Leisure suits were the worst fashion statement in the history of this country. My dad had one back in the 70s—yellow. Christian people seemed to be fond of them; I don’t know why. Leisure suits set back the Kingdom of God a thousand years.
Today, TV preachers with their silk suits, with matching tie and hanky, have done nothing to advance God’s work. I’m sure that’s what Jesus and Paul wore, but I wouldn’t swear to it. In all the pictures of Jesus hanging in Sunday school classrooms, he’s not even wearing a suit, so I’m confused.
Now I do think that my seersucker suit that I wear on Easter is really cool, and perhaps it qualifies as sacred threads.
In more liturgical churches, ministers wear a robe or clerical collar, i.e. sacred threads. That’s cool. That way during the sermon you are not distracted by the preacher’s glossy purple bow-tie, and you are freed up to listen to the sermon; at least that’s the theory.
Today I think about other types of sacred threads—quilts. My grandmother, “Big Mama,” was a quilt maker, as are many older ladies in our community. I suppose artistic men could be as well, but it hasn’t caught on with the men. We still have a couple of Big Mama’s quilts, which have kept me warm at cold April soccer games.
We have two quits that hang in stairwells at our church that were done by the late Dr. Pearl Nix, a professor at UWG and beloved member and leader of our church.
As some of you know, we have a Quilt Museum here in Carrollton, and they just happen to have an exhibit now called “Sacred Threads.” I went to it expecting to see leisure suits. What I did see was an impressive display of quilts from around this country made by some really good artists/quilt makers. It was a good use of $5. Each quilt has a card next to it that tells the quilter’s story and what inspired the making of that particular quilt.
Many of the artists made the quilts out of context of pain or struggle—personal pain or the pain of a loved one. One such quilt called “Hope” is a wintry snow-covered scene. The artist, Lynn Tubbe said, “Beginning as a study using a monochromatic palette, with controlled color as the focal point, this project became laden with additional meaning when my sister’s cancer returned for the third time. The forest became darker and the snow drifts grew deeper during the months of her battle.”
“For weeks after her passing, I couldn’t bear to look at this quilt; then I fought to finish it through my tears. Now, as I make my way through the grieving process, I understand that I have made a visible representation of Jan’s bright and happy spirit struggling amid the icy grip of cancer.”
So, if you want to see some really cool “sacred threads,” go by the Quilt Museum, or come by the church and I will model the seersucker.