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December 10, 2004
Getting Fitted for the Feast
Last night I laid down another $100 or so for the honor of standing up with a friend as he is wed. And it is, indeed, an honor. As for the $100 bucks and the rest of our extravagant American nuptial practice, that must wait for another post. Suffice it to say that between being a best man(this makes the fourth time, and what is that saying...4 times a best man, never a...oh, my mistake, that's with the bridesmaids), and the third or fourth time as groomsman (I am too lazy to count), and also numerous times "ushing," I have spent enough on rented formal wear and fake shoes to put a child through a semester of college (assuming its a state school and with compounding interest).
No, what I was reflecting on last night as I was being fitted was the politeness of the people who measure you and the wonder of a Tuxedo. Think about it. They see all shapes and sizes of folks, good looking and not, and yet, in my experience at least, they are always invariably polite, as they gently guide you through the ignominy of being measured. And I imagine it is ignominious for most men, at least at some level, unless you are Hugh Jackman or Ewan McGregor or Clive Owen or whoever is to be the next Bond and will wear Tuxedos for a living. These tuxedo measurers, though, never say, "Hey, bub, keep it up and next time you might need to bring your own tape measure. Yeah, the round one with the little metal dealy on it. Yeah, from the hardware store."
Also, Tuxedo's are pretty sharp and provide a pretty good sermon illustration. Leaving aside all the fuss and expense and bother (remember, that is for another post...maybe), they make anyone look good, look sharp even. Of course, there are those who can make them look really good, ala "Bond, James Bond," but even for those of us whose wardrobe has been, at times, their entire room i.e. every invisible inch floor space, it makes us clean up pretty good. And, that is, indeed, their point, to make somewhat glorious, the not so glorious.
Scripture does not talk about what a bridegroom's friends would wear, although I imagine it was several steps above daily wear, but it does talk about what the guests at a wedding wear. They wear a robe that is given to them by the host. And if they happen to neglect to put it on, they don't get to come to the party. No, worse yet, they get thrown out into the darkness.
Now, that robe I imagine is like nothing you've ever seen. It would likely seem so simple, that the extravagantly dressed would grumble at having to put it on. Most of the poor, though, would gladly give up their rags and slip it on. All, would eventually find that it was the finest thing that they had ever worn. And, halfway through the feast, as the really good wine was being brought out, they would look up at their Glorious Host and realize they had on the very same thing. And, oh they all just looked so fine!
Now, for some truly good descriptions of clothes describing glory, go read some C. S. Lewis. Yeah, and my wedding? It's either thrift store splendour or kilts (as if I could ever be so lucky and be permitted such). Or, maybe kilts from thrift stores. Nah, I never seen a man's one in any thrift store, and believe me I have been looking.
Pure Silliness | By jackdas | 1:12 PM
Comments
Hi Neil, it's Klugge. I've read your blog off and on and I must say it is very interesting. I look forward to reading more and I'll make sure I have Charles read it too. :)
Posted by: Anonymous at December 10, 2004 10:41 PM
