Work Clothes

I spilled coffee on my alb.  For those I have confused all ready: an alb is the white robe which pastors sometimes wear when leading worship.  And generally, there is no good way to wear an alb if you are also female, best to just accept that it'll look goofy.  Initially when I started internship this year, I was really hesitant about the fashion of my alb.  I have since embraced its function, that it's a symbol and also a way for worship to not be about me.  I take enough grief about what I wear as a pastor-type, sometimes the alb is a reminder that it's not what I wear or what I look like which matters.  

Sunday morning and I am doing pulpit supply for an area church while their pastor is on vacation.  (pulpit: the podium a pastor uses to preach from.  pulpit supply: well, that the pastor who usually there is absent, so someone needs to fill in.  It's like substitute teaching for preachers.)  Because it's not my church I had to bring my extra stuff. In my hands I had internet driving directions (which were of course, not accurate), sermon, alb on a wire hanger with cross and rope belt (which also has a church-y name, but I won't bore you with it), keys, purse, mittens; and because it's morning, my coffee.  Holding all these things and keeping my composure was... trying.

As I walk into the church, blown by the prairie wind across the snowy landscape.  My rope belt is dragging, I am nearly tripping over it and my coffee is sloshing around.  The sermon is between my teeth, which makes it difficult to smile at the nervous looking church go-ers. 

Things were looking up when I met my acolyte, a bubbly seventh grader who was not shy in telling me what's what.  After I shared with her the horror stories of acolytes lighting their hair on fire, it was time to dress for the service.  She took the white acolyte robe off her hanger. 

"I've never understood why these have to be white."  Thinking of the spot of spilled coffee on the sleeve of my alb, I concurred.  She went on, "They look so goofy and you can see through them so you can see your not white underneath."  And they also clashed with her neon green shoes.

As I buttoned my own alb at the shoulders, "They are supposed to remind us of our baptismal gowns."

She grabbed her acolyte candle stick, "When my sister was baptized, I spilled formula all down her front.  BEFORE the service.  My mom had to clean her up before they could take pictures."

I nodded, while I remembered the day my niece was baptized.  My mom was holding her during the sermon (post-baptism) when she whispered to me in the pew behind her. "Do you have your Tide bleach pen?"  Apparently heritage baptismal gowns and blown out diapers don't mix well.  My niece, meanwhile, was sleeping on her belly on top of her grandma's lap-- while grandma furiously applied the stain remover to her bum, while being discreet, of course.

Minutes later, I was standing in front of people I didn't know, as they were waiting for me to say something of profound worth.  Taking a deep breath, I was glad suddenly that I had dressed for the occasion in a garment which reminded me that it's not about me.  And I have a coffee stain to prove it.