Snot on my armor

{A short Biblical theology of fashion}

In his mercy, God clothed Adam and Eve. The serpent promised that their eyes would be opened if they ate the fruit of the forbidden tree. The irony is that their eyes were opened—unto death. They stood there, naked. Fig leaves were not enough to cover their shame.

All of us—men and women—wear clothes, everyday. The Bible has so much to say about fashion and what we should wear. Except for the occasional mention of modesty, however, our theology of clothing is as thin as a shabby T-shirt in the winter storm.

Our Lord Jesus declares, it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person. What defiles a person, he says, proceeds from the heart. By the same principle, it is not what I put on my body that defiles me, my heart defiles me. I could be covered from head to toe and still be defiled. Living out a Biblical understanding of clothing is not about what I wear, but why I wear what I wear.

1. I wear clothes as a reminder of Adam and Eve's former glory.
Adam and Eve walked with God in Eden. They had nothing to prove, nothing to hide. Their lost their glory when they rebelled against God. When they felt shame for the first time, their impulse was to cover themselves, though their leafy garments were insufficient. God did not reprimand them for their desire to cover themselves. Instead, he clothed them with something far better — garments of skin that required the spilling of blood. Therefore, returning to our naked state is not an option. Our reality is now outside Eden. Therefore, we clothe ourselves.

2. I wear clothes as a confession that I am not who I ought to be.
The king of Nineveh took off his royal robe and covered himself with sackcloth and ashes. He commanded his people to do likewise.The Lord looked on the nation with mercy and forgave them of their sin. I put on clothes every morning as a prayer unto the Lord for mercy. I confess that I am a rebel, I cannot save myself. I am not enough. My clothes are my sackcloth and ashes, a sign of my repentance.

3. I wear clothes as a confession that Jesus Christ is my perfect covering.
I am hidden in the death and the life of my Lord Jesus Christ. I can stand before the Father's throne because he sees the perfect obedience of his Son. I put on my clothes — in remembrance of him. Christ is my perfect covering, my armor of light. Christ is my helmet of salvation. Christ is my breastplate of righteousness. Christ is my belt of truth. Christ is my combat boots, preparing me to preach the Gospel of peace. Christ is my shield. He gives me the sword of the Spirit, his living Word.

4. I wear clothes as a reminder of the Church's present labor and future glory.
The Lamb of God laid down his life for his Bride, the Church. His blood purchased her fine linen of righteousness, bright and pure. While we wait for his return, we, his royal priesthood, shall labor in our priestly garments. We wear our priestly robes in service of others, in the presence of God. Our robes could look like office attires, nurses' scrubs, hospital gowns, military uniforms, firefighters' suits, a chef's hat, prison uniforms, or — my blouse and jeans. My priestly garment is currently covered with paint, snot, a splash of bath water, mud, cream cheese, and I smell like chocolate cookies. Somewhat like the priestly garments in the Old Testament, without so much blood.

I like pretty clothes. But I don't like to admit I like pretty clothes, because I don't want people to think I am vain and superficial, though I can be. There is nothing wrong with wearing pretty things, because it is not what I put on my body that defiles me. My heart defiles me; idolatry defiles me. Wearing things (pretty or not, long or short) for my own glory defiles me. People may judge me according to my outward appearance, but the Lord sees my heart. The Lord sees why I wear what I wear; he sees my intentions, my motivations. And that's a scarier thought.

So, why do I wear what I wear?

I change out of my pajamas in the morning out of respect for my children as we begin our homeschool. I put on my favorite things on Sundays because I get to stand before God in the midst of his congregation. I feel weird about wearing cross necklaces because the cross is the sign of my death penalty that Christ has paid. And I feel weird about seeing my death penalty decorated in gold and hanging around my neck. I don't wear WWJD bracelets because I think they are ugly. And I prefer my priestly garments to be non-ugly.

But what do I know? I have snot on me.

When I love certain things a little too much, I ask myself, "Am I willing to give this away?" I am learning, slowly, to hold all things loosely. Fabric, faux-fur, and leather are merely shadows of what is to come.

I read recently a story about an 80-year-old farmer in North Korea. In the cloak of darkness, he goes on a boat and drops scripture leaflets along the coastline of the hermit kingdom. “I pray over every gospel leaflet I throw into the sea," he says. "I pray for those who will read them as they wash up on the shore. This is now my profession, the most important task of my life.”

For this reason, he goes out into the night wearing his nicely pressed suit and a tie around his neck. He puts on his best. He knows for whom he is dressed; he knows of whom he is wearing.

And so must I.



My updated thoughts on a biblical theology of clothing: The Gospel on Our Sleeves.

Flinging life away for love of him

Hans and I never lived in the same state until the day we got married. After the wedding, everyday was like a big date. We got to eat, work, and talk — face to face. We even got to decide how to spend our leisure time together. I know, crazy stuff. Hans knew what I loved. He took me out on walks; even on our shoestring budget, we tried a few new restaurants and museums. He was a lovely man.

