When I was a little guy, Sundays were as much about wardrobe as they were about God. My mama, bless her heart, would dress me up like a miniature Southern gentleman. I’m talking about shiny shoes so bright they’d make the sun jealous, a starched shirt, and a bow tie so snappy it could’ve done a tap dance all on its own. If she’d been given free reign, she would’ve dressed me like Little Lord Fauntleroy in the pursuit of me looking “adorable.” Thank goodness Daddy put some restraints on her.
Those shoes weren’t just shiny; they were a hazard. Slipping and sliding across the church floor, I was a polished disaster waiting to happen. Mama put masking tape on the soles to give some friction. And that bow tie? It was a clip-on, invariably red plaid. It used the same kind of clips women used to hold their permanent waves in place.
Back in those days, everyone dressed to the nines for church. It was like a fashion show where the runway was the church aisle, and the prize was the approving nods from the elders. Men in suits sharp enough to cut through Sunday morning fog, women in hats grand enough to host their own ecosystem – it was a sight to behold.
As the song says, the times, they are a-changing. These days, you’re as likely to see jeans and a t-shirt in the pews as you are a Sunday dress. Some folks say it’s the decline of respect, but I suppose it’s something else.
You see, over the years, I’ve learned something crucial: God’s not up there with a scorecard tallying up our fashion choices. He’s not looking for the brightest shoes or the snappiest ties. No, sir. He’s looking straight past the cotton and polyester, peering into our hearts.
It dawned on me, somewhere between those Sunday mornings of my shiny-shoed youth and the more casual Sundays of today, that what we wear to church matters far less than what we carry in our hearts. The Bible tells us the Lord looks at the heart – and last time I checked, it doesn’t say anything about requiring a bow tie for entry into the kingdom of Heaven.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I think there’s something special about putting on your Sunday best, showing respect and honor in your own way. But I believe the Lord’s more concerned with what we’re best at: loving our neighbors, offering a helping hand, and carrying kindness in our hearts.
So, whether you’re in wingtips or flip-flops, a hat grand enough to need its own zip code, or just your trusty old baseball cap, remember this: It’s not the outfit that counts in the grand scheme of things. It’s the love, the compassion, and the kindness we wear on the inside that truly matters.
And who knows? Maybe up in Heaven, there’s a place where all those shiny shoes and snappy bow ties get to hang out, free of judgment, just basking in the glow of the good we’ve done down here, dressed in our Sunday best or our Tuesday regular.
Talk soon!