Earlier this year, I attended a Christian beach event, and I was honestly shocked by some of the choices that other women made. I didn’t expect them to show up in wetsuits or burkinis, but I didn’t expect to see thongs or areolas either.
If you know me in any meaningful way, you know that modesty has never been my forte. But even I, with my natural affinity for crop tops and mini skirts, think there’s a time and place for everything, and that an intentional gathering of Christians isn’t the place to lead with cleavage.
But I didn’t say anything about it, and I’m glad I didn’t.
Not because I was afraid of offending or ruffling feathers, but because I knew it wasn’t my place.
Just before this event, I had started feeling conviction about what I wore for the first time despite technically being a Christian my entire life.
When I was a kid, I loved church, and was extremely enthusiastic about God. But as I got older, it felt like my wardrobe was constantly, overzealously, and lovelessly criticized by people that seemed to find their sense of purpose in condemnation.
I’d be maybe 12 years old, shaped like an asparagus, in an outfit my mother had chosen from head to toe, and some woman that probably didn’t even know how to spell my name was scolding me over a dress code violation of her own invention.
That was part of what drove me away from church in the first place. That’s when I started tuning out, biding my time, and counting down the moments until I could leave. Not because I thought I was above reproach, but because criticism without relationship – without a foundation of trust – is often counterproductive.
I remember seeing this Instagram reel of a woman on a walk, talking about why she chooses to abstain from alcohol as a Christian. And some stranger left a longwinded comment, completely ignoring the substance of her video, but instead bemoaning her sports bra and leggings.
I wondered if the girl in the video was new to speaking up about her beliefs, and if that comment would discourage her, or have her second guessing herself. Was it more likely to reform her fashion or make her hesitant in proclaiming Christ? If it was the latter, did the devil gain more, or did God?
I know that as Christians, we’re called to speak the truth. I know that as iron sharpens iron, we’re supposed to sharpen one another.
While I know different translations are more vague than others, the King James Version says “iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend,” – and I think the last word of that sentence is one that Christians all too often brush over.
Everything – from praise to admonishment to sympathy – means more coming from people we know personally and intimately.
Some random account chastising me online has never prompted me to examine myself or change my ways. But when a friend challenges me, and I’ve slept over their parents’ house, and I’ve seen them crying through a break up, and took an 8 hour train to see them get married when I was broke from a cross country move, I’ll consider what they’re saying even if I don’t agree because of our shared history.
When my friend confronted me about my style, I was actually glad that she was honest with me because if you can’t tell someone what’s really on your mind, whatever bond you think you have is brittle and can break under the slightest pressure.
We had an honest, constructive conversation, and shortly after, I started taking modesty seriously – not because of anything she’d said, but because God was in the process of transforming my heart, and in His own time, He finally reached my closet.
I never stopped believing in God, but my faith was passive and lukewarm for most of my adult life. I thought I’d get married, have kids, and then really surrender my life to God, because I’d seen other people do it. 2020 snapped me out of that, more or less destroying the fantasy of having my cake and eating it too, instilling a sense of urgency in me about my walk with God that I hadn’t felt since I was a child.
It took 5 years of intentional and constant communication with God to change the way I presented myself to the world.
And only God could have done it. I couldn’t have done it on my own, and with the exception of a significant other, no human being could have talked me out of it.
God refines us in His own time, and if someone is pursuing the Lord but their outward appearance doesn’t quite match the Gospel, it’s probably because they haven’t been convicted yet – and that’s God’s job; not ours.
That’s not to say you have to know someone’s coffee order before you can tell them what the Bible says, but if exacting judgment becomes more important to you than someone’s salvation, you’ve missed the forest for the trees.
Romans 14 and 1 Corinthians 8 warn us that we should be more concerned with where a person will spend eternity than quarrels for their own sake. I’m not saying modesty is irrelevant, or should be brushed over – but that if you’re informing someone that they’re dressed inappropriately before making sure they feel loved, welcomed, and secure, your priorities are out of order.
What if I said something to a girl in a skimpy bikini, and she had to push herself to come to a Christian event in the first place? What if it was her first time attending something like this? What was the likelihood of a rebuke from a stranger drawing her towards God and His people versus repelling her?
Yes, Christians are supposed to hold one another accountable. But we’re also supposed to be wise, and discerning, and fishers of men.
When we appoint ourselves the conviction police, and impose our own on others, we’re at risk of alienating the very people we’re supposed to be sending lifelines to.
When Jesus told the woman at the well to go and sin no more, He already knew her even though it was their first time meeting. I didn’t know the women at the beach, and the random Instagram commenter didn’t know the woman in the sports bra.
Modesty matters, and Christians have an obligation to call sin by its name. But you should know someone’s name (and a lot more about them) before you start telling them what they’re doing wrong.
what do you think?