Beauty Tips for Ministers

NO HAWAIIAN SHIRTS!! EVER!!

Pigeons, I am choking on my iced tea out here!! Deb’s comment below, contributed as a response to my earlier post about not wearing bare shoulders, has me totally disturbed!! Please tell me it’s not true that pastors are preaching in Hawaiian shirts. Flocking to conferences looking like employees of Trader Joe’s or as though they’re on their way to happy hour, fine. But PREACHING IN THEM!??

I’m fully with you here on the no spaghetti straps, and fully on board for no bare shoulders for anything official, though I’m not sure for church softball games or that sort of thing.

But the no hawaiian shirt thing doesn’t jive. I live and work in California and my conference includes Hawaii and hawaiian shirts are it–Annual conference, I think that might be all the men wear, and for many of us who are in the desert where you will literally pass out from heat stroke if you wear a robe in 100-120 degree heat, Hawaiian shirts are seen in all kinds of pulpits–it’s sort of the norm out here–casual and liveable for those inferno months…I’d love for you to reconsider your advice on this. (Even as a woman, I know Hawaiian shirts are fairly safe in the summer and much easier than figuring out which short sleeve blouses do and don’t show too much arm or cleavage….

And here is my response to Deb, gentle as always

Deb, I’m horrified!! It’s bad enough for male pastors to wear Hawaiian shirts, which communicate a casual I’m-totally-on-vacation-get-me-a-beer vibe, but to suggest that women wear them too for comfort’s sake is ludicrous to mine ears! Girl, that’s why God made cotton blouses in solid colors! It’s 96 degrees here today, for instance, and I am wearing a white cotton skirt, sandals, and a plain black short-sleeved T-shirt with an elegant boat neck. I am just as comfortable as if I was wearing a (shudder) Hawaiian shirt and I look professionally acceptable for tonight’s Annual Meeting.

I stand firmly by my conviction that no one on the planet will really take another person seriously if they’re clad in a Don Ho shirt — except in Hawaii. The whole look was invented to communicate “Don’t Worry- Be Happy! And Let’s Get To That Limbo Contest While I’m Still Really Wasted!” That is NOT the gospel I want to non-verbally communicate with my attire. If my pastor showed up wearing a Hawaiian shirt I’d assume one thing and one thing only: he’s been interrupted from a vacation. See my lips? They’re SO pursed right now!!! - PB

No Bare Shoulders

Ladies,
No matter how hot it gets, it is not appropriate to wear spaghetti strapped garments to church or to any ministerial function. Save the strappy sundresses for your vacation or your friend’s wedding at which you are a guest, not the officiant.

There’s a reason woman are asked to cover their shoulders at every cathedral in Europe; it’s called respect. Bare shoulders are way too informal to be part of your on-duty clerical wardrobe. Spaghetti straps are the worst, but I am against anything sleeveless unless it’s a very steamy day and you’re at a picnic or out boating with your folks.

Guys, no Hawaiian shirts for you. I’m just making this up here, but let’s say it’s roughly the equivalent.

PeaceBang is making a very stern face about this and if you argue she will purse her lips disapprovingly at you.

The Context of Image

Remember how we’re always talking about geographic and cultural context of our ministry and how that influences what we choose to wear?

Perfect example in these two pastor gents.

Exhibit A, Paul S. from Vermont:

Right? Rural, lumberjack-y, approachable, warm, plaid. I’d like to see him trim the beard up a bit but I’m mostly just saying that because he already wants to kill me for taking this photo, so “HEEEEEEEY, PAUL! Smile, you’re on BTFM!!!” That’s not a smile he’s got on his face, it’s a homicidal grimace. I thought you’d want to know that, in case you were worried.

Exhibit B, Daniel K. from Dallas:

Now, is this one cool cat or what? From head to toe, this man is cosmopolitan, sophisticated, hip, and very polished. His hair is awesome. His glasses rock. His shoes are fantastic. The whole thing is really great looking. If he was in Vermont, people might look at him funny, like, “Just what are you trying for there, there, city slicker?” But for a large congregation in Dallas he’s got leadership presence and a sense of himself that’s unmistakably right for that setting.

Just in case you wanted to dig those specs up close, here they are again:

I don’t know how I managed to make such a good looking guy look so goofy, but that’s my photographic skills, not Daniel’s handsomeness factor. Trust. Sorry, DK.

Privacy, Please

Privacy Please happens to be the name of the lovely, delicate and sheer pink nail polish I’m wearing right now (by OPI), but the issue of privacy also happens to be on my mind this evening, as I drink Gatorade and thank God for having made it through an 8-hour class today. Not only do I have an Evil Stomach Bug, I threw my back out a few days ago and woke up this morning in absolute agony (the bug and the back may be related, I know how that can work).

Lower back-pain sufferers, can I get a sympathetic “AMEN?” If I tell you that I was flinging around heavy furniture on Wednesday, will you still sympathize, or will you smack me upside the head as I deserve? Don’t be afraid to do the latter; what was I thinking ? I know better than that, I really do.

So I awoke this morning in a friend’s guest room in too much pain to put on my pants from a standing position, to reach for the radio dial in the car without gasping and wincing, or to do much but take two Advil (Lord, spare my stomach lining!)and hope that a brisk ten minute walk before class might help with my general alignment. I knew I would be in class from 9-5 and prayed for the stamina to make it through.

