And the LORD God made garments of skins

for the man and for his wife, and clothed them.

(Genesis 3:21)

A sermon by Siegfried S. Johnson on the Third Sunday of Easter, April 22, 2007

Seven years ago retail giants such as L. L. Bean, Lands’ End, and J. C. Penney, test marketed newly developed “body scanner” technology. As you might imagine from the name “body scanner,” it doesn’t get much more personal than this (Thank goodness!). You, the customer, slip into a body-suit which conforms to your shape, gripping you like an electronic girdle, measuring you precisely, three dimensionally, head to toe. Your image pops up on a computer screen, transforming you into a virtual reality paper doll. Now, let me give you just a second to ponder that . . . a bit scary, no? You’ve seen those vacuum-packed items in the grocery stores. Imagine yourself shrink-wrapped into a bumpy, wrinkled, airtight package.

As uncomfortable as this thought makes you the idea was, in fact, considered to have promise. Why? Because of its potential to eliminate the risk of buying poorly fitted clothing. All the Research and Development for this enterprise was done in the name of a quest – the Quest for the Perfect Fit.

Let’s join that quest this morning. Now that I’ve got you shrink-wrapped, you’re a computerized mannequin with flawless measurements. Time for the fun to begin. Time to browse. See a dress that interests you? Move the mouse and click. The dress is instantly superimposed on your mannequin-ized image. Quick. Precise. Your measurements are matched exactly because the body scanner “wrapped around” you with state-of-the-art precision.

Ladies, imagine how this will transform your shopping experience. Consider its potential to reduce domestic discomfort. As least some of you know how your husband’s patience can wear thin on trips to the mall. That stout man can mow and trim six acres, then rush off to play 18 holes. Yet, standing for 18 minutes among six aisles of fresh smelling clothing can prove too much for the old boy. The symptoms of this male shopping disorder are easily recognized. The sudden onset of fatigue. Long face. Tired eyes. He might have been relaxed, smiling and jovial only minutes prior to entering the mall, perfectly symptom free during your meal at the food court. Yet suddenly, as if some spell of black magic had been cast, you recognize these symptoms. Before you know it you emerge from a rack of clothing to see a pitiful human form staggering out to the concourse to seek a bench where he slumps into a lifeless, protoplasmic blob devoid of energy.

Why, I saw it only Friday at WalMart. As I merrily pushed my cart down the aisle, I noted a pathetic sight, a man slumped, one arm over his buggy, the other over a rack of clothes. My first impulse was to call 911, the man clearly in some sort of distress. But he stirred, proving he still had a pulse, when I heard his wife call from just a couple of racks over.

Body scanner technology eliminates such scenarios. Shopping is done at the computer terminal as you amuse yourself by superimposing as many seasonal ensembles as you wish. You can try on dozens of items in the time it once took for a single trip to the dressing room. Your shopping enjoyment is contained in that tiny silicon microchip. When you’re finished, merely select the item you wish to purchase, and push the enter key. “Visa or Mastercard?” is the only choice you have left to make! Soon, the item you choose, custom cut to your body’s precise specifications and in pristine condition, is ready. Remember the Jetsons on Saturday mornings? Well, folks, with body scanner technology, the Jetsons “R” Us.

Sound appealing? Ready to go to the mall to try it out? No? Not me, either. As a matter of a fact, though a quick Google check this week showed a Land’s End report from December 2000 of $138 million in sales, I can’t find much on it now, seven years later. Seems it hasn’t broken into the mainstream. I think I know why. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think we’re ready to shop by computerized imaging. Easy? Goodness yes. Quick? To be sure. Perfect fit? Won’t debate it. But, as fun as Jane and George Jetson were on Saturday mornings, we don’t want that lifestyle. And it’s not just the fear of how we might look in shrink-wrap. It’s more than that. Shopping like this, something vital for human experience is missing.

What’s missing? Why does the perfect fit offered by microchip technology have little appeal for us? Because we reserve the right, we cherish the right, to choose wrongly. We insist on the privilege to create our own regrets. We accept that life is not always a perfect fit, and it is precisely the elusiveness of our quest for the perfect fit which is our right, and our delight.

I love how Erma Bombeck playfully described the elusive search for the perfect fit:

“I blame blue jean commercials for the discontent of the world today. You get up in the morning and you don’t feel too bad about yourself. Then you see a model on television, flat on her back, wriggling into a pair of jeans inch by inch. Don’t ask how she stands up. We see her looking in a mirror at her reflection. The jeans fit her like a fungus and she says immodestly, ‘Yes!’

“I know people who have dedicated their entire lives to finding a pair of jeans that fit their bodies. If the garment fits the hips, there’s a gap in the waistband. If the waistband fits, you can’t get it zipped. If the waist and the hips fit, you can’t get your legs in them. You say to yourself, ‘What’s wrong with me when I live in a country that is paved with jeans, and there isn’t one single pair that fits my body?’”

The reason we enjoy this kind of writing is that we relate so well to poor fits, both in trying on jeans and, more importantly, trying on life. I once saw a cartoon poking a bit of fun at internet dating and compatibility sites such as Match.com. The stunned man is staring at a newly received letter. In shock he turns to inform his wife, “It turns out there was a computer error dear. We weren’t made for each other after all!”

