro-Palestine rally. I’m not sure a collar would help me, but I am sure it would feel like an ethical compromise.

I want to build a world where we are all respected because we are redeemed and loved by God, and for no other reason.