I am eternally grateful to my professor and the others in our small class for encouraging me to do “whatever it takes” to be as comfortable as possible throughout the day. I decided to follow their advice and got up frequently –and I hope, unobtrusively– from my chair in order to walk quietly around the room, do some gentle bending or to get my knees moving. At one point I stretched out on the floor in the back of the room, hidden by chairs, and carefully pumped my right leg straight up into the air. I am convinced that this fifteen-minute period of yoga stretching and working out that leg saved me from many additional days of suffering because I felt immensely relieved afterwards.

Except that of course it must have been distracting even from behind an armory of chairs and I’m sure I looked most undignified. Had I been in a ministerial setting I would have most certainly excused myself from the gathering in order to contort myself in this fashion — and it occurred to me that I might need to discuss this issue with you all, my Lovely Incarnate Ones.

Were you at that conference with me when one of the attendees took out her insulin and needles at the dinner table and proceeded to loudly call attention to herself and her subsequent injection, causing me to almost swoon to the floor when the needle pierced her skin? She wasn’t a minister, but she will forever be my poster girl for the Indiscreet Sharing of Those Things That Should More Appropriately Remain Private Ministrations. On the poster with her might be the Minister Who Clips His Toe Nails During TV Time On Retreat, the Pastor Who Digs a Bit Too Busily In His Nostrils With His Hankie During a Vestry Meeting, the Reverend Who Wears a Heating Pad For Cramps During Counseling Sessions,* and the Priest Who Excuses Herself From Eating Bread at The Dinner Party With a Lengthy And Graphic Explanation of Effect of Celiac’s Disease On Her Digestive System.

Oh darlings, I’ve done it. I’ve over-shared. When I had serious and debilitating gynecological problems this past fall that led to overuse of Advil that led to a trip to the Emergency Room ’cause my stomach lining was basically in shreds, some parishioners went with me and told others who worried, and of course I gave them the gist of my medical situation. I love and trust them, and they love and care about me. But there is a time and a place, and that time and place is at a relatively private moment outside one’s study with a small gaggle of dearly beloveds, not at a dinner party or at coffee hour. Not at social time at the retreat, and not during Religious Education class.

Use your best judgment. Getting up from your seat periodically and gently stretching is one thing. Engaging in full-out calisthenics on the floor like a fat waterbug is entirely another, and although I’m willing to subject a supportive class of seminarians and ministers to the sight, never would I be caught in such an inelegant position by my parishioners. There are some positions only my chiropractor should see me in. Maintain some mystery, darlings. Just plunk it all in under the general heading of Boundaries and be well.

Me, I’m heading back to bed with my cat snuggled under one arm and my beagle snuggled under the other. Neither of them has any boundaries whatsoever and I love them for it.

*Nursing a baby, however, is fine and need never be apologized for. There are all kinds of ways to do so modestly without sharing portions of your anatomy that you’d rather stayed your private business. The heating pad doesn’t need to be explained — any woman will know what it’s for and if any man asks just tell him it’s an old sports injury. With a straight face. How about, “It’s from an old sports injury I got when I rowed for Harvard Crew.”
When he says, “I didn’t know you rowed crew,” you can say, “I didn’t. But will you spread a rumor around church that I did? And by the way, my health is perfectly fine, thanks for asking.”

Pigtails May Be Hip, But They’re Not Ministerial

SweetieBang and I are heading into a time of “see ya later, Stranger” because of his work hours combined with the intensive course on congregational discernment I am starting tomorrow (with a paper due every day!!). Since we both had yesterday relatively free we decided to go sightseeing in Salem, MA. I knew I’d be far out of town and put my hair up in little pigtails, wrapped with a print cotton scarf:

The scarf routine is my typical vacation look.

A pretty, zaftig gal about my age working at the local cafe was wearing long pigtails and I thought they were cute and told her so. “You’ve got to stay young somehow!” was her reply, and I thought exactly…and there’s a time for that and a time NOT to do that. This type of hairdo is fun when we’re not in work mode, but pigtails and derivations thereof can scream “LITTLE GIRL” and should therefore be assiduously avoided when we’re pastoring. That goes for cutesy barrettes and any style that prompts you to look in the mirror and say, “I wonder if that looks too immature for me.” Fellas, you can look too boyish, too, if you slick your hair to the side like a first grader going in for his school portrait, so keep an eye on your own mop, too. And for God’s sake, no pigtails on you!!

And no, braiding the pigtails doesn’t make them any more appropriate for professional wear, nor does wearing two messy buns as I did a few months ago when I was trying new fun clips and was enjoying my longer hair. Hey, how can I advise you if I don’t make some bloopers myself?

The Dreaded Sandals With Pantyhose

I’ve been writing this blog for two years, and I know you’re out there. You read. You iron. You look in the mirror and do hair management and Stole Straightening before you go preside at a funeral. You are walking taller and looking sharper because you’ve realized that clergy image matters, that whether we like it or not, our exterior selves do represent an interior reality. You’re spiffin’ up for Jesus (or God or Buddha or Allah or … The Great To Whom It May Concern).

And then Peacebang attended a Ceremonial Event and one of her colleagues was wearing Bierkenstocks with vestments. But not just that: Bierkenstocks with panty hose.

And PeaceBang knew her work was far from done.