Too Sexy for Church?

Ever have one of those days where you open your closet, and there isn't one appropriate outfit to wear? That's been my experience every Sunday morning for the past month. Suddenly, I can't seem to find anything to wear to church. Skirts that I've worn for months or years now seem too short, too tight, too thin, or too flashy. Every top seems either to show too much skin, or have too much detail around the neckline, or just to fit me a little too nicely. And in my mind, my shoes are either too high, too strappy, or too revealing, what with my heel being exposed and all. I've also eschewed wearing anything with sequins, beading, lace, bows, ruffles, or elaborate stitching - because in my mind, these trims now scream, "Look at me! I'm excessive and flamboyant!"

In short, I'd concluded I didn't have any "appropriate" worship-wear. Just as I planned to run out and buy a whole new wardrobe, a thought hit me: What has happened that's made me now perceive my clothes as too showy and sexy?

For starters, my husband and I recently moved, and I'm now attending a new church. It's tough to be the new gal who's longing to fit in and be accepted. I used to attend a church in Los Angeles, full of 20- and 30-somethings who wore everything from upscale trends to t-shirts and flip-flops. In others words, a gal could blend in whether she came casual or dressy. My new home is in a conservative suburban area, and my new church consists largely of senior citizens. I've been observing other church members, trying to figure out the "rules" for attire here.

And it seems I haven't quite figured out their "dress code" yet. Despite the soaring summer temperatures in Southern California, there have been a couple Sundays where I've been the only gal in the sanctuary who's sporting bare shoulders. Suddenly, my sleeveless tops from Ann Taylor Loft - which I'd once considered ultra conservative - now make me feel like a harlot.

No one at my new church has criticized my appearance. Yet I've felt I've perhaps dressed inappropriately. To get to the bottom of my skewed perception, I asked several of my Christian girlfriends if they ever worry about what to wear to church - and they all answered in the affirmative.

One curvy friend explained that she tends to buy loose shirts to de-emphasize her bust. Another, who is tall, told how she'd been mortified when her knee-length skirt rode up a bit on sitting down, exposing her leg a couple inches above the knee. And another told about the tacit rule of dressing up for church that had been built into her: As a teen, her then youth pastor instructed, "Dress for church like you're going on a date." (Presumably, a date is associated with looking one's best in the teen-age mind.)

My friend's story made me wonder: What's the Scriptural basis for wearing our "Sunday best" to service? Does the Bible anywhere mention that God will be upset if we look too frumpy when we come together for corporate worship? Or too flashy? I've heard some church leaders use the Apostle Paul's words to Timothy to suggest that women shouldn't get their hair done or wear jewelry, lest they sin by drawing the wrong kind of attention to themselves.

But consider Paul's words in context: "Therefore I want the men in every place to pray, lifting up holy hands, without wrath and dissension. Likewise, I want women to adorn themselves with proper clothing, modestly and discreetly, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly garments, but rather by means of good works, as is proper for women making a claim to godliness" (1 Timothy 2:8-10, NASB).
Is Paul's objective to establish a rule banning hairdos and shiny accessories? Or is he making the point that all believers need to cease being self-focused, and to instead keep our attention on worshiping God? Eugene Petersen offers this paraphrase of the passage in The Message: "Since prayer is at the bottom of all this, what I want mostly is for men to pray - not shaking angry fists at enemies but raising holy hands to God. And I want women to get in there with the men in humility before God, not primping before a mirror or chasing the latest fashions but doing something beautiful for God and becoming beautiful doing it."

This made me realize: I can't focus on God if I'm constantly worrying that others are judging me. Sadly, my outfit anxiety has kept me from worshiping fully during the past several Sundays. Instead of worrying, I need to ask God to provide friends at my new church, to share my fears with him about being rejected, and to let him comfort me when I feel lonely.

But I'm not going to dismiss my concerns about modesty, either. This has been a reminder to pray for discernment about my future clothing purchases. And when in doubt, I'll take a Christian gal pal to the store with me to get a second perspective.

What causes you to fret over your appearance? In what ways does clothing distract you from focusing on God?

