DOWN HOME:
Forget the worship wars, it's the battle of britches
___Here's another reason, dear scorched and wilting friends, to look forward to winter: That's when it's easier to figure out what to wear to church.
___When Joanna and I returned home to Texas in the winter of 1995-96 after a 17-year sojourn "out east," we were amazed at how much worship--particularly the music--had changed in Texas Baptist churches.
___But by the next summer, I recognized something had changed even more. Namely, worship attire.
___I remember the first time my mother, a Baptist pastor's wife, wore pants to church. We
lived in Perryton, way up in the Panhandle, and it was a winter Sunday night, and the temperature was below zero. But she agonized mightily before she succumbed to the seduction of warmth. As I recall, she felt so guilty she considered rededicating her life, and I was slightly amazed she didn't do penance by volunteering all of us for missions in the Congo.
___That's to say, I come from a long line of people who "dress appropriately" when we go to church.
___One of my fondest childhood memories recalls the four-piece black-and-white houndstooth suit "just like Daddy's" I got when I was no more than 7. It had a coat, a vest, a pair of houndstooth slacks and a pair of solid black pants. I got a new white shirt and a black silkish tie. And the first time the jacket went to the cleaners, it came back with a white pocket square. I must've looked like a cross between a very short Johnny Carson and a shrunken TV evangelist.
___I reflexively reach for a dress shirt, tie and jacket on Sunday mornings. Joanna says I don't have to, but when I try to break that habit, I feel like I'm turning my back on generations of Baptist breeding. (Plus, when the sanctuary is cold enough to be a meat locker, I button my coat and thank God I'm not wearing a seersucker sundress.)
___However, the switch from suits to polo shirts and khakis isn't what got my attention the first summer back in church in Texas. It was short pants.
___On Sunday nights and Wednesdays, shorts in church are about as common as junebugs in, well, June. Hart, Schaffner and Marx must be rolling in their graves.
___I must admit I tried shorts once. It was the Sunday night before school started, and one of the girls had a Sunday-afternoon picnic. The temperature was 107, and I could either go to church in shorts or miss the song service. So, I sat on the back row, left during the invitation and prayed the Lord wouldn't return right then. I didn't want to fly off to heaven from First Baptist Church in shorts and tennis shoes.
___Now, I know shorts in church don't represent the apocalypse. Many people I respect wear shorts to church. Thankfully, none of them are preachers.
___But if I'd been meant to wear shorts in church, God would've given me pretty legs.
The Baptist Standard
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