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The Wardrobe of A Church -- Chapter Two
by
Tiffany Alfonso
Chapter Two
After a rough Sunday in Montclair, I traveled southeast to Sacred Heart Roman
Catholic Church in Bloomfield. Like Immaculate Conception, it's denomination was
identical, but its architectural features add a more stately appearance to the
historic site of worship, so I walked inside to gaze breathtakingly at its
interior, a symbol of great comeliness.
Unlike the other church northwest of Bloomfield, there are more nicely clothed
people, but I on the other hand, was doleful at the sight of the faction of all
worshippers who wore garments with graphics especially ruthless to Our Creator.
Not paying close attention to the bawdy T-shirts until the conclusion of Mass, I
listened bravely to the sermon without further hesitation, until one of the
clergy (which I believe it's a bishop) escorted me out of the pew for a
discussion in the columned side aisle of the church.
"Madame," he murmured, "I saw a few people breaking some advantageous points of
the diocese's dress code. Would you want to speak to them after Mass?"
"Yes, bishop," I responded, sounding a bit stark, "I would want to explain the
importance of modesty to the attendees. There's something unique about it, and
it's not only that a majority of churches have their own dress code, but I also
couldn't condone the graphics on their shirts. I also understood that the code
applies to a high percentage of churches in the Western Hemisphere, not just the
domestic United States.
Later, I stepped up on the pulpit in the altar as the organ boomed the last few
strains of "Now Thank Ye All Our God." Then, In an eloquent, yet forceful voice,
I convinced the badly dressed worshippers to remain seated, and all eyes and
ears turned to me at the pulpit.
"Don't you know what are you doing? You are wearing something from a prime-time
television show that was not suitable for children. Also, I'm concerned about
the camisole shirts, tank tops, and short shorts. I couldn't condone this
madness! Next time, enter church for Mass in your modest attire: not too flouncy,
not too elegant, but pleasing and adequate to..."
The same thing happened to me, but this time with loud, insufficient language
and extreme rioting. I ran to the nearest exit, adverting the mockery of the
crowd. I drove out of Sacred Heart, bound to St. Columba's in Newark, not being
wistful for a return trip.
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