IN MY CHURCH'S Bible-reading track we recently encountered Exodus 28, which describes in detail the sacred garments that Aaron must wear as the High Priest of Israel. The specifications are exacting and must be followed to the letter to make Aaron and his sons acceptable to God. I had sudden flashbacks to the dress codes at the Christian schools I attended. The implication was that God wanted us to look prim and proper. If a girl's skirt was not below the knee, she was immodest and therefore displeasing God; a baseball cap worn into the chapel was irreverent and therefore grieved God.

I cannot describe what a relief it was, as I grew into adulthood, to find churches aimed at Generation X that encouraged us to come in jeans. It was not just a concession to our slacker ways but rather a reflection of the idea that God wants us to "come as you are" before His throne. The old paradigm, many of us felt, told us that what God wanted from human beings was cleaned-up lives, happy masks, and starched shirts. The new theology told us that God wants us to come to Him in our brokenness, our messiness--that it is through broken vessels and not perfect people that God works.

I have embraced this lifestyle wholeheartedly, but after a few years of enjoying the freedom I found it odd that God wasn't having an impact at all on my wardrobe. I began to wonder how I could honor God with my clothing choices, with all the time, money, and energy that went into those decisions. Should I wear items with a specific Christian reference--cross and fish jewelry, or Christian-slogan T-shirts? Should I boycott certain brands with unethical marketing or manufacturing practices? Should I choose clothes that are durable and well-made, honoring craft and excellence? Should I shop as cheaply as possible so that more of my paycheck can go toward more worthwhile causes? Clothes don't seem like a very spiritual issue at first, but in one way or another, clothes make a statement.

I know people whose shopping creeds align with one of the above criteria, and I am incredibly supportive of their practices. For myself, I eventually developed my theology of clothing by reading about the lives of monks and nuns. While their robes and habits seem distinctively out of place these days, it was the standard attire of the time when the monastic traditions began. What's more, it was poor people's clothing. The monks and nuns simply bought enough sets of the average garment that they could wear the same thing every day and no longer be consumed by the time and energy spent choosing what to wear. This fit their overall mandate to direct as much of their awareness as possible toward God.

Now, I haven't gone so far as to wear the same thing every day. But I have a small selection of clothes in the same color palette that I've mixed and matched for the last two years. I've eliminated the opportunity to debate over what I'll wear. I have tried to extend the life of my clothing to the point I've been asked if the jeans I'm wearing are the only ones I own. In the end this might not sound too different from any other 20-something male in America. But my motivation is not laziness or disinterest--it's a desire to be faithful to Christ's exhortation: "Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear."

This is only a personal theology, and I am still yearning to discover and appreciate other approaches to the clothing question. Just this summer I got my first taste of the benefits of dressing up for church. I was in England on vacation, and didn't have dressy clothes with me, but I tried to put together the most presentable outfit I could with my one collared shirt and my darkest jeans. I tied back my dreadlocks and shaved. During this whole preparation I kept thinking of the small stone church we were going to, the people we were going to worship with, and the experience of meeting God there. When the time arrived I was ready and available.

The downside of the "come as you are" theology is that I do virtually no preparation for church and often find myself two or three songs into the service before I'm really cognizant of the transition from my frantic, self-focused life into my still, other-focused life. It's kind of like the difference between dressing up for a big date and just hanging out with someone at home. The casual evening allows you to be yourself, but the formal event gives you time to anticipate and prepare and be ready to meet the other person.

In the end, I think that's the point of the passage about Aaron's priestly robes. God is not demanding that Aaron look his best, but, through the mandate of a physical ritual, God is gently reminding Aaron to make preparations to meet with the Almighty God. It's the heart that God is concerned about, not the outward appearance, but nevertheless the outside can affect the inside. The physical directly affects the spiritual. Something as mundane as getting dressed each morning can be, if we allow it, a ritual that leads us into worship of God.