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God bless
you, Margaret McQuery, wherever you may be.
Let me
explain. When I came out of seminary in 1965, I was assigned
to First United Methodist Church of Dearborn as the associate
minister in charge of youth. Margaret McQuery was my secretary.
More to the point, Margaret was the member of the office staff
who was assigned to my work (roughly 10 hours per week). She
was a warm and gracious lady who was very kind to me. Patient,
too. Margaret was far from young then ... and is even further
from young now. To my knowledge, she is still alive (in her
mid-nineties).
One day,
Margaret passed me in the hall on a Sunday morning. After
greeting me, she inspected me. Even on my starting salary
of $4,400 per year, I thought I was decently dressed. My suit
was conservative. My tie went with my shirt. Which was amazing,
given that I was single at the time. But to Margaret's eyes,
there was one fatal flaw. My shirt, although white, had a
thin blue pinstripe running through it. So, with her thumb
and forefinger, she pinched the flesh on my cheek and said:
"Young man, you have a great career ahead of you in the
ministry. But you must always wear a white shirt and tie on
Sunday morning. Not a blue shirt. Not a white shirt with blue
stripes. But a white shirt. What's more, you should always
wear a white shirt and tie for weddings and funerals."
She didn't
say why. I didn't ask why. But for 35 years, I always have.
I don't have the faintest idea what would happen if I violated
Margaret's expectation. All I know is that I don't want to
find out.
Which,
as you know, leaves me in a bit of a conundrum each Sunday
night. This service is designed with "clergy casual"
in mind. So I keep trying to figure out what that means. It
has to be something appropriate to the setting. But it also
has to be something appropriate to me. So I keep experimenting.
Which
is not a new thing where clergy are concerned. Even on Sunday
mornings, the dress code is pretty much up for grabs. I don't
see a lot of white shirts anymore. And, in some pulpits, I
don't even see ties. I do see multiple styles of robes. To
be sure, some clergy still refuse to don a robe at all. They
wear power suits (ties optional, depending on gender). This
creates something of a "business look" ... as if
to say: "We are not all that different from the average
professional."
Other
Protestant clergy have gone to clerical collars and all the
attendant accessories ... as if to say: "We are not all
that different from the average Roman Catholics."
Still
other clergy appear in albs, monk's robes, and other variations
of medieval garb (often secured around the waist by something
akin to a braided rope) ... as if to say: "We are not
all that different from the humble servants of God."
While
the rest of us continue with John Wesley preaching robes (often
black and reflective of the collegiate look) ... as if to
say: "We are not all that different from the professors
who teach in our colleges and seminaries."
I could
go on. But I don't want this sermon to turn into a fashion
commentary. I did have one clergy colleague who was fond of
saying that John Malloy's Dress for Success was one
of the ten most influential books he had ever read. And it
showed. He dressed very well. I sometimes wondered how he
could afford to dress as well as he did. But that was none
of my business. All I know is that he isn't a colleague anymore.
His problem had nothing to do with the clothes he put on.
His problem had more to do with the clothes ... (you get the
idea).
Clergy
are like everybody else. We want to make fashion statements.
I'm out. I'm in. I'm hip. I'm not. I'm broke. I'm flush. As
a dresser, I'm bad ... so bad, I'm good.
Then there's
the fear of getting it wrong. What if we show up improperly
dressed? It's a fear learned early on. I know of grade school
kids who fight with their parents each morning. They can't
get out the door in time for school because they can't figure
out what to wear to school. They change outfits. Then they
fight over outfits. It's a real problem.
The problem
never really goes away, but it changes when they get to be
teens. Instead of fighting with their parents, they call their
friends. I suspect there are teenagers who never go anywhere
without a minimum of three phone calls concerning "the
desired look." I even do it myself. Kris and I will be
planning to have dinner with another couple and I'll anguish
over whether I am supposed to wear a tie. So I'll pick up
the phone and call my friend. Whereupon we'll come to a common
conclusion. Most of the time, I depend on my wife (and my
daughter, when she's around). They tell me what looks good
... and what doesn't. Should anything happen to them, I'll
probably never go out in public.
