Collared

I suppose, now that I think about, the second most frequent question I get, after last week's "Do you miss the beach?", is, "Isn't that thing hot?", accompanied by glances and pointings at the clerical collar around my neck. The answer is the same as the one for the beach question: "Darn right!"

While I can't speak for others, I wear it as an identifier of the profession, rather like the familiar brown uniform of the UPS guy, and you might think that something so uncomfortable and also so unique would have ancient origins, lost, as they say "in the mist of antiquity". Wrong. You might also think it has some profound theological symbolism. Wrong again. It looks positively medieval, but actually, as far as my quick research has shown, use of the "dog collar" for members of the clergy is only about 150 years old and suggests absolutely no symbolic meaning. It would be fun to conjure up some elegant symbolism, but hardly worth the effort. It's just a collar.

In some ways it's - literally - a pain in the neck, but it does have its advantages. It comes in especially handy in identifying myself when I wander around hospitals and nursing homes. Well, most of the time it does. Every now and then some hard core guardian of the patients' HIPAA rights would look me over and inquire, "Are you part of the family?" I always wanted to point at the collar and say "No, darlin', I'm an undercover agent for the IRS".

Another advantage, especially important to me who is perfectly capable of wearing a plaid jacket with striped shirt, is that each morning I never had to think about what I was going to wear. No problems with deliberating over which tie goes with what suit, and then inevitably being sent back by my resident fashion coordinator with proper instructions. Just grab Old Faithful and snap it on over the no-iron black shirt. One less of life's daily hurdles to cross.

Speaking of which, I've noticed the increasing proliferation of colors and styles of clerical dress which will mitigate against that advantage. Shirts, once black as night, are now available not only in white, but in gray and blue and stripes, and polka dots probably aren't far behind. There's even, I kid you not, a plaid clerical collar available for the truly uninhibited clergy. No, thanks. If I want to wear white or blue or gray or plaid or even polka dots, a shirt and tie will do just fine, thank you.

A very definite disadvantage to the collar as a professional signature is that there were times when I'd just as soon not flaunt my pastoral role. I always felt more than a little uncomfortable wearing it in the ABC store, although I was always ready with the (false) explanation that I was buying altar wine. When someone would occasionally try cleverness and say they were surprised to see me in such a place I'd respond, with hopefully equal cleverness, "Likewise".

Traveling caused problems, too, for invariably I'd wind up sitting next to some loquacious salesman who wanted to know what I thought about our ordaining that gay Bishop Robinson or would I explain the doctrine of consubstantiation or what did I think of Daniel 3:17 in the light of Revelations (that's what he said) 8:21? Then I yearned for my shirt and tie!

One time in the hospital cafeteria I was royally reamed out by a good Christian lady who pounced on me. "A man of God", she practically screamed, after I began eating my lunch without bowing my head to ask the blessing on the food set before me. For one thing, I wasn't at all sure that returning thanks for the sterilized ham and cheese sandwich and watered down iced tea was particularly appropriate, pearls before swine and all that, and for another I didn't think it was any of her damn business critiquing my spiritual life. I sat, instead, in stunned silence, for once without words.

But all in all, and with a few painful exceptions, I've always worn the clerical collar willingly and with the hope that I'll be able to manifest at least some of the truths which the Church proclaims. It sure is hot, though.



NOTE: We will be in Florida next week for a family wedding, so the blogosphere will have to continue its orbit without the Homeboy Reports. That is subject, needless to say, to the whims of hurricanes.