Years ago, that ubiquitous phrase meant that you were going to the house of the Lord, and as such, dressed as respectfully as if you were to be in the company of a king.
In some places, that still holds true. At nearly every predominantly African-American church I’ve passed on myriad Sundays, dapper men wear suits and hats and the ladies wear bright, faultless dresses. There’s something at once charming and impressive about that.
On the other hand, about the only time you’ll see white people dressed that well in a Catholic church is when they’re lying in a casket.
For the most part, there’s nothing wrong with dressing a bit casually for church. Personally, I’m about as comfortable in a suit as a cat in a bathtub. But at some point, dressing down crosses the line from “casual” to “what the hell is wrong with you?”
Take Pittsburgh, for example. On any given Sunday, you can look around the church and see grown men and women smartly decked out in their finest Steelers jerseys. Now, that’s fine if the line you’re standing in is for a couple of beers and a footlong. But in a Catholic church, it’s kinda ridiculous, given that Catholics believe they’re standing in line to receive the body, blood, soul and divinity of the Son of the Living God. Do you really think that an appropriate top to wear for this Eucharistic mystery is Ben Roethlisberger’s big ol’ number seven?
“Ah, what’s the big deal?” some ask. “It’s not like the Apostles dressed up for Jesus.” Well, yes, that’s true. But on the other hand, they weren’t wearing a licensed replica throwback Barabbas tunic either.
Seeing Steeler jerseys at Mass makes me wonder what Father Robert J. McCoy would think of today’s church fashion. Father McCoy was our parish priest growing up in the Juniata section of Altoona. He was a no-nonsense man, a veteran of World War II and no fan of the creeping informality that began infesting the church after Vatican II. I’m pretty sure that had you walked into Holy Rosary Church in the 1970s bedecked in your best Lambert jersey, Father McCoy would have put you in a half-nelson and thrown you head-first through a stained glass window. Had you’d been paralyzed in the incident, Father McCoy would have then promptly taken to the podium and made a heartfelt financial appeal to fix the window.
However, in the era of Christ-as-self-esteem coach, I’ve yet to see a priest bat an eye when a jersey-clad parishioner walks up to receive communion. They’d probably tell you they’re just glad the Steelers fan is at Mass.
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