All of
this creates problems in schools. Kids get shot for shoes
and stabbed for jackets. I've got to believe it disrupts the
learning climate. Which brings me to Holcomb Elementary. Holcomb
is a grade school in Detroit. Look for it around Seven Mile
and Lahser. One of our members, Joy Huyck, teaches art at
Holcomb. Joy is one of those wonderful people who keeps teaching,
year after year, in the Detroit Public Schools ... making
a witness ... making a difference. Some of her experiences
have been good. Others, less so. But Joy loves teaching at
Holcomb. Which grows out of the fact that she is working for
a wonderful principal. I thought you might enjoy a paragraph
of a letter Joy recently shared, describing the Holcomb environment.
The
children at Holcomb Elementary School have very little that
is attractive in their lives. They come to school with shirt
collars and cuffs covered with soil, arriving early in order
to receive food called breakfast - a rice krispy treat,
or a small box of cereal. They look forward to being fed
again, a lunch that most of us would consider to be obnoxious.
So when art classes started at Holcomb, they were received
with, literally, open arms and hugs for the teacher.
When I
heard Joy's story, I wanted to be supportive. So I said: "How
can I help? What can I do?" Her answer grew out of a
recent decision at Holcomb to establish a "uniform requirement"
for all students. Simply put, Holcomb's principal wanted to
ensure that clothes would not become a factor in the learning
environment. So kids began coming to school in uniforms. But
some kids couldn't comply. Either their parents couldn't afford
uniforms or refused to buy them. "How many kids lack
uniforms?" I asked. "Twenty seven," Joy answered.
So we bought them, you and I. Although you didn't know it
at the time. Thanks to our collective efforts, those 27 kids
got uniforms for Christmas.
I thought
you would enjoy the thank you letter I received from Nancy
Joynt (Holcomb's counselor) and Zelma Stinger (Holcomb's principal).
Twenty-seven
of our children have gained a greater sense of personal
pride since they have received their new uniforms thanks
to the very special generosity of your congregation.
No longer
are many of these little ones looking for excuses to stay
at home. They are not being shunned or avoided by their
classmates. They are sporting smiles; their walk is different.
There is something noticeably positive about them.
No child
likes to draw negative attention to himself. Egos are fragile,
but for kids, this can be a whole lot tougher to handle.
School-aged children are more apt to judge each other by
externals. They are just beginning to learn that what is
on the inside is more important than what is readily seen
on the outside.
That
is precisely why uniforms are so important. Kids have an
equal chance when it comes to personal appearance. Their
major area of focus can be their studies; their clothing
does not have to be a source of embarrassment or concern
for them. Their new uniforms will make a major difference
in how these little ones view themselves, as well as meeting
the challenges that will come to them each day.
Our
entire staff extends gratitude. How pleased they are to
know that there is so much goodness and caring from our
neighbors beyond our immediate boundaries. May blessings
pressed down and overflowing come to you and your congregation
for your abundant outpouring of kindness.
Wow! Doesn't
that say a mouthful? But back to our text.
Do not
worry about what you shall put on or about how you shall
be clothed. Consider the lilies of the field ...
Even though
I am not dressed in my academic robe, permit me a scholarly
moment, just long enough to say a word about those "lilies
of the field." They probably weren't lilies as you and
I think of lilies. Israel is not climatically suited for lilies.
In point of fact, the only lilies in Israel grow in hillside
crevices outside of Haifa. So Jesus wasn't talking about lilies.
The best guess is that Jesus was talking about anemone. The
very nature of the text suggests a common, ordinary flower
... growing in abundance ... highly visible ... rich in color.
What's more, anemone often come in hues of crimson and purple
(suggesting the royal robes of King Solomon). Having spent
a fair amount of time in Galilee, this explanation makes pretty
good sense to me.
Whatever
be the case, Jesus wanted people to look at flowers that were
so common and ordinary that they took them pretty much for
granted. Think dandelions. What if Jesus had said: "Consider
the dandelions of the field ... .they neither sow nor spin.