And then, he taught me how to play strategy games.

I must confess, at first, I just didn't get it. I did not understand the benefits of staring at a board, or the computer screen, for hours upon hours. What were we accomplishing? How was this useful? What am I getting out of this? Did he not know that our dates were about me and revolved around my interests and for my benefit?

Seriously.

I disdain useless things and I have an irrational fear of being useless. Thinking about it makes my throat close and I can't breath. When I was pregnant, I couldn't stand my closet. I wanted to purge everything because nothing, not even the stretchy things, would fit. But Hans wisely told me to hold off on giving everything away, at least until the baby arrives.

I am my own idol. Even during some of my finer moments of serving others and keeping spiritual disciplines, I can be very concerned about myself and what's in it for me. Meditating on Mary's love for Jesus has been good for my soul.

Mary, and how she sat at Jesus' feet, listening to every word, watching every gesture, beholding every expression. Mary, and how she fell at his feet, weeping. How she broke and poured her alabaster jar of pure nard, on Jesus' feet. How she wiped Jesus' feet with her hair.

Mary's love for Jesus was so indiscreet, and even immodest. Hers was a love that was self-forgetting. She broke decorum and abandoned respectability. She used the crown of her head to wipe the dirt beneath his feet. Her worship of Jesus made people uncomfortable.

Mary placed herself at his feet. This is a pattern in Mary's relationship to Jesus. She was always at his feet. This was not a mutual exchange, not an equal give and take. This was not Mary helping Jesus out. This was worship.

Martha welcomed, served, and helped. Judas was an advocate for the poor. Mary did nothing useful of that sort. Yet, Jesus commended her, defended her. He called her sacrifice beautiful. Jesus was not saying hospitality was bad or feeding the poor was bad, but Jesus was distinguishing these works from Mary's worship. Unlike the others, Mary saw Jesus properly, so she responded properly — with homage and devotion.

Love takes us beyond ourselves. Of course, love can be helpful and practical, like receiving socks on Christmas morning. In fact, I love receiving socks for Christmas. But love can and should also be extravagant and unreasonable and sacrificial. For some birthdays, Hans would give me useful and practical gifts like my dutch oven and my chef's knife. For other birthdays, and especially for my non-birthdays, he would give me outrageous things, like a polka dot skirt. In the winter. He is a lovely man.

I am look forward to spring.
 

The only thing I bring to my salvation is my sin. Christ took my sin and death upon the cross, and in exchange, he gave me new life — with him. Therefore, I need to quit asking, "Am I being used by God?" Because, frankly, I am of no use to him at all.

The Father is looking for worshipers, like Mary, who are not the least bit concerned about themselves and what is in it for them. Because Mary surrendered herself, Jesus says her story would be told wherever the Gospel is proclaimed.

Consider this final passage by Howard Guinness in his book Sacrifice:

Where are the young men and women of this generation who will hold their lives cheap and be faithful even unto death? Where are those who will lose their lives for Christ’s sake, flinging them away for love of him? Where are those who will live dangerously and be reckless in his service? Where are his lovers, those who love him and the souls of men more than their own reputations or comfort or very life?

Nearly eight years later, Hans made a convert out of me. I love strategy games. It's a lot more fun now that I know what is in it for me.

A lot of wins.
Ha. Just kidding.

The dove returned

We heard last week that North Korea's supreme leader Kim Jong Un ordered the execution of 33 Christians. As we scoured the internet, we could only find bits and pieces of news, tainted with staged interviews and scripted press releases. From this distance, it is hard to distinguish truth from propaganda.

I found this sliver of information to be consistent in the reports: The 33 Christians were accused of planting 500 underground churches.

Our hearts swelled with a joyful sorrow.

Thirty-three. As it was in the days of Noah, the dove returned in the evening, bearing in her mouth a freshly plucked olive leaf. Ironically, the news of their death sentence is a sign of life — the Lord is at work. So, we receive this dire news with hope. The Body of Christ is alive in North Korea. Against all odds, the church is growing.

This is remarkable given the degree of persecution against Christians there. Following Christ comes at a great cost, sacrifices of many kinds. The "three-generation" policy makes North Korea the most brutal and suppressive regiment against Christianity in the world. Not only would the accused individual be sent to labor camps, but their families, their parents and children, would all be put away. Imagine having to watch your elderly parents and young children die of starvation and exhaustion — because you were found to be in possession of a gospel tract, or a few pages of the Bible.

The blood of God's children cries out from the ground. We must keep our brothers and sisters in our prayers. Pray not only for the 33 saints, but pray for their families, pray for the underground churches, pray for the pastors, and all the saints. Pray that they would be strong and courageous. Pray that they are somehow able to hear God's Word. Let us keep praying for them with all vigilance.





