The sanctuary was quiet when a longtime pastor told her congregation she was done pretending to be someone she was not. In a few carefully chosen sentences, the minister shared that she is a transgender woman, turning an ordinary Sunday into a turning point for her church and for herself. What followed was a mix of tears, applause, and a very public lesson in what it looks like when faith and authenticity collide in real time.
Her story is part deeply personal confession, part case study in how modern churches handle gender identity in the pulpit. It is also a reminder that for many clergy, coming out is not just about private identity, it is about risking a calling, a paycheck, and a spiritual home in front of the people they serve every week.
The Sunday morning that changed everything
On a recent Sunday in western New York, the Reverend who had long been known as Phil stepped up to the pulpit in a blonde wig, makeup, and a rainbow stole, and told the congregation that the person they thought they knew was only part of the story. In that moment, the pastor explained that she is a trans woman and that the change unfolding was not about becoming someone new, but about finally letting her real self be seen. The service at North Chili United Methodist Church had all the usual markers of worship, but the sermon turned into a life announcement that would be remembered for years.
Video and photos from the service show Reverend Phil Phaneuf, identified as Reverend Phil Phaneuf, standing before the congregation at North Chili United and describing the moment as one that would surely be remembered. In another account of the same service, the pastor is described as a NY pastor who told worshippers she was “giving up pretending to be a man,” a phrase that captured both the relief and the risk of the moment. Social media clips shared later framed it simply: pastor came out during a recent church service, and the sanctuary became the stage for a very public transition.
“I’m not becoming a woman, I’m giving up pretending to be a man”
From the pulpit, the pastor did not lean on abstract theology or distant hypotheticals. Instead, she used blunt, personal language to explain what was happening. “I’m not becoming a woman, I’m giving up pretending to be a man,” she told the congregation, drawing a clear line between transition and authenticity. That framing pushed back on the idea that gender transition is about inventing a new self, and instead cast it as dropping a disguise that had been in place for decades.
Accounts of the sermon describe how the Pastor Comes Out at the Pulpit and uses the exact phrasing “Not Becoming” a “Woman” but “Giving Up Pretending” to describe her transition, language that has since been repeated widely. In another report, she is identified as Phil Phaneuf, a New York pastor who announced a plan to transition into a woman during a church address while wearing a blonde wig and makeup. The consistency of that core line across coverage shows how central it was to the way she wanted her congregation, and the wider public, to understand what was happening.
From Phil to Phillippa: a new name in a familiar pulpit
Names carry weight in church life, and for a pastor, a name is tied to baptisms, funerals, weddings, and countless hospital visits. When the Reverend shared that she would now be known as Phillippa, it signaled that this was not a temporary experiment but a settled identity. The congregation was being asked to shift from “Pastor Phil” to “Pastor Phillippa,” a small change in syllables that represented a huge shift in how she moved through the world.
Social media posts now refer to her as Pastor Phillippa Phaneuf, described as a Methodist pastor in Rochester, New York who came out as a trans woman in front of her congregation. Another report describes a New York Pastor to her Congregation as Transgender and quotes her describing herself as “Happy For the First Time In” a “Very Long Time,” language that mirrors how she has spoken about finally living under her chosen name. The shift from Phil to Phillippa is not just cosmetic, it is a public declaration that the person in the pulpit is now aligned, in name and presentation, with the woman she says she has always been.
“Truly happy for the first time in a very long time”
For all the attention on wigs, stoles, and church politics, the heart of the story is emotional. Phillippa has described the period after coming out as one of unexpected joy, even as she navigates scrutiny and debate. She has said she is “truly happy for the first time in a very long time,” a line that cuts through the noise and lands as a simple statement of relief. After years of compartmentalizing, she is telling people that the cost of hiding had become too high.
Coverage of her story notes that the Pastor, 51, came out as Transgender During Emotional and described herself as “Truly Happy for the First Time in a Very Long Time.” Another report on the New York Pastor story repeats that she felt “Happy For the First Time In” a “Very Long Time,” underscoring how central that emotional shift is to her narrative. She has also spoken about feeling 100% herself for the first time, a metric of wholeness that is less about numbers and more about finally being able to breathe.