Thankful for True Friendship

Everything I know about true friendship, I learned from Lori.

I wish you could meet her. She's the sort of person who makes everything more fun, just by being there. She's an unfussy beauty, with auburn hair and freckles, and I've charted the last half of my life by the fixed point of her friendship.

We met 25 years ago, in a "young-marrieds" Bible study. Our husbands shared a love of fishing, so Lori and I got to know each other, standing side-by-side in a Rocky Mountain river, casting for trout.

I remember those pre-dawn mornings, Mark and I drinking coffee in the tiny kitchen of our married-student housing apartment, listening for the squeaky fender of Greg and Lori's Maverick to announce their arrival at our front door, fishing poles ready.

A real estate developer in the making, Greg flipped houses before it was a topic on home improvement shows. Lori and I painted countless walls in countless living rooms during the early years of our friendship.

As time went on, we raced our way through every fashion trend of the running boom, from baggy cotton sweats to lycra tights. We did aerobics to the songs of The Pointer Sisters. We survived "big bangs" and body perms.

We raised our kids together. In fact, when they were older, they told us how shocked they were to discover that our families weren't related - "just friends."

I knew Lori's kitchen as well as my own, and we ate and laughed around her table so many times, I felt like all of her houses belonged to me, too.

When my husband's military commitments called for a move to Washington, D.C., then Latin America, our friendship might have ended. But Lori's brand of loyalty doesn't bow to separations of time and distance. She sent us off with a photo album chronicling our friendship to that point, and left plenty of empty pages for the times to come.

We've filled those pages, many times over, and Lori has proven herself my lifelong friend.

Not too many years ago, I watched Lori walk with uncommon grace through the aftermath of Greg's death in a car accident. In the months that followed, she grieved, held her girls close, worked her own job, managed all the decisions of Greg's real estate business, and paid careful attention to the needs of his family members, who were grieving, too.

I treasure all the times we talked, cried, and laughed. Along the way, she taught me that wisdom has little to do with age, but more with character, and that humility is the prerogative of quiet strength, the kind that doesn't have to prove itself to anyone.

When the time came, I watched Lori's signature grace guide her through a second courtship and subsequent marriage to a wonderful man, one who sees in her what all of us do who have known her for very long: a genuine friend.

So many of our human connections are superficial. During his short life on earth, Jesus spoke frankly about the shallow nature of those relationships. He knew that people's loyalty to him often ran no deeper than a free meal of fish and bread, or the reality-show prospect of some miraculous spectacle.

But for Jesus, the concept of friendship was deadly serious.

"I command you to love each other in the same way that I love you," he told his disciples. "And here is how to measure it - the greatest love is shown when people lay down their lives for their friends."

A chilling statement, in light of his later actions. Are we willing to lay down our lives, literally or figuratively, for even one person? Not to mention our 300 "friends" on Facebook? I doubt it. Our present-day, digital context has diluted the word friend to little more than a marketing hook.

"I no longer call you servants," Jesus continued, "because a master doesn't confide in his servants. Now you are my friends, since I have told you everything the Father told me."

I marvel at what those statements really mean. I've held nothing back, Jesus seems to say. I've told you things that, until now, only my Father and I knew. I'm about to face a challenge you can't comprehend, to go where you cannot follow, and yet I'm taking the time to tell you this: You are my friends.

And one more thing. "You didn't choose me," Jesus concluded. "I chose you."

Mind-blowing. We could contemplate friendship with Christ our entire lives, and still not get to the bottom of it.

As my best friend who lives on this planet, I'm glad Lori chose me. True friendship is precious, beyond knowing. Those who offer it are rare. If we recognize and appreciate it, we can count ourselves wise. If we take it for granted, even for a moment, we prove ourselves the worst sort of fools.

So don't wait. Cultivate friendship, today, so it can flourish in your life during the coming years. If you have a friend like Lori, open all your windows and shout, "Thank you!" until the neighbors come over to check on your mental condition.

Better yet, let that person know how glad you are that she chose you.

And while I'm thinking of it, I'll tell Lori, again.