My sister Jean shared this hymn with us last week. She took an old hymn and gave it a new melody and a bridge. As I listened to it the first few times, I was filled with curiosity and admiration for Jean's gift. But as I started singing with her, this song really got to me.

So, I am sharing with you the soundtrack of my prayers for North Korea. I praise the Lord for their testimony, how they hastened to follow Christ, despite the many waters of persecution.

I am hastening, slowly.
Would you come with me? I would love your company.


Stanzas 1 & 2:
Resolved no longer to linger,
Charmed by the world's delight,
Things that are higher, things that are nobler,
These have allured my sight.

Resolved to go to the Savior,
Leaving my sin and strife;
He is the true One, He is the just One,
He hath the words of life.

Refrain:
I will hasten to Him,
Hasten so glad and free;
Jesus, greatest, highest,
I will come to Thee.

Stanzas 3 & 4:
Resolved to follow the Savior,
Faithful and true each day;
Heed what He sayeth, do what He willeth,
He is the living Way.

Resolved to enter the kingdom
Leaving the paths of sin;
Friends may oppose me, foes may beset me,
Still will I enter in.

Refrain:
I will hasten to Him,
Hasten so glad and free;
Jesus, greatest, highest,
I will come to Thee.

Stanza 5:
Resolved, and who will go with me?
Come, friends, without delay,
Taught by the Bible, led by the Spirit,
We'll walk the heav'nly way.

Bridge:
He's awaiting that glorious day
When His bride sees Him face to face
He's preparing her for that day
Dressed in white and adorned in grace
A queen readied for her place.
Refrain:
Shall we hasten to Him?
Hasten so glad and free;
Jesus, greatest, highest,
We will come to Thee.

Not a love at first sight

I first encountered Hans when he was preaching in his previous church. Ours was not a love at first sight. I was, however, given "an understanding at first hearing."

I love learning from him then, and I love learning from him now. Hans has a way of explaining complicated things, making them simple and accessible. He is clear and logical and precise, skills that do not come naturally for me. And now that we are married, I have the benefit of knowing that he teaches me because he loves me.

Hans is currently teaching Christian apologetics in his Sunday school class. He kindly gives his wife summaries of his lessons every now and then, because I am usually with the boys when he is teaching.

A few Sundays ago, I asked Hans what is the use of Christian apolegetics. Does it do any lasting good to be able to defend the truth of the Gospel or the reliability of Scripture? All this talk about evidence and presuppositions — do people actually come to faith by being proven that they have been wrong all their lives?

I came across the testimony of Nabeel Qureshi today. Nabeel grew up in the United States, in an extremely devout Muslim home. His mother came from a long line of missionaries of Islam and he was taught to be an ambassador for Islam from a young age. But Christ revealed himself to Nabeel and his life in Christ revives a desire in me to better explain and defend my faith. He reminds me why the Gospel is worth dying for.




In his testimony, Nabeel talks about his best friend David. He was the first person who provided some answers to Nabeel's attacks against Christianity. David's response was unexpected and his friendship was genuine. "From that point on, we did everything together... In that context of friendship, I know that he is going to take a bullet for me if the time ever arises, and I would do the same for him. So when he shares the Gospel with me, and when he tries to tear down my faith, I know he is doing it because he loves me."

Theirs was a love that was truly tolerant.

Tim Keller said in a sermon, “Truth without love is imperious self-righteousness. Love without truth is cowardly self-indulgence.” Christian apologetics is a useful tool, but only when it comes from mouths that speak the truth with love, and from hearts that are ever so aware of the grace and forgiveness in Jesus Christ.

Four shining faces

The year was 2005. I was a second year graduate student, and homeless. To make a long story short, the Lord provided a home for me with an international community of missionaries and church leaders on furlough. I am still drinking from the deep well of friendships I was given that year.

In that community lived four Burmese pastors. If you were driving by, you might think these pastors were gardeners, or janitors. They were outside raking leaves in the fall, shoveling snow in the winter, planting flowers in the spring. Digging ditches, anything really. If help was needed — they were there. They inspired (obnoxious) neighbors (me) to throw open their windows and shout out friendly greetings.

In a community of red and yellow, black and white, my Southeast Asian features looked like theirs. Once in a while, my Malaysian accent would even creep up on me when they were around. They spoke to me like a daughter.

One of the perks of community living was our weekly shopping trip together. One Friday, while we were waiting for the others, I asked one of the Burmese pastors about life in Myanmar. Pastor Bo Tha was the oldest, and the tallest, of the four. Dark and thin, he was a quiet man with kind eyes.

He showed me a picture of his family. I counted the children in his photo. With his wife (a.k.a. the Burmese Superwoman), they had three biological children and adopted five more. In addition, his family regularly cared for at least four to five orphans from his tribe whose parents were killed because of the persecution against Christians in Myanmar.

