Irony Becomes Her

Ill Fitting

"How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them? The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them; then they will fast. No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, for the patch will pull away from the garment, making the tear worse. Neither do men pour new wine into old wineskins." Matthew 9:15-17

Because I have lost a significant amount of weight over the past few months, putting on my older clothing again is an adventure. Some things which I hesitated to let go as I gained the weight are now my favorite clothes; some things that especially flattered me before are downright frumpy. I looked at myself in one of my favorite shirts and sighed: how easy it will be to regain the forgotten pounds if I continue to wear this!

It was true. One of the primary motivations for maintaining my new weight is the way I look in what new, better-fitting clothes I have been able to afford. If I spend too much time in the old ones that make me feel so proud of my accomplishment, I will soon eat myself back into them. My lifestyle and way of thinking--not to mention my wardrobe--need to change if I am to continue at a healthy weight.

Paul's exhortation to be "transformed by the renewing of your mind" wasn't a hackneyed, religious-sounding phrase when he first said it; his audience desperately needed a change in thinking, as we all do. But we hinder ourselves when we keep our old clothes simply because they made us look so good before. The fact that I need a new shirt now does not devalue the old one; it is merely no longer fitting.

The same concept came to me in church last Sunday, in which several peppy and upbeat choruses were slated. The choir and music minister did their best to keep these songs from sounding like a funeral dirge, but one important element was missing: drums. The summertime skeleton crew for morning worship lacked sticks.

I am not one of those whippersnappers who believe nothing is worth hearing unless it has a beat that rattles the hammer, anvil, and stirrup. These particular choruses, however, were written and arranged with a dependence on some kind of strong rhythm. Even our extremely talented pianist could not make the accompaniment percussive enough for these particular songs. The efforts of the congregation to sew on these new patches were frustrating for all involved.

A transformed way of thinking, perhaps, would keep several songs on hand that were written without the same rhythmic necessity. Traditional hymns, being written with a capella choirs and organs in mind, usually stand quite well drumless, and I have many times been quite annoyed with the effect of the addition of drums to them. I watch the old wine of "Holy, Holy, Holy" straining the seams of the new wineskin of a drum synthesizer and my heart bleeds for it.

We need to pay close attention to what is fitting. How do the patches and skins involved relate to one another at this moment? Are we focusing on mourning when the bridegroom is standing right there? Are we are so intent on celebration that we don't even miss him when he leaves? Do we throw out all the old clothing simply because it's old, without paying attention to how it fits now? Do we keep some of our old favorites around even though they will lead us into the temptation of french fries and donuts?

My old nemesis, laziness, rears its ugly head to keep me from living in constant reevaluation of what is fitting, when perhaps that is the only way I will be open to the Spirit of God. Allowing predetermined formulas and traditions alone to dictate appropriateness tells Him, "Thanks for the advice, but I've already got this hole patched." And I make the tear worse.

posted by Lynn @ 5:43 AM