“But the father said to his servants, “Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.” (Luke 15:22)
I’d put my bowtie on each Sunday morning, drape it with a brown tweed sport coat, attach it to a white button-down dress shirt, and finish the look with the only pair of dress pants I owned (Or my parents owned that were hanging in my closet!), and shiny black Florsheim shoes that made your feet feel like they were being smothered. It was church time, and our family always wore our Sunday best.
It was the only time during the entire week that my mom wore a hat and the only time my brother and I were expected to suffer for three hours in the torture of looking our best for the Lord. Our family of five crammed into the Ford and made the five-minute drive to church, the three kids captured in the backseat, Dad driving, and Mom supervising the backseat inmates.
Wearing our Sunday best was the non-negotiable. We were so accustomed to it that we never even thought of questioning it, even considered the strategy of whining and pouting. By the time I was in the fifth grade, I had retired the bowtie to the back of the bottom dresser drawer and upgraded to a necktie. After all, in our church (First Baptist Church of Williamstown, West Virginia) fifth-grade boys could be junior ushers for the Sunday morning worship service, handing out bulletins and taking up the offering. A suit and necktie were the required attire for such a position.
I’m not sure if the theology of wearing our Sunday best was understandable at that point. To come to church looking sloppy was vaguely connected to being more like the prodigal son of the Bible, wayward and lost from the loving arms of God. For the men, even wearing a suit but no tie was a dip toward depravity.
Since those growing-up years, things have changed on Sunday mornings. Wearing a suit is now more an identifier of the wearer’s generation than a desire to please the Lord. Jeans and a button-down shirt not tucked into the pants is now the norm. Or wearing a jersey of one’s favorite professional sports team, a tee shirt bought at the last rock concert, or Hello Kitty attire.
We now reside in an in-between time where some of the worshippers come dressed to the max while others look as if they just rolled out of bed. I’m an in-betweener. If I’m speaking, I wear Land’s End slacks and a dress shirt, but if I’m pew-sitting, I’m “jeaning.”
The thing many of us from the Sunday-best generation are still nervous about is the scriptural truth that tells us that God gives His best to us, regardless of what we’re willing to give Him. The story of the prodigal son blows us away. The kid who disrespected his father, walked away, and rebelled against the one who had blessed him and raised him is given “the best” when he comes to his senses and returns.
In essence, God gives His Sunday best to us no matter who we are or aren’t. Bowties, neckties, no ties, tie-dyed…He gives His best, not because of who we are but because He wants, even hungers, for our best.
No divine hand-me-downs. No sloppy seconds. Only the best.
Not what we deserve, but rather what He desires for us.