I asked him what was his monthly income (apparently, I was obnoxious when I asked questions as well). He thought for a moment and answered, "Ten dollars." I probably responded with some outrageous exclamation.

Their tribes lived in the mountains, so they mainly traveled on foot. On Sunday mornings, they climbed many hills, some for many hours, in order to gather for worship. Even now, I think of my Burmese brothers and sisters when I sit in my warm car, my children strapped to their carseats, while my husband drives us to church. All the while, we are in no danger of being decimated by fire or gunshots — at least not for our faith.

When I saw them for the last time, the four pastors invited me to their home. They apologized for not being able to attend our wedding. I did not hide my disappointment. I pleaded for them to stay. They needed to go to New York City, they explained, to preach to the Burmese there.

One of them took out a red envelope. I started weeping and shaking my head. They insisted, the way only a father can insist upon his daughter. He placed it firmly in my hand, "For you and Hans, from the four of us."

I was attending divinity school at the time, but my Burmese pastors taught me more about God than some of the professors who held scores of degrees, published books, and read the Bible in several languages. I remember watching them when they sang hymns to the Lord. Somehow, their faces shone. They saw beyond what meets my eyes. They knew their Lord, and walked with him.

John Owen, in Overcoming Sin andTemptation, explains,

The difference between believers and unbelievers as to knowledge is not so much in the matter of their knowledge as in the manner of knowing. Unbelievers, some of them, may know more and be able to say more of God, his perfections, and his will, than many believers; but they know nothing as they ought, nothing in a right manner, nothing spiritually and savingly, nothing with a holy, heavenly light. The excellency of a believer is, not that he has a large apprehension of things, but that what he does apprehend, which perhaps may be very little, he sees it in the light of the Spirit of God, in a saving, soul-transforming light; and this is that which gives us communion with God, and not prying thoughts or curious-raised notions (chapter 12).

I found the red envelope today.

In it, I found all that they placed in my hand, many years ago. It holds their happiness, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, the hope they had for the people of Myanmar, the love they had for the orphans, and their allegiance to their God.

Their $40 feeds us still.

I did not see this coming

I slouch.

I learned to slouch a long time ago in a land far away, where I was always one of the tallest girls in my grade. Where teachers were required to measure the weight of every student — in front of the entire class. Where I my mom's friends regularly exclaimed, "She is so big. She is so stout. What do you feed her?!"

Little girls do not want to be called burly.

In my daydreams, I was a tiny little thing with long hair down to my waist (I had bowl-cut hair). If I could just hide my height a little, if I could just look a little smaller, a little less stout, perhaps I could be beautiful.

I slouched through my childhood. I slouched through my tween and teens. Even after coming to America, where I was no longer considered tall or burly, I continued to slouch.

I am ready to straighten up.

But my back has been proven to be more stubborn than I expected. After nearly thirty years, my default position is to hunch. The habit has taken root. And roots go deep.

Three young men in the fiery furnace, praying. Catacomb of Priscilla, Rome, 3^rd century.

Charles Spurgeon is right: “The first learned is generally the last forgotten.” And I learned to hunch my back very early on. I was five, maybe six?

Hans has kindly and patiently offered his assistance, reminding me to straighten up whenever I slouch — which is all the time. Sometimes, his voice takes me back to some point of my childhood and my teenage years. I can almost feel the blood rushing into my face, the insecurity of that little girl being measured and compared. I can almost sense her fear when her thinner, smaller friends asked how much she weighed. I can almost hear Ma's Indonesian dialect, "Ling, jangan bungkuk!"(Stop slouching!)

I did not see this coming. Un-hunching my back is recalling some old forgotten fears. As it turns out, my posture is not the only thing that needs correcting.

Out of the abundance of the heart the body speaks. Slouching is not merely a bad physical habit, it came from the posture of my soul. I slouched out of fear. Fear of being a burly freak with bowl-cut hair. Fear of people's judgment. So I carried the dead weight of self-consciousness and insecurity on my shoulders.

My hunched back revealed my hunched heart. No amount of confidence can straighten it, because I am not enough, and I will never be.

The earliest representation of the crucifixion. Christ, praying. Santa Sabina, Rome, 430 A.D.

I did not see this coming. Un-hunching my back brings me back once again to the foot of the cross. As it turns out, I can do nothing — not even straightening my back — apart from the Gospel.

I slouch because I forget.

I slouch when I forget his blood that was shed for me, his body bended upon that tree.

He is enough. God in human likeness, he took my guilt and shame. He took the burdens off my shoulders and replaced them with the robe of righteousness. He caused me to stand, and to pray.


Soul, stand rightly.
Stand
before the Lord
with hands lifted to the sky,
because Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again.

Praise be to God.