I wore blue jeans to church last weekend.
It wasn’t the first time. I daresay it won’t be the last. I am nothing, after all, if not a Jesus-seeking, Autumn-adoring, coffee-savoring, Superior-gazing, blue-jean wearing psalm-a-holic. And to be perfectly clear, the church Husband and I belong to has a “come as you are” mentality. When you enter the building and fellowship with the people and engage with Jesus – the wardrobe just doesn’t matter. It doesn’t amount to anything. It doesn’t make you more. It doesn’t make you less. It just doesn’t amount to anything except… you aren’t naked.
And with our struggle to physically gather for worship during this season of caring for Mom, Husband has said to me countless times: What we wear matters far less than being there.
But I only had blue jeans to wear this last weekend. And for some reason, it bothered me. It really, really bothered me.
The week had been frantic. The weekend had been frantic-er. Mom had shown decline in a way we weren’t expecting. Brother (Mom’s favorite son, so saith he) has been trying to come a couple of weekends a month to allow Husband and I to get Little Lady to church (bless him, Lord, for his sacrifices). It has been an enormous blessing to us. Having help with Mom is one type of blessing; being able to go and worship with our church body is another type of blessing; bringing our daughter into that body is yet another blessing altogether. Husband and I do not take it lightly. But for whatever reason, Husband and I were unsure that Brother would be here last weekend, so we were just caught up in the stuff of the week and never got around to the stuff-stuff. Like laundry.
And so there were blue jeans.
I said to myself that I wouldn’t care if everyone in that building showed up in blue jeans. It’s true – I wouldn’t.
Husband said that “what we wear matters far less than being there” thing, and I agreed that he was right (he usually is, and I do not begrudge him this).
Brother said that “Jesus wouldn’t have worn blue jeans; He’d have worn sandals,” thing, and I agreed that he was right, also (he usually is, and I do not begrudge him, either).
And Jesus said that “Come as you are,” thing, and I agreed that He was more right than any of us (He always is, and I’m so thankful).
Yet… the blue jeans bothered me. I just don’t know why. But friends, it bothered me enough that when I saw Husband wearing decidedly not blue jeans, I frantically rushed to change into my only clean pair of black slacks at 8:35 – so frantically, in fact, that I successfully popped the button at 8:36 and, in something between hysterical laughing and sobbing, changed back into my blue jeans.
Pastor Chad had recently used the example of what we wear to church to help us understand the struggle of the early Church in regarding foods and days as clean and unclean, holy and unholy. Clearly I did not chew on this as much as I needed, because here I was, carrying this ridiculous self-condemnation about wearing blue jeans to church (a thing I’ve done countless times in my life) – yet as we drove to church, God reminded me that what I wear does not make me clean or holy or in any way more or less His child. In fact, as He’s been teaching me, His presence has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Him.
In the Old Testament, we learn that there were very strict rules about entering the Holiest place (see Leviticus 16). Entering this Innermost part of the Temple was so sacred that it was only allowed once a year, and only by the High Priest, and only under careful conditions: Sins had to be atoned for – not only for the one person entering, but for the entire nation of Israel, for the altar and the tabernacle; the High Priest had to bathe – not only his hands and feet, as was custom for entering the Temple, but his whole body; and he had to shed his standard ornate garb for a plain white linen that was never to be worn again after that day to symbolize the purity and sanctification of God’s people, Israel.
Can you imagine Little Miss Me showing up there in blue jeans? On not the holiest day of the year? And expecting to be welcomed into God’s presence? Pretty radical, isn’t it?
But that’s just it, Friends. It is radical – not that I would wear blue jeans, but that Jesus would take us however we are and clothe us with Himself. He alone is our High Priest, and He tore through the veil so we could enter that Most Holy Place – His presence. And whether blue jeans or jacket and tie or sundress or clown costume or flannel pajamas or evening gown or handknit sweater or holey sweatshirt – Jesus clothes us in that pure, clean, white linen, declaring us holy as He is holy. By His atonement. By His mercy and steadfast love.
We are clothed in His Righteousness.
We are clothed in Him.
Pastor Daniel said something that stuck with me in the sermon this weekend: When we come into God’s presence, God serves us so that we can serve Him by serving others.
That the God of all creation would humble Himself to serve you and me – to cleanse us and clothe us in that clean, white linen of His righteousness – this is amazing. This is beautiful. This is radical. This is a God who isn’t offended by the things we wear, whether clothing or physical ailments or emotional battles or the sins we’ve committed or the sins committed against us – He just isn’t offended by them. He isn’t afraid of them. He isn’t ashamed of them. He is big enough to cover them. He is good enough to take them. And He is loving enough to clothe us in Himself so that we might rest in His presence.
So wear your blue jeans. Yes, you. Wear your blue jeans to church. I assure you – Jesus has something far better for all of us to wear, and He alone can provide it. We cannot dress to impress the King. The only thing we can do… is come as we are so He can do the work of making us holy.
From the shores of Wicket Lake;
Good one!