There are moments when an incident stops being merely a local story and begins to reveal something much deeper. What happened on June 28 outside One Church, in Comerío, Puerto Rico, belongs in that category.

I do not know who painted the rainbow colors on the asphalt and on a roadside guardrail. I do not know what motivated them, and it is not my place to justify their actions. If someone believes a law was broken, there are authorities and legal mechanisms to address that. That is not the point of this reflection.

The point is the words that followed.

Hours after those colors appeared, Pastor Jorge J. Santiago Reyes went live on social media. He said he felt threatened. He described what happened as a physical attack against his church. He appeared angry and disappointed. He called those who painted the rainbow “cowards” and “charlatans.” He expressed frustration with the support that, according to him, the municipal government of Comerío has shown toward the LGBTQ community, and with those who support posts related to that community. He repeated several times that the people responsible had “crossed the line.” He ended his message by saying, “These charlatans have to be stopped.”

As I listened to his words, I stopped thinking about the paint.

I began thinking about fear.

There is one phrase the pastor repeated again and again: “They crossed the line.” Yet he never explained what that line was. If he was referring to a possible violation of the law, that is for the authorities to determine. If he meant respect for property, there are also procedures to deal with that. But when that line remains undefined and the message begins to associate a rainbow with a threat, the question changes. It is no longer only about a guardrail or a road. It becomes a question about what boundary, in the pastor’s view, was actually crossed.

Paint can be erased.

A brush can cover the asphalt and return a guardrail to its original color.

What does not disappear so easily is the meaning of those colors.

And perhaps that is where the real conflict begins.

It is significant that this happened precisely on June 28, the day when the LGBTQ community remembers a history marked by exclusion, violence, and the struggle for dignity. What represents memory, hope, and the possibility of living without hiding for millions of people was presented by others as a threat.

I do not know why someone painted that rainbow. I do not need to know in order to ask whether those were the words society should expect from a pastor.

A religious leader may feel hurt, frustrated, or angry. What he cannot forget is the responsibility that comes with every public expression. His words do not end when a livestream ends. They move beyond the space of his church, reach people who may never share his faith, and help shape the way others see those who think differently. When a pastor calls other people “charlatans” and “cowards,” says they “have to be stopped,” and turns a rainbow into evidence of an attack, he is no longer speaking only from frustration. He begins to build a discourse that can feed rejection toward a community far larger than the people responsible for that act.

There was another moment in the livestream that caught my attention. The pastor reminded viewers how much he has served Comerío, how much he has accompanied his community, and how much he has worked for it. I have no reason to question that service. I am sure many people can testify to the good he has done.

That is precisely why it was difficult to hear.

Pastoral vocation is not about reminding a town of everything one has done for it when conflict appears. Service does not lose its value when it goes unrecognized; it loses something when it becomes an argument to claim a moral position from which to speak down to others. A person who serves does so because that is the nature of the calling, not because that service grants authority to discredit those who think differently.

As a pastor, that part of the message left me deeply uneasy. Not because I expect ministers of God to be perfect. We are not. But because our words carry weight, we are called to speak with greater responsibility. Some expressions build bridges. Others raise walls. Some words invite encounter. Others end up justifying rejection.

The paint will disappear. A brush will be enough to cover the asphalt and return the guardrail to its original color.

The words will not disappear as easily.

They will remain recorded in a video, shared again and again on social media, and remembered by those who heard them. They will remain long after the last trace of paint has been erased.

When this episode is remembered, it probably will not be because of the rainbow that appeared outside One Church, in Comerío, Puerto Rico.

It will be because of the words a pastor chose to use when speaking about it.

And that difference changes everything.

The D.C.-based organization SMYAL, which provides services for LGBTQ youth in the D.C. metro area, including housing for homeless LGBTQ youth, announced on June 30 that it received a $25,000 award for its “courageous acts” in support of the community it serves.

The award was a monetary grant from The Courage Project, which describes itself as a “national initiative investing in acts of courage and compassion that strengthens our communities and democracy.” 

A statement on its website says it was launched in May 2025 and is funded and backed by leading national foundations in the U.S.

“At SMYAL, we are deeply grateful to receive support from The Courage Project and are inspired by their bold investment in LGBTQ+ youth at such a critical moment,” SMYAL CEO Erin Whelan said in a statement. “For queer and trans young people, simply showing up as themselves each day requires immense courage, and that courage is strengthened when organizations like The Courage Project stand behind them loudly, proudly, and without hesitation,” Whelan said.

In its statement announcing the award SMYAL says The Courage Project will recognize SMYAL and other awardees and their work on July 3 at the Washington National Cathedral as part of a special interfaith service marking the U.S. 250^th anniversary.

“The Courage Project is a bold initiative honoring everyday acts of bravery – the quiet, often unseen acts of heroism that reflect the best of the American spirit and strengthen democracy at the community level,” the project states on its website.

Queen Camilla on Tuesday met with JK Rowling.

The Royal Family on X said the meeting took place at Palace of Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh. The post included a picture of Camilla and Rowling together.

“With a shared passion for books and a deep commitment to children reading for pleasure, The queen and author JK Rowling have met at the Palace of Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh,” it reads. “Her Majesty and Ms. Rowling discussed the importance of ensuring that young people have access to books and the vital part reading plays in opening doors for future generations.”

📕 With a shared passion for books and a deep commitment to children reading for pleasure, The Queen and author J.K. Rowling have met at the Palace of Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh.

Her Majesty and Ms Rowling discussed the importance of ensuring that young people have access to… pic.twitter.com/Yx1Xy6olqC

— The Royal Family (@RoyalFamily) June 30, 2026

Rowling over the last decade has emerged as a vocal opponent of transgender rights. Her meeting with Camilla took place on the last day of Pride month.