I haven’t been to Sunday mass in quite a while. Living in Belgium, I failed miserably when it came to finding a church that held services in English. I miss several things about going to church, like the fellowship and the inescapable calmness it allows.
On Sundays, I look with admiration as many of the elders in my community leave their Sunday masses whilst wishing my German could magically improve overnight. Sometimes, however, it is difficult to recognize that some were actually in church because of their mode of dress. Things tend to be quite different from Guyana, church-going takes a very practical and utilitarian form when it comes to fashion.
I have never stopped to question why I placed such a high level of importance on church attire. I suppose it’s something I just inherited. Growing up as a little girl I remember my mother buying special dresses for my sisters and me, only to be worn at church. We also had separate socks and shoes. Dressing for church in Guyana attracted a somewhat superficial factor to one’s religious self-worth and you don’t quite realize it until you take a step back. It was difficult to recognize this when I moved to Europe because I had become so accustomed to such a norm. In reflection, I realized that quite a few churchgoers made dressing a certain way seem like some sort of special reverence for the house of the Lord.
