On Sunday mornings, I can usually be found in a bathrobe with wild hair and a cup of hot coffee, staring into my closet. I dig through the denim and cottons I wear all week, and grab a dress or skirt, and a pair of low heels, hoping I won’t be limping in the next two hours.
Despite the fact that I am normally a slave to comfort, my predisposition to dress up for church is deeply ingrained from years of being crammed into frilly dresses, lace-trimmed bobby socks and Mary Janes, before my family headed off to Graystone Presbyterian for the Sunday service with Reverend Cassel.
The dark wooden pews were polished to a gleaming shine from years of contact, and reflected the faceted colors of the massive stained glass windows among the cavernous Gothic arches. The Venetian blues, the blood reds, the flickering candles, the golden chalice, the smell of my father’s aftershave, the glint of my mother’s charm bracelet, and the prickle of my church dress were all essential parts of the whole experience, without which, it would not feel as solemn, as sacred, as special.
Despite the fact that I spend most days in work out clothes and jeans, I don’t give dressing up for church a second thought ÔÇô I just do it because that’s what I’ve always done and it seems right. However, not all of the God-fearing population shares my attitude on church couture.
I try to refrain from audibly gasping when I see cargo shorts, jeans and t-shirts come waltzing into the pews, and think to myself, “Would it have killed you to put on a pair of khakis for Heaven’s sake?”
Eighteen years of attending Catholic mass with my Irish-Italian husband have not diminished my astonishment at the outfits I see in the isles on Sunday morning. In fact, my repugnance seems to be growing.
At our new parish inFlorida, I am appalled that spaghetti straps, short skirts, sunglasses and flip flops are acceptable for Sunday worship. I think I may have spotted a bikini top peeking out of one young woman’s scanty dress a couple Sunday’s ago, and looked to see if she stayed for the final hymn before heading off to catch some rays.
During football season, the men seem to think that the sanctuary is a perfectly appropriate place for a pep rally of sorts, donning sportswear emblazoned with the logo of their favorite football team. I keep waiting for someone to blow an air horn or show up in full body paint with a foam finger.
I also wince when I see four-inch stilettos, low cut tops, and God-forbid, exposed midriffs. I can’t help but look to see if there’s a bouncer at the door or a disco ball hanging from the balcony to make sure I haven’t accidentally wandered into a nightclub.
Many people accept the new casual standards, rationalizing that more people will come to church if they don’t have to dress up. That’s all find and good, but how far are we going to take this?
In a few years, will people be shuffling into the sanctuary in pajama pants and hot rollers with a cup of Starbucks? Maybe we should do away with those hard pews and scatter bean bags around to make everyone more comfortable?
More people would squeeze a service in before the football game if churches mounted flatscreen TVs behind the altars and aired the pregame shows. Why not authorize tailgating in the church parking lots, and replace the coffee and cookies in the rectory with chili dogs and draft beer?
Furthermore, let’s capitalize on people’s tendency to wear inappropriate night club clothing to church by offering gospel karaoke or electronic bull rides. I might even do a hip hop rendition of “The Old Rugged Cross.” That would bring ÔÇÿem in the door.
Unfortunately, there is no biblical evidence to support my stuffy Presbyterian propensity to dress up for church. To the contrary, 1 Samuel 16:7 reads, “For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the soul.”
It is certainly true that the fibers on one’s back are not a true measure of one’s moral fiber, but the act of carefully dressing oneself for church is a sign of selfless respect and focus on religious devotion rather than post-church events, sex appeal or mere comfort.
I know, I know, Jesus never shaved and wore a robe and sandals everywhere, but I don’t recall any cargo shorts in Canaan or Calvins on Calvary. So next Sunday, leave your flip flops and football jerseys at home — let your fashion reflect your faith.
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The older I get, the happier I am to see anybody in church regardless of what they are wearing. But I do feel there is a time and a place for different types of clothing. Two piece bathing suits may be fine at the beach, but would you wear one to your prom? Church is a different place than where you would go for coctails and dancing. Some resturants require a suite and tie. You wouldn’t think of showing up in shorts and a t-shirt?Maybe somebody just needs to mention that. http://themedicaremom.blogspot.com Jody
Hello Lisa – Was interested to read your memories – well said and well written – the stuffy Presbyterian Church where you were a girl has changed, too – and I agree with you, but am glad to see children there no matter what they look like. Keep up the good writing! Blessings – “Reverend Cassel” (of your memory)
Wow! Thanks for reading, Reverend Cassel, and “thanks for the memories!”
I know how you feel, but I fear that my own children are guilty of this. I guess that makes me a bad church parent.
Uh oh, Grace. You’d better go to confession, and while you’re at it, you may as well mention all the gossip and cocktails at the beach!
Very well said. When church first became more casual I was all for it. But, it seems to be going too far. A recent Miss Manners column discussed “casual” wear for funerals, meaning not casual, but sloppy.
A good sign though is that more young men are pulling their pants up far enough to cover their boxers.
Amen, sister.