Suppose a computer-certified answer were possible for every important decision we are called to make. Guaranteed. No regrets. Microchip accuracy in choosing everything from the right eyeglass frames to the perfect spouse created by God only for you. Sorry, not interested. Wouldn’t touch it. Because, in truth, the perfect fit is not what we are all about. It’s the pursuit of the perfect fit that we crave so much. God created us for the quest. That’s what thrills us. We prefer to have an element of risk in our decisions. We cherish the liberty to make choices, even if those choices sometimes result in regrets. As Sinatra sang, “Regrets, I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention.” Why too few to mention? Because our regrets are evidence of our cherished freedom to choose, even to choose wrongly. “Let the record show, I took the blows, and did it my way.”

Lucy once asked, “Charlie Brown, do you have any regrets?” Snoopy overheard the question and thought, “I regret the bites I should have bitten.” And with that line Mr. Schultz captured the human spirit. How often we regret the bites we should have bitten.

Leaving the comforts of the mall, let’s travel back to the Garden of Eden, the foundational text for our Judeo-Christian understanding of sin. There we discover that “wrap around” technology had its genesis in Genesis. Those hastily improvised, crudely stitched loincloths of fig leaves represented the earliest stage of wrap around technology. I mean that literally. “Loincloths” is the translation of the Hebrew hagorot, meaning “to gird,” “to surround.”

To Adam and Eve the bible credits the birth of the clothing industry with earth-tone garments fulfilling the dual function of both under- and outer- wear. Granted, the industry was primitive. Not much in the way of savoir faire. Our first parents’ chief concern, after all, was function, not style. Still, it didn’t take long for humans to look beyond function to the finer distinctions. At some point Eve and her children determined, needle and thread in hand, to weave their way beyond mere modesty, all the way to elegance and charm. They looked at their wrap around leaves and realized they were shopping at a discount store. They wanted more. They wanted style. So, from the first stitch in that fig leaf girdle, the exquisite luxury of Sax Fifth Avenue and Neiman Marcus was an inevitable evolution of the textile industry.

This passage is the bible’s first record of humankind using implements to better their lives. Sewing implies the use of some sort of instrument, a needle and thread. Some have suggested that the Hebrew word taphar, “to sew,” is not to be taken at face value. The word, they suggest, should be understood as “to tie,” “to fasten” — something that can be accomplished by hand, without the aid of any technologically produced device. In my opinion this is an unwarranted elevation of assumption over text, violating the plain meaning of the verb which, in its three other Old Testament uses, unambiguously means “to sew.”

In fact, archaeology has shown that the needle was one of the earliest and most useful inventions of humankind. Long before the use of metals, needles crafted from thorns and bone were in common use, and have been discovered at numerous sites dating many thousands of years before the birth of Christ. It should not, then, come as a surprise that clothing is the first industry we learn about in the bible requiring the use of rudimentary technology, the tools of which are still in common in our homes today. Fact is, the little emergency sewing kit you take with you on trips is not much different than Eve’s. This incredible longevity is due to the fact that the needle is an invention so simple in design, so supremely capable of fulfilling its function, that it has survived the passing of millennia. Some inventions are classics which cannot be improved. “Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door.” Engineers use the term “elegance” to describe blueprint simplicity. That’s why I’ve subtitled this first sermon in this series, “Simply Elegant.”

The aim of this sermon is not to teach History of Sewing 101. Sewing is merely the surface of this text. The philosophical and spiritual underpinning is that Adam and Eve, recognizing their nakedness before God, sought acceptable attire, clothing in which one might stand before God. It’s a universal question asked throughout the ages. “When I stand before God, what should I wear?” Just as certainly as the tools of the ancient art of sewing are yet common in our homes today, so also do we share with Adam and Eve a common spiritual desire, a hunger to be adequately clothed in God’s sight. The quest for a suitable covering when approaching God is both a very ancient and a very modern enterprise

That’s what this sermon series is all about. We will explore our Judeo-Christian history, browsing through some of the bible’s most unique apparel, the clothing in which our ancestors in the faith sought to stand before God.

God seems not to have been impressed with our first parents’ efforts, fashioning a new and improved line. “And the LORD God made garments of skins for the man and for his wife, and he clothed them.” The Creator engineered a better covering. Isn’t that the heart of the Good News? God overlooks our best poor efforts, our best poor choices, providing a suitable covering.

God clothes us by grace. That’s Good News. That’s “Simply Elegant.” No complexities. No riddles. No mysteries lurking about to trip us up. Seekers of salvation need not wander aimlessly in a maze intended to frustrate with dead ends, rewarding only the wisest and most diligent. Christianity is simple to the core. Isaiah writes, “He has clothed me with the garments of his righteousness and has arrayed me in a robe of righteousness” (61:10). He clothed me. Subject – verb - object. Too easy? “Surely it can’t be that simple. Surely I must keep sewing for a while.” No, but rather the gospel’s core message is, well, “Simply Elegant.”

I don’t mean to imply that the gospel is so transparent as to give up its full meaning at a glance. It is profound, even mysterious, its study engaging some of humankind’s brightest minds throughout the history of Christianity. I do, however, suggest the Good News is so simple that children grasp its message. Every small child knows what it is to depend on parents to dress them. They need not concern themselves. Mom and dad choose what the child will wear. We adults, who have been dressing ourselves for eons, have forgotten that simple feeling of dependency. We are self-sufficient. We know quite well what looks best on us. Perhaps that’s why Jesus said we must become as little children to enter the kingdom, possessing a simple faith that doesn’t concern itself with the latest spiritual fads. God will dress us, and that in purity.

Note the last stanza of our closing hymn, My Hope Is Built. “When he shall come with trumpet sound, O may I then in him be found! Dressed in his righteousness alone, faultless to stand before the throne.” May we be so dressed. Try THIS on for Size!