Jeans for Jesus

I wore shorts today to church.
That’s not news at my church. I wasn’t even the only dude on the parking team this morning with leg hair showing. When you do Kingdom work year-round—outdoors on asphalt—you earn a pass on hat hair worship and ventilated knee caps.
The real news is how long it’s been since I’ve worn shorts while serving. Throughout this past winter, several different Blue Ridge regulars have asked me, “No shorts this morning?”
“Ha. Not this morning.”
In past Januaries, I was what Jon Acuff, author of the “Stuff Christians Like” book and blog, calls “Winter Shorts Man.” You might even have seen me wearing a fleece jacket, watch cap, gloves, and even Under Armor—with Old Navy cargos—while waving those orange flashlight wands. In past Decembers, pedestrians would ask me, “Wow! Shorts?” or “Aren’t you cold?”
I always had an answer: “No, I was born in Buffalo.” (Sometimes, I’d add to that: “That’s where my thermostat was set.”) Usually, people would just nod and express something along the lines of, “Oh, then that makes sense.” If the conversation continued, I would probably pull out the fact that I’ve driven a go-kart, when the wind chill was -30ºF.

Known in my social circles for my bungy jumping, sky diving, hang gliding, etc., this probably just went with everything else that invokes “You’re crazy!” The fact is, though, that we move around a lot out in the Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta lots. And as long as my feet, ears, and hands are warm, I enjoy the brisk air.
So, I didn’t stop wearing my shorts in November out of discomfort—at least not physical. That was a prompting inside me; I would even dare attribute it to a Holy Spirit deal.
Before taking to our respective lots, each service’s parking team circles in prayer over the vehicle occupants about to roll onto Blue Ridge lots. We ask God that hearts would feel welcomed and even loved, that we’d communicate the joy of what he is doing in our lives, that we’d reflect Jesus from within our reflective vests and hats. Regularly, one of us will pray something like, “God, this is your deal. Help us not to get in your way.” Many Sundays, that prayer comes from my voice.
At some point last autumn, I realized that my shorts were getting in the way. My dysfunctional, insecure psyche was liking the attention my shorts got me. Jacked—I know. When passing greetings revolved around my shorts, they couldn’t be about our guests or about Jesus.
Granted, our brief conversations next to SUV’s and minivans will rarely be profound. Guests need to get in the building; we need to move with incoming traffic. And spouting verses or Oswald Chambers quotes would be as awkward as a Charlie Sheen interview. So, it’s not like I expect huge things to follow my, “Good morning!” or “Welcome!”
Now, though, pedestrian replies can fall back to the default, “Thanks. How are you?” And I can get that warm feeling inside being able to authentically answer, “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”