I’ve been asked again recently why I often wear a clerical collar. I want to start by saying:
It is not Roman Catholic.
The shortest possible answer is this: why do policemen wear uniforms? So people know they’re there to serve. Why do doctors wear coats? So people know who the doctor is. A clerical collar functions in much the same way — it’s a kind of uniform that makes my role recognizable.
In what follows I want to offer four lenses on why I wear a collar:
It is not Roman Catholic.
The shortest possible answer is this: why do policemen wear uniforms? So people know they’re there to serve. Why do doctors wear coats? So people know who the doctor is. A clerical collar functions in much the same way — it’s a kind of uniform that makes my role recognizable.
In what follows I want to offer four lenses on why I wear a collar:
- A personal story
- A pragmatic purpose
- A historical tradition
- A brief note about biblical precedent
1. A Personal Story
When I was in St. Louis, my very first regular, every-Sunday preaching call was as chaplain of a 55-plus retirement community. I led a weekly worship service there. I assumed I should show up in a nice suit every week — after all, that’s what “good pastors” did. Trouble was: I didn’t own a nice suit. And every week I’d arrive only to hear people say, “Who are you again?” They were paying me to be there, and they still didn’t remember my name. Folks assumed I was a salesman — some even hesitated to let me into their apartments.
A church history professor of mine — whose article I’ll link later about the Protestant history of the clerical collar — finally said, “Why don’t you start wearing a clerical collar?” In church tradition, seminarians can begin wearing them.
St. Louis is profoundly Roman Catholic, Jewish, and Lutheran, and if you know anything about Lutherans, they still wear clerical collars. Long story short: he told me clerical collars actually come out of the Presbyterian tradition. The Roman Catholics and Lutherans got it from us.
And — voilà. No one ever asked what I was doing there again. People started welcoming me into their homes and striking up conversations. My experience since then has been similar: most people are much more willing to have a random conversation with me when I wear a clerical collar — especially other-than-Christian and unchurched people. There are occasional exceptions: in particular people with Protestant Christian backgrounds have preconceptions for all sorts of reasons. So I try to be thoughtful about when I wear it. But among folks who are hurting or unfamiliar with church culture, the collar often functions as a bridge, not a barrier. There’s a reason you still see clerical collars worn by anyone representing clergy (whether they’re supposed to be Roman Catholic or not) on television.
A church history professor of mine — whose article I’ll link later about the Protestant history of the clerical collar — finally said, “Why don’t you start wearing a clerical collar?” In church tradition, seminarians can begin wearing them.
St. Louis is profoundly Roman Catholic, Jewish, and Lutheran, and if you know anything about Lutherans, they still wear clerical collars. Long story short: he told me clerical collars actually come out of the Presbyterian tradition. The Roman Catholics and Lutherans got it from us.
And — voilà. No one ever asked what I was doing there again. People started welcoming me into their homes and striking up conversations. My experience since then has been similar: most people are much more willing to have a random conversation with me when I wear a clerical collar — especially other-than-Christian and unchurched people. There are occasional exceptions: in particular people with Protestant Christian backgrounds have preconceptions for all sorts of reasons. So I try to be thoughtful about when I wear it. But among folks who are hurting or unfamiliar with church culture, the collar often functions as a bridge, not a barrier. There’s a reason you still see clerical collars worn by anyone representing clergy (whether they’re supposed to be Roman Catholic or not) on television.
2. Practical Experiences with the Collar
Here are a few stories that illustrate what I mean.
Campus Ministry
In my first ordained call as an RUF campus minister, I was told, “When you’re on campus, don’t wear a clerical collar.”So I didn’t. But toward the end of my time when I know we were leaving, I started wearing it anyway. In those last few weeks as a campus minister, I had more spontaneous spiritual conversations than I had all year. Students approached me; I didn’t have to find them. I shared the gospel. It was wonderful.
The Salvation Army
Later, when I worked for the Salvation Army, all the Salvation Officers wore uniforms. I wasn’t an officer, but I was still there as ordained clergy. So I wore my clerical collar.
More than once, both at the rehab and out on the street doing ministry with the Salvation Army, police were called for various reasons — I was running a drug and alcohol rehab and in inner city Oklahoma City— I was very glad to have it on. The collar made clear that I was there to serve, not a threat.