How the congregation and bishop responded
Coming out from the pulpit is not a solo act, it instantly pulls in everyone sitting in the pews and everyone in the denominational hierarchy above the pastor. In North Chili, the immediate reaction in the room included applause, hugs, and visible emotion, but the longer term response would depend on church leadership. For a pastor whose livelihood is tied to a denomination, the question is not just “Will they still love me?” but also “Will I still have a job?”
In this case, the regional bishop issued a formal statement titled For Immediate Release, listing Contact information for Shelby Winchell, the Director of Communications, and noting that On November 23, Rev. Dr. Phil Phaneuf came out as transgender. The statement emphasized that the conference does not discriminate based on gender identity or gender expression, signaling institutional backing at a moment when some congregants were still processing what they had heard. That kind of official support does not erase every tension, but it sets a tone that this pastor is not being quietly pushed out the side door.
What it means to be a trans pastor in mainline churches
Phillippa’s story is unfolding inside a broader shift in mainline Protestant denominations, where policies and culture around LGBTQ clergy have been slowly changing. Some churches now openly ordain queer and trans pastors, while others remain deeply divided. For clergy who come out mid-career, the question is whether the institution that trained and appointed them will make room for their whole selves or treat their transition as a problem to be managed.
One example of a denomination wrestling with this is the ELCA, where trans pastors like a Colorado minister have spoken about once being banned from the pulpits they now serve. In that Colorado story, a transgender Latina pastor named Garcia recalls asking, “Why would they want a transgender Latina in the ELCA?” as she stepped into a role that had previously been closed to people like her. Another trans pastor, Peter Beeson, was welcomed into Matthew Trinity Lutheran, which is part of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, a Protestant body that has made space for transgender clergy. Phillippa’s experience sits in that same stream of cautious but real institutional change.
Media spotlight and national conversation
Once the video of Phillippa’s announcement started circulating, her story quickly jumped from a local church moment to a national talking point. Clips of her sermon were shared widely, and interviews followed, turning a deeply personal Sunday into a public debate about gender, faith, and leadership. For a pastor used to preaching to a few hundred people, suddenly having millions weigh in can be disorienting, but it also gives her a platform to talk about trans lives in a context that is often missing from cable news panels.
One in-depth interview with the transgender reverend notes that the reporter covering her story usually reports from the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court, and that writer Wiggins has written multiple cover stories, a sign of how her story has reached the national spotlight. Other outlets framed her as a pastor whose announcement sparked debate among viewers, while social media posts highlighted the raw emotion of a recent church service where a minister came out as transgender. The mix of sympathetic profiles and critical commentary reflects the broader cultural divide around trans visibility, especially in religious spaces.
Other pastors who have taken the same risk
Phillippa is not the first pastor to come out as trans from the pulpit, and she will not be the last. Around North America, a small but growing number of clergy have told their congregations that the person they thought they knew is actually a woman or man who has been hiding in plain sight. Each story is different, but the pattern is familiar: years of internal struggle, a breaking point, and then a Sunday when the truth finally gets spoken into a microphone.
In Canada, Pastor Junia Jofflin has shared how, when she was younger, she was told to always tell her truth, and that she finally did so by coming out to her congregation. In the United States, trans pastors like Garcia in Colorado and Peter Beeson at Matthew Trinity have also stepped into pulpits they once would have been barred from. Together with Pastor Phillippa, they form a small but visible cohort of clergy whose lives are forcing denominations to decide whether their theology of grace and inclusion really applies to everyone.
Why this Sunday matters beyond one church
For people sitting in the pews that morning, the announcement was about their pastor, their church, and their own comfort level with change. But zoomed out, the moment lands in the middle of a national fight over trans rights, religious freedom, and who gets to speak for Christianity in public life. When a pastor like Phillippa comes out and keeps preaching, it quietly challenges the narrative that all churches are hostile to trans people, and it gives trans Christians a rare image of someone like them at the center of the sanctuary instead of at the margins.
Her story has been told as that of a Pastor who says that serving openly as a trans woman has so far been a rewarding experience, and as a New York Pastor who feels happy for the first time in a very long time. It has also been framed by critics who focus on the phrase “giving up pretending to be a man” and question what that means for traditional teachings. Yet whether people see her as a hero, a controversy, or simply a neighbor trying to live honestly, the fact remains that a Sunday service in a modest church has become part of a much larger conversation about who gets to stand at the pulpit and tell the truth about who they are.
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