The Pub Was My Favorite Church in England

“Hey John,” he said—like most folks did. I answered to it, even though I prefer “Jonathan.”He leaned in like he was about to tell me something private.“I started praying the other day,” he said. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

I hadn’t invited him to pray. I hadn’t told him about Jesus. He just knew I was a pastor from America pulling pints in a village pub outside Bristol. That night, with the noise of football and laughter in the background, he told me about the first time he’d ever prayed. And something about it felt sacred.

There was no liturgy, no sermon. Just presence.And honestly, that moment felt more like church than most Sundays I can remember.

I Was Just the Barman

In the UK, bar service means people come to you. They walk up, order their food or drink, maybe open a tab. My Southern accent got noticed right away. “You’re a ways from home,” they’d say. Or, “You’re not from Bristol.”

I always turned it into a laugh. And 9 times out of 10, someone would ask, “So what are you doing here?” I’d tell them I was working on a PhD at Trinity College, researching theology, and yes—I was a Methodist pastor by vocation. “Oh,” they’d say. “You’re a minister?”“Yep,” I’d grin. “But I don’t usually preach here.”

That usually got a laugh, and the conversation would move on. But over time, those little interactions turned into friendships. People remembered my name. Asked about my kids. Teased me for how I said “water.”

They cared about me. And I cared about them.

The Difference Was Night and Day

At the pub, I was hired to serve food and drinks. But it turns outthat people were hungry for more than dinner and thirstierfor a pint.

At church, I felt like I had to be a professional Christian. A CEO of a nonprofit trying to survive. Whether that’s a fair assessment or not, that’s how it felt. The pressure to perform. To produce. To grow something I couldn’t always define.

But at the pub? No one cared about my performance. They just wanted a pint, a joke, or someone to listen. There, I got to be a person again.

They Told the Truth at the Pub

And they told it bluntly. Politics, religion, football, you name it—people didn’t filter themselves, and I loved it. No pretending. No small talk church smile. Just honest, sometimes messy, always real conversation.And when people are honest, you get to meet the real person.Not the version they think they’re supposed to be. It reminded me of Jesus—the way he kept showing up at people’s tables. Especially in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is always at meals. Not with the polished religious crowd, but with folks on the edges. The ones who didn’t memorize all the right prayers. The ones who needed patience more than theology. That’s what the pub felt like. A kind of table ministry. Just with crisps instead of communion. (Crips are potato chips, by the way.)

What I’d Say to Someone Who’s Walked Away

Church isn’t supposed to be a performance. Not for pastors. Not for anyone. When I walk into a church building now, I don’t carry that pressure anymore. I’m there to pursue God and to love others. That’s it. And it’s the same posture I carried behind the bar—open, unhurried, hopeful.

So if you’ve walked away from church—or never quite found your place in it—I get it.And I’d just say this: don’t give up on finding a community of faith (local church) where you can grow in faith with others. Churches are also filled with…people, and people are flawed.

If you’re someone in a local church who may not understand this concept of what I’ve described, just be aware that sometimes Jesus shows up in unexpected places. Like a Friday night in a little pub outside Bristol, where someone decided—for the first time—to pray.

Cheers.