Wardrobe Theology

Author’s note: First published on my previous blog in February 2020, with a revision in July 2022. This final version was updated again in June 2025 for this blog. Blessings. :) ~ ML

During my sophomore year of high school, I was enrolled in a puppet ministry organizational class with my then-boyfriend. One evening after class, we attended the first of a series of evangelistic meetings our church was hosting. Though the day had been mild, the temperature had dropped significantly by nightfall, and a biting wind had picked up. I had worn a sweater, but it wasn’t enough. I was shivering.

He noticed. And without hesitation, he offered his jacket. I was slightly mortified. After all, I’d spent two weeks in Fairbanks, Alaska the winter before with no issue. But my pride wasn't going to warm me up, so I gave in. I let him drape the oversized jacket over my shoulders. That jacket stayed with me for the rest of our relationship...and honestly, for several months after.

At the academy we attended, a girl wearing a guy’s jacket—especially one with his name embroidered on it like the guys from the gymnastics team had—wasn’t just a fashion statement. It was a quiet declaration: I belong to someone. Even now, long after we've gone our separate ways, I smile when I remember that night. Because that jacket has become part of what I suppose you could call wardrobe theology—a lesson on righteousness that God has been slowly tailoring into my life all these years later.

Wearing that jacket was a symbol of intimacy, of mutual understanding. I was proud to wear it. And somehow, over time, years and a lifetime later, that image has stuck with me. Why? Because Christ invites me to do the same thing with His righteousness.

Jesus offers me His robe. Not a literal coat, but something far more meaningful: His perfect character, His blameless covering. He invites me to wear it with confidence, not because I’m worthy of it, but because I belong to Him.

But let’s be honest. Sometimes it’s easier to take the jacket off.

It’s hard to be associated with Jesus when it isn’t socially convenient. In a world where Christianity is often misunderstood or misrepresented, publicly wearing His righteousness can feel risky. Peter knew that. Peter loved Jesus—he swore he’d die for Him—but when the moment of pressure came, when being identified with Christ meant possible arrest or humiliation, Peter threw off the jacket. He denied Him.

I’ve done the same. Maybe not with my words, but with my silence. Heck, y'all, I'm worse than a denier! I've tried to keep the look of Christianity without the weight of commitment. As though compromise could operate here. 

There was a whole season of my life I've done this, notably senior year of high school to through most of my first year of college. I wanted the appearance of a godly life without the discomfort of conviction. I threw off the jacket. I tried to be enough on my own. I failed. Actually, failed doesn't capture the extent. People, I fell flat on my face. 

But here's the beautiful thing about God’s wardrobe policy: grace doesn’t expire. Jesus holds out His righteousness again, gently, patiently. And this time, I’m wearing it not as a showpiece, but as a lifeline.

Yes, I’ve had people call me a “Jesus freak.” Some meant it playfully, others didn’t. Whatever. I’ve decided I’d rather be fully clothed in Christ than fashionably neutral.

That red jacket eventually lost its meaning. The relationship ended, and I moved on - glaringly obvious as I'm constantly mentally stuck on the man I'll call my husband in about five months. But the robe Christ offers me? It never fades. It never loses meaning. It's not stitched with thread, it’s woven with mercy and sealed by blood.

So, here’s to wardrobe theology: to the jacket I once wore as a girl in love, and the righteousness I now wear as a woman learning how to love Him back. But most of all to the God who has put up with the mistakes and the tantrums and the "not-yets" that build my life. To the Spirit who pushes me to keep pursuing public faith, even when it’s uncomfortable. To belonging boldly. To being unashamed.

Because when it comes to Jesus, quite frankly, I’d rather be wrapped in His truth than dressed up in anyone else’s approval.