But even Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one
of these." Jesus' point: "If God so clothes them
to look so good ... how much more will God clothe you?"
Back to
our text. Before I tell what it is about, let me tell you
what it is not. First, it is not about going naked. Jesus
is not saying that clothing is unimportant. Second, it is
not about forsaking style. Jesus is not saying you should
go around looking dorky. Third, it is not about replacing
earthly clothing with heavenly clothing. I could preach a
wonderful sermon ... quite biblically based ... on garbing
ourselves in peace, love, faith, hope and righteousness. Or
I could talk (with Paul) about military attire, inviting you
to don the helmet of salvation and the breastplate of righteousness,
just prior to strapping on the sword of the Spirit. All of
which would preach. And has preached. But not tonight. And
not from this text.
This is
a text about worry. "Don't be anxious," said Jesus.
I find it interesting that Jesus felt a need to point this
out. Apparently, people worried then ... fretted then ...
got all stressed out then. I guess they always have. Somebody
ought to do a doctoral thesis on mental health issues that
surface in the scriptures. Maybe somebody has.
But why
should this text concern us? Relatively few of us worry over
clothing. This is a relatively small deal in a place like
Birmingham. Or is it?
Think
about one of the problems that does surface in Birmingham.
I am talking about "big foot houses." Somebody buys
a house for half a million dollars one day, bulldozes it the
next day, and commences to build one twice as big the third
day. Which leads people to ponder: "What do they plan
to do with all that space?"
When you
put the question to them, the answer is always the same. They
talk about two things. They need bigger closets and bigger
bathrooms. I really don't want to get into the "bathroom
issue," but the "closet thing" fascinates me.
Obviously, there's only one reason people need bigger closets.
So they can store more clothes.
If you
buy a house that is 100 years old, you probably won't find
any closets. Back then, people kept their clothes in armoires.
Today, you can spend a fortune to buy an armoire. But you
don't buy them for their storage value. You buy armoires for
their antique value.
Fifty
years ago, houses had closets. But the closets weren't anything
to write home about. We live in a 50-year-old house. It's
a wonderful house. We've never lived in a place so fine. We
probably never will again. But we don't have any closets to
speak of. The bedroom closets are miniscule ... three feet
wide and a couple feet deep (with a generous tape measure).
But walk into a house built in the last five years and you'll
find closets that look like barns. Concerning barns, Jesus
had something else to say. But I'll let you go home and preach
that sermon yourself.
What Jesus
said concerning "clothes anxiety" was: "Which
of you can add one cubit to the length of your life by such
worry?" And all of us know the answer. Such worries cannot
lengthen our life at all. But they can shorten it.
Which
brings me to my friend Ralph. I've known him for 30 years.
We "did church" together. We played golf together.
We hung out together ... downstate and up north. And just
before I came to Birmingham, I was privileged to officiate
at his daughter Kristen's wedding, on a cruise ship headed
for the Bahamas. Which was wonderful.
But Ralph
has cancer. More to the point, Ralph is dying of cancer. Which
explains why Kris and I drove out to Milford last night to
see him (for the last time). After talking with Marilyn for
a while, we went into the bedroom where Ralph was covered
by a sheet. He had lost a great deal of weight. And he had
lost much of his ability to converse. But he recognized us
and appeared glad that we had come. We recalled old times.
We told him what he had meant to our lives. And I told him
what little I know about dying. After all, we were way past
the point of pretending. Then, following a prayer, I told
him I would miss him for a while, but I believed that I would
see him again. Then we left.
But as
we exited the bedroom, I glanced at the open door of the closet.
It was one of the newer closets ... meaning a walk-in closet
(a large walk-in closet). What's more, it was a filled-to-overflowing
walk-in closet. While Ralph was never what you would call
"a clothes horse," there was plenty in the closet
to wear.
*
* * * *
"Which
of you can add even one cubit to the length of your life by
worrying over clothing?"
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