More than once, both at the rehab and out on the street doing ministry with the Salvation Army, police were called for various reasons — I was running a drug and alcohol rehab and in inner city Oklahoma City— I was very glad to have it on. The collar made clear that I was there to serve, not a threat.
OU Medical
And a sort of dramatic story:
I was at OU Medical Center, walking out of the emergency room after visiting someone, when a man showed up right outside the entrance with a gun. He started firing. Police were sprinting toward him from every direction.
Inside, I was on my way out when the shooting started, so I was in the waiting room when the shots were fired. Someone grabbed me and said, “Father, what should we do?”
In that moment, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t a Roman Catholic priest — I didn’t correct them. What did matter was the visible sign that I was there to serve.
Because I was wearing my clerical collar, I was able to speak with authority and calm into a chaotic moment. I directed people to get down. I herded them out of danger. I got them into a safer room while police engaged the threat. In those seconds, the collar wasn’t about prestige — it was about clarity. It gave me a platform to lead people toward safety.
That experience showed me that the collar isn’t about ego. It’s about identification — especially in moments when people are vulnerable and looking for direction.
So yes: it started as needing clerical recognition in seminary, and since then I’ve seen a lot of practical, gospel fruit come from wearing it. I continue to delight in the number of other-than-Christian people who are willing to enter into spiritual conversations with me quickly because they identify me as a priest/pastor/religious leader/whatever.
I was at OU Medical Center, walking out of the emergency room after visiting someone, when a man showed up right outside the entrance with a gun. He started firing. Police were sprinting toward him from every direction.
Inside, I was on my way out when the shooting started, so I was in the waiting room when the shots were fired. Someone grabbed me and said, “Father, what should we do?”
In that moment, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t a Roman Catholic priest — I didn’t correct them. What did matter was the visible sign that I was there to serve.
Because I was wearing my clerical collar, I was able to speak with authority and calm into a chaotic moment. I directed people to get down. I herded them out of danger. I got them into a safer room while police engaged the threat. In those seconds, the collar wasn’t about prestige — it was about clarity. It gave me a platform to lead people toward safety.
That experience showed me that the collar isn’t about ego. It’s about identification — especially in moments when people are vulnerable and looking for direction.
So yes: it started as needing clerical recognition in seminary, and since then I’ve seen a lot of practical, gospel fruit come from wearing it. I continue to delight in the number of other-than-Christian people who are willing to enter into spiritual conversations with me quickly because they identify me as a priest/pastor/religious leader/whatever.
3. The Collar as a Uniform
Pragmatically, the clerical collar really is a uniform.
Like a police uniform. Like a doctor’s coat. It tells people who I am and what I’m there for. People recognize: I’m a pastor. I’m here to help.
In my last call, the senior pastor also wore a clerical collar. He’s been a PCA minister for over thirty years. Before his ministry, he served in the Air Force, and he always used the uniform analogy: uniforms aren’t about status or personality — they’re about visibility and service.
A lot of Protestants assume the collar means “Roman Catholic.” But other-than-Christian people mostly just go, “Oh — it’s a guy who does funerals and prays and listens when things are bad.” It gives me the freedom to walk into hospitals without a lot of questions. When tornadoes hit Oklahoma, it let us cross emergency lines and help people. In certain large public gatherings I’ve attended, it has set me apart in a way that opened doors rather than shut them.
In one particularly memorable event, I wasn’t there to do anything public. I was just attending to see what was going on and be available. But a group of Black pastors — all wearing collars — saw mine, grabbed me, and said, “Brother, come on up.” None of them were Roman Catholic. They were all Protestant pastors wearing clerical collars because they knew it gave visible recognition as clergy.
So, yes — it’s a uniform.
Like a police uniform. Like a doctor’s coat. It tells people who I am and what I’m there for. People recognize: I’m a pastor. I’m here to help.
In my last call, the senior pastor also wore a clerical collar. He’s been a PCA minister for over thirty years. Before his ministry, he served in the Air Force, and he always used the uniform analogy: uniforms aren’t about status or personality — they’re about visibility and service.
