Whatever Happened to "Sunday Best"?

I didn't wear pants to church until I was nearly 30. Almost never--except for the few times when my mother conceded that the 12-18" snowdrifts in the gravel parking lot of our rural Indiana church were too high to navigate in heels. Then, and only then, was I allowed to wear courderoys with boots. But my hair was still meticulously styled, accented with a bow or ribbon.

Still, on most Sundays, you'll find me in a dress or skirt with heels--unless, of course, it's my week to sing on the praise team, and I'm trying to fit within a mandated color scheme and still comply with the required skirt length, as stipulated in our dress code. Then, it's just easier to wear pants.

I understand what churches are trying to do--to be a welcoming environment that says, "Hey, you don't have to have fancy clothes to worship with us. Come as you are!" I get it. But it's almost never the "have-nots" who dress down for Sunday services. In fact, experience tells me that the poorer the congregation, the better dressed they are. This can be observed in the churches of third-world countries, as well as the poorer neighborhoods here in the States.

In my own affluent Brentwood church, any given Sunday can bring out gentlemen in suits (usually the older crowd) and teenagers in ripped jeans and concert T-shirts. Honestly, it's not the attire of the teens that gets me. It's the adults who think they're still kids! Ugh.

The truth is, I can't get away from my "Sunday Best" roots. I think little girls should wear darling dresses and bows in their hair. I think young men should wear a belt and dress shoes. Think of it this way: we get dressed up to go out to dinner on our anniversary, or for a special date, or to go to the theatre (stage, not cinema). Why on earth wouldn't we get dressed up for our special date with God each week? It's a matter of reverence.

The African-American church still gets this. And I admire them for it, among other practices. (Most A-A churches also seem to understand that God's working is not limited to the time between breakfast and lunch on Sunday morning. They are guided by the Holy Spirit--not by the dinner bell.)

So, this morning, I'll be sitting in my pew in a skirt and heels--even with the inch of snow that covers the ground here in Tennessee. (By comparison, this equates to the foot of snow from my youth in Indiana.) And my two precious daughters will be in cute dresses with bows in their hair. (Well, ok, Presley won't have a bow in her hair, since she doesn't actually have any hair just yet.) I know that doesn't make me more spiritual or a better worshipper than the guy in ripped jeans. But it's what I need to do to get to a place of worship. It's what my upbringing and spirit tell me is right...for me...and my family.