Unholy fashions invade Quaker circles

Hal and I are currently enjoying autumn in Indiana. We’re here to scrounge around in the archives of several Quaker institutions, looking for data concerning the beginnings of the Friends movement in Bolivia. So far, it’s been profitable. From multiple bound copies of old newsletters and the brittle pages of letters from the early 1900s, we’ve found a few useful pieces of information. We take breaks from the darkness of the archive rooms to walk the streets of this small town, past the old houses and under the changing leaves.

I worried in my preparations for this trip, not so much about whether or not we’d find the information we need, but about what I’d wear. I knew that we would be among conservative Friends and I didn’t want my attire to offend anyone; I also didn’t want to buy a new wardrobe for the trip. A friend/Friend who knows this area told me not to worry, that no matter what I wore, I’d offend someone. That was not especially reassuring.

Actually, the reality has been otherwise. Friends here have accepted us with a spirit of hospitality and generosity. They’ve opened to us, not only their archives, but the girls’ dormitory, giving us a guest room and feeding us in their dining hall. We’ve enjoyed getting to know people. And I’ve noticed all the ways the girls can make long skirts fashionable. While some women do look like they live in a previous century, others could fit in anywhere. Colorful accessories help.

But of course, making a fashion statement is not the point. The testimony, as I understand it, is that we honor God in all we do, including how we dress. The values of simplicity and modesty apply here. I respect how these Friends choose to express this. I’ve tried to accommodate, somewhat successfully. At least, I haven’t felt judged.

But using dress codes as a measure of spirituality has its negative side. In an issue of the institution’s newsletter, The Gospel Minister (formerly Friends Minister), I found an article that confused my emotions. I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. Entitled, “Unholy Fashions Invade Holiness Circles,” it first appeared in the Church of Christ Advocate (date and author unknown) and was reprinted in The Gospel Minister in its March 31, 1927 issue. It reflects both the values and the rhetoric of the times. Here is a portion:

“Fashion has always had a terrific influence upon women. Many years ago it made them hideous with overdress. Today the other extreme is to be met with, and our women—young and old—furnish in public and at home the vilest exhibition of depravity and the gravest want of modesty, chastity, and virtue we have ever witnessed in the last half century. The average young woman of today is only half clad. The abbreviated skirt, the silk hosiery, the tiny slippers, the painted face, the bobbed hair, is making of our young women (and older ones, too) the most ridiculous, nonsensical, outrageous, unreasonable, absurd, unlovely, immodest creatures that fashion ever played tricks upon and that the god of this world ever perpetrated upon any age.

“And the pity of it is that these vile exhibitions are everywhere—in the churches, in the choirs, in the Sunday School classes, in the prayer and social meetings, in the official meetings, and in the leadership.

“Not so long since we attended an evangelistic meeting addressed by a very distinguished evangelical preacher. A great crowd was present because he always drew a crowd. Before preaching, his daughter was called upon to sing a solo. Alas! Alas!! It put a serious damper upon the great man’s message, because she was attired on that Sunday night in opera dress. She was a sight to make angels weep and good people hang their heads in shame. She was dressed not for church, but for the place of play and fashion and the world. It was a grave reflection on the father to have put her up to sing that night. She ought first to have gone home and put on modest attire as becometh the house of God, and attired herself for worship instead of opera. Is it any wonder that the church no longer is a place of worship? Is it to be wondered at that the Spirit does not fall on the singing as in other days when painted, half-clad dolls occupy the choirs or lead in the special singing?”

Grave words indeed. The unidentified author goes on to lament how “this abomination has invaded the holiness ranks,” and admonishes the holiness schools to set righteous norms and exercise discipline over female students.

This article, and to a certain extent the conservative branch of various denominations, represents a legalistic extreme, whereas the “evangelical opera dress” could represent another extreme. I admit to my struggle with our contemporary culture’s emphasis on clothes. Part of my dilemma in preparing for this trip was the pressure to look appropriate but, at the same time, to look good. I lament way too much over the inadequacies of my wardrobe. There does seem to be a spiritual aspect to how we clothe ourselves.

In the meantime, my main concern is that I still have two more days that I have to wear this same long skirt. While outdoors the trees are outdoing themselves in their colorful array, my clothes are beginning to bore me.

Alas! Alas!!

Simplicity of heart

As anyone who has attempted to de-clutter their life knows, simplicity can be complicated. It involves tackling not only the accumulation of stuff—those bins of college syllabi, old magazines, childhood treasures—but extra tasks we’ve taken on, organizations we’ve joined, the demands other people make on us, and all the clutter in our minds.

Recently as I was walking the labyrinth our Friends meeting has constructed in an adjacent field, I found myself repeating a simple prayer: “You are my life. You are my life.” It was as though God was reeling me in, bringing me back to the basic simplicity of soul from which all else flows. I found myself asking, with the psalmist, “Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire beside you” (Psalm 73).