A Christian Sense of Humor

Did you hear about the so-called Christian group that's protesting the upcoming video game "Dante's Inferno"? Claiming they were from a church in Ventura County, California, about 20 members of S.A.V.E.D. (an acronym for "Salvationists Against Virtual and Eternal Damnation") handed out pamphlets outside of the Los Angeles Convention Center during the Electronic Entertainment Expo last month and held picket signs that read, "Hell is not a game" and "Trade in your PlayStation for a PrayStation." The group also posted a website and YouTube videos.

I should tell you right now: The whole thing is a publicity stunt for the video game company Electronic Arts. Yet two reputable newspapers, the Los Angeles Times and the San Jose Mercury-News, initially reported this "protest" as actual, factual news. Online posts and blogs on the topic indicate a number of folks are taking it seriously. Regardless of whether they're in on the joke or not, many are offering the same comment: "Can't Christians take a joke?"

Once again, Christianity's been portrayed as laughable. Most Christians will get an earful of jokes, pokes, and even some outright insults in our lives. When this happens, should we laugh it off, express our hurt, or get angry?

I think different slights call for different responses. Generally, we should respond with our honest reaction. If we think a joke about Christians or the church is funny, we should laugh about it. In my opinion, there are some hilarious jokes about Christians. (One website I enjoy is Stuff Christians Like; I'm told the blogger is a Christian.)

But we shouldn't limit these positive responses only to other Christians. I've heard atheists slam bad behavior by Christians, and I had to nod and agree they were right. Such snubs are actually helpful: I receive insight into how others view the church, and I'm able to surprise them by admitting Christians aren't perfect - individually and collectively, Christians do some loony things.

But if we're hurt by a statement, we should say this and explain the reason - namely, that our faith is important to us. Others can understand your emotional state if you explain by using examples to which they'll relate. For example, tell the one who's offended you, "When you insult my faith, it's like if I insulted your spouse or your parents; I love God just as strongly as you love your family. I know you may not understand why I love God, but as my friend who cares about my feelings, I need you to acknowledge the depth of my relationship with God."

There's a big difference between jabs at Christians, and insults about God, Jesus, or the Holy Spirit. Such statements are unacceptable: This is where we need to draw the line and diplomatically express our anger. It's a matter of standing up for our God. We need to correct any lies or misconceptions about God's character, and warn the offending friend that the most high God won't tolerate those insults forever. Any actions we take - such as disconnecting from the friendship if the insults toward God continue - are done so that we're not associated with the blasphemy.

The one thing we must avoid is holding our tongues. If we're silent when someone speaks ill, it might cause them to think the insults are appropriate and acceptable - that we don't really care about our faith. So whether it's acknowledging, "Yeah, Christians can do some awful stuff sometimes. I hope you don't think the misguided actions of some Christians represent God's character"; or pressing, "You know I'm a Christian - do you feel that way about me?"; or being blunt, "What you said is completely inappropriate. (Or intolerant. Or crass.) Why would you say something like that?" - speaking up shows others that our relationship with God is important to us.

I have mixed feelings about the Electronic Arts publicity stunt. Portraying Christians as people who sometimes protest in corny ways isn't inaccurate. The fact that this publicity stunt worked should cause us all to evaluate, Are there ways I'm fulfilling the stereotype that Christians are hypersensitive hotheads?

But I'm not about to laugh this one off, either. I'm troubled by the flippant use of images of Jesus and of the cross to hawk a video game. I'm still chewing on how I might express my disapproval to the company. In the meantime, I'll offer this comment posted on the Los Angeles Times website by "Thom Olson," which is a great example of what I've discussed here:

"I am disappointed that EA is all right with usurping the voice of religious people to promote a game. Past viral/guerilla marketing campaigns have been more clearly divorced from reality, and I think this crosses a line. If EA had ‘protesters' who were of an ethnic group out there with literature and costuming that made them look foolish, I think the inappropriateness of this campaign would be more clear. In a world suffering because business seems to feel that the ends justify the means, I hope we see the return of basic ethics to business soon."

When others make jokes or insult Christianity, how do you respond?