I keep hearing one phrase in conversations, especially lately.

Speaking the truth in love.

On the surface, it sounds generous, open-handed, extending an olive branch to love someone who needs it. Every once in a great while, it is. But sometimes — and this is only if you listen really close — it’s a snarky, educated way of saying I’ve already decided what the truth is. And now? Now, I’m going to deliver it to you. Kindly.

I’m certain, absolutely positive, I’ve acted just like this myself. Probably more often than I know, or care to admit.

What happens to the people who need my love the most? This is what wakes me up in the middle of the night. The people who need my love the most. They don’t need me to tell them the truth about themselves. They are already on trial, convicting themselves, and ensuring that the judge, jury, and executioner are ready to deliver their guilty-as-charged verdict. So do they need me to tell them what they already feel guilty enough about?

“Would I be welcome at your church?”

David came up to me asking this question on a Saturday in the Aldi parking lot.

“Seriously. If I came to your church, would they turn me away?” His green hair was curled, flowing to his shoulders. Multiple visible piercings and tattoos. His dress was rainbow-colored, showing off his support for the community he called his own. The thing is, he was asking for acceptance. Not reconciliation. He didn’t give me permission to come looking for something wrong to judge him. Just came and asked if we’d accept him.

I said I couldn’t answer that question for the church, but as for me? Yes. I would proudly bring him in, sit him next to me, and let him praise and worship God just as he was. Would others be as accepting? I couldn’t speak for them. Just for me. That was enough.

“Hey, man. You wanna go get something to eat? Alissa and I were thinking about sushi. Would you like to join us? Our treat.”

Who passes on sushi? He certainly didn’t, grateful to have friends who weren’t embarrassed to be seen with him.

That was the whole thing. Was it an entire sermon? I don’t think so.

I keep reading a lot about theologians, pastors, and priests who are doing their best to be compassionate toward LGBTQ folks while also framing their existence as a problem – one that needs to be lovingly addressed. The writing is careful, as is the framing. It’s kind, semi-loving. Then, smack dab in the middle lands one sentence. About harm. About polite society. And then they drop in children and kids. So, when that sentence is thrown in, it lands like a massive rock being hucked into a still pond. You can feel the ripples long after the rock cuts through the water.

I know for sure I’m ill-equipped to hand down a verdict to anyone about their own soul.

Anyone who felt loved by me? They come back, back to the dinner table, back to the barbecue. Our conversation continues. They come back to something that looked like faith.

It’s not a strategy. It’s what I’ve seen.

Speaking the truth in love? It starts with a good long look at ourselves, where our biases land, and being honest with ourselves about how little truth we actually hold. Love is more than a delivery system for our conclusions. Maybe it’s showing up. Staying.

David and I? We still see each other on occasion. We still talk. He doesn’t need me to agree with everything he believes. Neither do I.

But we keep showing up.