I felt God reminding me that simplicity begins in the heart. It flows from a life oriented to the source of all life, from the deep knowledge that in God alone we “live and move and have our being.” That’s basic to Christianity, yet somehow I keep forgetting.

As I walked that trail, I began to affirm, “Above all relationships and roles—spouse, parent, grandparent, friend, minister—you are my life. Above all I possess or hold on to for security—my home, my books, my insurance policies, my investments—you are my life. Above all the intangibles I cling to—my health, my education, my achievements, my talents, my rights, my dreams—above all this, you are my life.” And I found myself praying, “Oh Lord, let it be. Change my heart. Keep reeling me into yourself.”

I am sensing that only when I live from the center of a life oriented to God can I move out freely into the world as God’s agent of reconciliation and peace.

When will I start remembering this so much that I live by it? When will this attitude become a holy habit?

Prayer: “Take from our souls the strain and stress, and let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy peace” (John Greenleaf Whittier).

Stuff

Stuff is one of my favorite words. I like the round plump way it feels in my mouth. I like the way it starts with a hiss, slowly snaking its way toward the light, only to come to an abrupt halt (we call it an alveolar stop in linguistics, in case you wanted to know), then ending in a slow flat leak of carbon dioxide (a labio-dental fricative). There’s a lot going on in your mouth when you say the “simple” word stuff.

But more than the sound and feel of the word, I like what it means and, more importantly, how it means it.

As with many words that appear simple, time spent in the Oxford English Dictionary quickly dispels that illusion. The noun stuff can mean a variety of things from supplies and possessions to textiles suitable for clothing, and even academic matter, as in “This teacher really knows her stuff.” It can mean something lofty, a fundamental substance, such as “the stuff of greatness.” Or it can be as specialized as the spin on a fast flying baseball (a new one to me). And, of course, we also have many verb meanings, derivatives (some very edible), and even a few expletives (among which, “O stuff and bother!” is the safest for Quakers to use).

There’s a lot of “what” to the word stuff, but the “how” is perhaps more significant. Stuff, in short, is not a reverent word. It is not likely to ever be incorporated into a liturgical prayer, carved onto a memorial plaque, or sung at a wedding. It struts down the halls with a casual, cocky air. Look closely and you’ll see a twinkle in its eye. It’s crossing its fingers behind its back.

Let’s consider stuff in the sense of personal property or possessions. “Hands off! This is my stuff.”

It’s precisely because of the irreverent casual feel of this word that I like to apply it to my possessions. In my heart of hearts, I find myself attached to my stuff in a most unholy way. When someone threatens to take what belongs to me, my emotions flare up. I can become very distressed at breaking some valued pot. Little kids running through my house unnerve me.

Labeling my things as stuff helps me put them in perspective. I desire to become less and less possessed by my possessions, freer to value what’s really valuable (like little kids).

As missionaries in Bolivia, we had to store our stuff in big barrels every time we came back to the States on furlough. These barrels had to be properly labeled in case something happened to us and the remaining mission staff had to sort, send, or sell our possessions. One time, in a fit of whimsy, I labeled our barrels “General Stuff,” “Specific Stuff,” “Favorite Stuff,” and “Stuff I could get along without if I had to but would prefer to keep if it’s all the same to whoever is reading this label.” (That one took five labels.) Fortunately, nothing happened to us.

I have this recurring Walter-Mitty-like daydream where my house and all my possessions burn down, but we escape unharmed. I remain calm and spiritual throughout the ordeal. When someone, dripping with pity, says to me, “I hear you were wiped out by the fire,” I reply, “Oh no, I’m still here, as good as ever. Just my stuff burned up.”

In my saner moments I laugh at that daydream. I know that a real fire would devastate me, that I would lose not only my “General Stuff,” but also my family photos, the teddy bear my daughter bought me, my great grandmother’s wedding dress, the stories the kids wrote when they were little, and other things I deeply value. I would need help in dealing with loss. This is reality.

John Woolman inspires me to put my possessions in perspective. I am especially drawn to the story in his journal about his growing retail business and his struggle with the “stuff and bother” of material success. He finally concludes that “Truth required me to live more free from outward cumbers,” and he simplifies his business so that he can give himself to traveling and encouraging his brothers and sisters in the Quaker family. Cumbers is another good word for stuff.

Jesus reminds us that God knows our need of adequate shelter, clothing, and food. Our Father is generous. We are to seek first his kingdom and righteousness, and he will supply all the stuff we really need (Matthew 6:33, Thomas version).

I need to be frequently reminded of this. I’m still far from John Woolman’s courageous act of throwing it all off. I’m still cumbered by more stuff than I need. But the desire for freedom and simplicity is growing. I pray God will help me to hold my possessions more lightly, and to know that, no matter how pretty, bright, or enticing, when all is said and done—it’s just stuff.

(This article originally appeared in the Evangelical Friend in March of 1992. I reprinted it here because I needed to remember it.)