Pajamas In Church -- Style Or Sacrilege?

Something happened in church today that for me and others started out terrible, but ended up not so bad. It was one of those moments where you're taken aback, and speaking for myself, even filled with revulsion, but then something extraordinary happens, and next thing you know you're a little more inspired. I'm glad it doesn't happen that often, though, because I'm not sure my poor heart could take it!

Here's what it was. The day started off normal. All the preliminaries. Then Pastor Wadd mounted the pulpit and was into a barn-burner sermon on "Modern Gomorrah Out-Sodoms Sodom." In case you don't know, his ministry specialty is combating sexual addictions. So at this point, as far as we knew, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, without any warning, a couple of people came in the back door, a young man and a young woman, college-aged, and walked down the aisle and lounged right there on the floor of the platform. And if that wasn't bad enough -- the obvious disruption -- they were dressed in pajamas! Of course we know it's not unusual for people to wear pajamas in public today -- it's something of a fashion, a very bad fashion.

So there they were, looking up at the pastor like they were actually interested in his message, trying to suppress a sarcastic smile, according to my interpretation. I felt my blood pressure rise, I was so mad I thought I'd bust a vein. Pastor Wadd looked totally flummoxed, the people around me were aghast, and as for me, as I said, I was seething. My teeth were clenched so tight I might have done actual damage to a couple of molars.

OK, now something else was going on back by the door that I didn't know about. But the events, as reconstructed, went something like this. One of our oldest members -- an old deacon named Guy Miller, Deacon Miller -- was back there pulling off his pants, having worn his pajamas under them ... All I knew at the time was old Guy Miller comes walking down the aisle in his pajamas! And if you know how he walks, it's very slow and labored, one excruciating step after another. It was like the Via Dolorosa.

So there he goes -- Deacon Miller -- with his normal suit coat, and pajama bottoms, painfully walking the aisle toward the platform. The young couple are now also rapt, Pastor Wadd's looking on in slow motion, and the rest of the congregation, including me, have dropped our jaws. Finally, Guy Miller arrives at the platform, and the young college man reaches his hand to help him up the steps. Both of them, him and her, help the old deacon to the floor. We now have quite a scene, you'd have to agree!

Pastor cleared his throat, and looking out over us seemed to grant his seal of approval to the scene, probably thanks to the quick thinking of Deacon Miller, who taught us ... something ... I still haven't figured out exactly what.

My blood pressure dove back to its normal range, but I still don't entirely approve of everything that happened. Plus, I'm wondering why Guy had pajamas on under his pants. Wouldn't they have been riding up his legs?

Everyone's Comfortable With Themselves

There's something very interesting I've noticed. The old discomfort people used to have with themselves seems to be gone. It's obviously a new day for self-confidence and pride, which I think is a great thing.

We used to have this whole thing with magnifying our supposed imperfections, thinking we were ugly, etc., and we didn't have the same attitude prevalent today. I don't know why we did it. I guess it could've had something to do with our parents, always worrying themselves sick with how we looked. "You can't go out with your hair like that! Is that what you're going to wear?! I'd be ashamed to be seen with you!" So we'd carry that attitude with us, like a constant burden.

But now everything's a lot more swinging. Babies get their ears pierced, parents are proud of everything their offspring do, and style is really any old thing you can throw on. I love it, it's a new day! Our lives are on display! Everyone's happy!

Another thing that might explain the lack of discomfort is all the cameras we're toting around. Digital cameras. We see people taking pictures of everything, whereas we didn't do that 40 years ago. You had a roll of 24 pictures and it cost money to get them developed. But with digital, it's all free, so everyone's walking around town taking pictures of themselves with the camera extended arm's length. "There's a cool expression! Look how I can cross my eyes! I'm cool!" It's great! You're more proud of yourself when you're clicking pictures.

I have to confess, I still carry over some of the old discomfort myself. I say, I'm too bald, too fat (although my doctor says I'm by no means obese), my teeth suck, there's nose hair where there used to be none, etc. It's hard to get with it, with the new way of doing things, but I'm really trying. I look and see guys who look far worse than me, only they don't know it. And I think, I should act like that, then think like that, and without comparing myself to those who look worse, be simply proud of myself.

People today, I honestly think, have got it going on! And I'm getting into the flow of things. I may be an old man, but I'm trying to be the best old man, even a folklore-looking codger, let's say, that young hipsters might like to have their picture taken with. I'm flashing gang signs that I just made up. I'm with the best people on earth, the average guy and gal on the street! Take off your suit jacket and break dance on the street. Spin on your jacket, it's just cloth! True!

So I'm out there ... and more. And what do I see? People who are psychically healthy, very healthy. They're proud of their tattoos, their bra straps, their headbands, shirt tails, and underwear. They're flashing cool hand signs everywhere, one finger, two finger with a gap, five fingers straight up, the A-OK sign, etc. They're proud if they're bald, furry, wearing black, wearing white, in make-up, without make-up, if they're Plain Jane or Jane Mansfield, Bubba or Burt Reynolds, whatever may be may be, world without end, Amen.

I was out today, sitting in a restaurant, and saw some of the greatest cleavage of my life. This was breakfast. I drooled egg yolk on my shirt, which I'm proud of. It's like a shirt tattoo. Lastly, my complexion -- like I said, I'm old, but once in a while I still, even I, get a pimple. Who cares? It's not like anyone cares anymore.