A lot of Protestants assume the collar means “Roman Catholic.” But other-than-Christian people mostly just go, “Oh — it’s a guy who does funerals and prays and listens when things are bad.” It gives me the freedom to walk into hospitals without a lot of questions. When tornadoes hit Oklahoma, it let us cross emergency lines and help people. In certain large public gatherings I’ve attended, it has set me apart in a way that opened doors rather than shut them.
In one particularly memorable event, I wasn’t there to do anything public. I was just attending to see what was going on and be available. But a group of Black pastors — all wearing collars — saw mine, grabbed me, and said, “Brother, come on up.” None of them were Roman Catholic. They were all Protestant pastors wearing clerical collars because they knew it gave visible recognition as clergy.
So, yes — it’s a uniform.
4. Historical Roots in the Reformed Tradition
Despite popular assumptions, the clerical collar did not originate with Roman Catholic priests.
In fact, if you look at painted portraits of figures like Jonathan Edwards, George Whitefield, or John Wesley, you’ll notice they’re often depicted wearing preaching tabs — a clear form of clerical dress that predates the modern collar but served the same purpose of visibly marking their office.
Pastor Tim LeCroy lays this out very helpfully in his article,
“A Short History of the Wearing of Clerical Collars in the Presbyterian Tradition”:
https://pastortimlecroy.com/2012/05/17/a-short-history-of-the-wearing-of-clerical-collars-in-the-presbyterian-tradition/
As he explains:
- Until about the 6th century, Christian pastors simply wore common, modest clothing.
- Over time, clergy dress remained conservative while lay fashion changed, making clergy clothing look distinctive by contrast.
- In Reformed circles, 17th and 18th-century ministers often wore dignified neck scarves and preaching tabs — recognized clerical attire.
- The modern clerical collar — detachable and worn around the neck — was invented in 19th-century Scotland by a Presbyterian minister, the Rev. Dr. Donald McLeod, not by Roman Catholics.
There’s even a fascinating piece of cultural history you might find interesting that I heard in an NPR podcast on the history of Evangelicalism: before World War I, Protestant clergy commonly wore religious garb, vestments, or distinctive dress. In the Depression era, a popular Baptist preacher (a precursor to the health-and-wealth movement) began wearing suits and encouraged other pastors to do the same, linking professional attire with positive thinking and success — and many clergy followed his lead. That shift helped make “business suits” the default for Protestant ministers for much of the 20th century, rather than traditional clerical or liturgical dress.
All of this shows that clerical dress has deep roots in Protestant history — even if it faded for a time and got replaced in many circles by secular business attire.
5. A Brief Note on Biblical Precedent
To be clear, the Bible does not command any specific clerical garment. But there are moments where distinctive clothing marked a role. Prophets were told what to wear in specific contexts. Rabbis and synagogue leaders wore clothing that signaled teaching authority. Jesus himself, in his own cultural context, wore clothing that set him apart as a rabbi — recognizable even when people didn’t yet know his name.
While pastors are not prophets in the biblical sense, there is precedent for God-ordained roles being signified in visible ways that help others identify office rather than exalt the wearer.
Jesus warns against doing things to be seen (Matthew 23), yet he himself embodied visible authority rooted in service.
While pastors are not prophets in the biblical sense, there is precedent for God-ordained roles being signified in visible ways that help others identify office rather than exalt the wearer.
Jesus warns against doing things to be seen (Matthew 23), yet he himself embodied visible authority rooted in service.
Conclusion: A Collar as Servant Identity
So there you have it:
I know it’s strange for some people who aren’t used to it. But I’ve seen far more good and than ill from it. So while I won’t wear it if I think it will cause problems, more often than not a short (much shorter than this!) explanation (normally for people who are already Christians anyway) removes the barrier and I’ve been able to see fruit, or at least no harm.
- A personal history of how the collar helped me actually do ministry
- Practical encounters where its visibility mattered
- A Reformed and Presbyterian tradition that predates Roman Catholic association
- And a reminder that Scripture allows visible markers for roles when they serve love and clarity
I know it’s strange for some people who aren’t used to it. But I’ve seen far more good and than ill from it. So while I won’t wear it if I think it will cause problems, more often than not a short (much shorter than this!) explanation (normally for people who are already Christians anyway) removes the barrier and I’ve been able to see fruit, or at least no harm.
