Altar servers group at St. Robert Bellarmine Church, Jones, Oklahoma.

Photograph by Jzsj via Wikimedia Commons. Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 license.

Recently, the weekly readings from the Revised Common Lectionary appointed Mark 12:38-44 as the Gospel portion for the Sunday. In this passage, Jesus tells his disciples to “Beware of [those] who like to walk around in long robes and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces…” (Mark 12:38). As someone who wears a robe in worship on Sundays when I am preaching, I found Jesus’ words rather daunting.

All the same, Christians have worn robes in worship throughout the ages. In many Western Christian denominations today, clergy will wear either a white alb with a cincture (a rope belt) which is an ancient garment that mimics the linen tunic worn by ancient Roman citizens, or a black pulpit robe that is sometimes known as a Geneva gown based on its popularity in the Reformed tradition. These base garments of Christian worship are often adorned with other vestments, such as preaching tabs or clergy stoles that match the liturgical season of the day. The other day my oldest daughter helped me understand all the more the importance of these robes, and what God might be up to for those that wear them.

My daughter is seven years old and has loved attending church since we adopted her three years ago. She has grown in her faith and love of God, along with her desire to serve in the work of the Church. For some time, she’s had her eyes on one practice our church participates in weekly. She has wanted nothing more than to be an acolyte. In our context, acolytes carry a brass candle-lighter and light the candles at the altar of our church. They too wear acolyte robes, an appropriately sized alb that resembles the robe I wear most Sundays. For the first time this past month, my child put on her alb and had me help her tie the cincture around her waist. The robe was slightly big on her — we just didn’t have her size. Despite that, she was ready to lead the clergy down the aisle as a sign of the light of Christ entering the worship space. She did her duties with the poise and respect of a much older kid.

It got me thinking of the first time I donned a robe to preach. It was a hand-me-down alb that didn’t quite fit. It was a robe I had borrowed, and the sleeves were like my daughter’s today, just a little too long. As I put on that robe, though, there was a weight that I felt. I would come to later realize as a seminary professor opined to our class that the weight of the robe is 2,000 years of Christian tradition and experience weighing down on the wearer of that garment. While today there are debates of the accessibility and efficacy of Christian vestments, to me they show the magnitude and imperative of the message we offer. They also are a great equalizer by which we see that God’s kingdom is not a meritocracy. We all stand before the altar without our ability to stylize or impress with fashion, rather as those adorned with what God provides.

In many ways, we are all the benefactors of hand-me-down robes that don’t quite fit exactly. It’s been years since I wore the borrowed alb for that service where I preached, and now I have robes that fit that are mine. Doesn’t the Christian faith seem a little like that? When we first came to know the love of God made evident in Christ, we were like me preaching my first sermon or my daughter carrying the light of Christ. We used a lexicon and vestments we didn’t quite understand. We may not have even articulated the words well or had explanations for the ways in which we carried ourselves.

As time passed and the waters of baptism sunk into the fertile ground, we learned the faith and the intricacies therein. The robes of faith began to fit better, and we found our own way of expressing our new outfit. One day when we reach that heavenly country, the faith that once had sleeves that were too long and that was clunky at first sight will be perfected by the one whom we put our faith in.

I’m so proud of my daughter and her commitment to be a part of Christ’s Church through her service as an acolyte. I’m cherishing the beauty of her calling knowing that time is a thief, and these moments are fleeting. The robe will one day fit her well, yes. But for now, she wears the robe that has been handed down. She is experiencing her faith through the great liturgy of the church, already realizing that the faith we proclaim is one of rich hand-me-downs and beauty. That’s so much more than I could have ever hoped for.