The following is a monthly article written by Rev Kenneth Stewart to the Stornoway RPCS congregation…
Ministerial Uniform
Dear congregation,
According to one news reporter, who didn’t seem to be too impressed with the situation, the General Assemblies of both the Church of Scotland and the Free Church were conspicuous for their lack of ministers in uniform.
To most of us, this would be no surprise: we have been witnessing the disappearance of the minister’s distinctive uniform over the past fifty years.
The usual reason offered for discarding the uniform is either that there is no biblical mandate for wearing one, or that a uniform carries the suggestion of ministerial elitism, authoritarianism – or even tyranny!
As to the first of these, I think it is enough to say that we would not normally expect a biblical mandate for something like a ministerial uniform. To do so would be to confuse a ministerial uniform with clerical vestments, two things which differ entirely.
On the one hand, vestments are ecclesiastical clothes which are ‘vested’ with deep spiritual symbolism. A quick internet search will list what these vestments are (and they include the stole, the surplice, the chasuble, and the cope) as well as their precise symbolic significance, which will typically be connected with the passion of Christ.
On the other hand, a ministerial uniform is just simply that: a uniform – that is, a visible, distinguishing mark of office. In this case, the office of ‘ambassador of Christ’ and ‘Steward of the mysteries of God’.
Now, to insist on an explicit biblical mandate for a ministerial uniform is to assume that, like a vestment, it has a liturgical significance when, in fact, it has nothing of the kind.
And while it is the case that in our liturgical life (worship) we do require an express biblical mandate for what we do – because, when we offer worship, God allows nothing except what He requires – it is also the case that, outside of worship, we don’t need such a mandate because, there, God allows everything except what He forbids.
As for the idea that a ministerial uniform represents an undue elevation of ministers, authoritarianism, or even tyranny, it’s clear that some people’s experience of ministers must have been rather grim, to say the least.
And, as is sadly often the case in such circumstances, people have allowed their negative thoughts towards such ministers to broaden into a negativity towards ministers generally and, sadly, to jaundice their view of the ministry itself.
For such people, the uniform, which marks out a ministry which they now come to perceive as authoritarian, is an obvious target and, in order to make ministers less authoritarian, and more approachable, the uniform has to go.
So, for opponents of a uniform – at least as far as I can understand them – a minister’s uniform only serves to encourage the minister to see himself as somehow beyond reproach or challenge, or as being entitled to treat parishioners with some degree of indifference or even contempt, And, because that is so, he then discourages people from speaking to him.
But what if their view of the uniform is hopelessly wrong? And what if moving away from a ministerial uniform has led to unforeseen harm to the church?
First, as to the connection between the uniform and authoritarianism, let me say plainly that I have met a significant number of authoritarian ministers, many of whom rode roughshod over colleagues and parishioners alike, and – nearly to a man – they all wore ties. So much for that!
Second, what if the fundamental thought conveyed by the collar to the popular mind is not tyranny but calling and, especially, service?
I remember being taught a lesson on this in my student days in university, while helping a mission in the east end of Glasgow. There, I couldn’t help but notice the ease with which a young Church of Scotland minister, in his ministerial uniform, interacted with the homeless and the needy – and, perhaps more significantly, the ease with which they interacted with him.
Clearly, for those needy people anyway, the young minister’s uniform was a mark of his calling and service and had absolutely nothing at all to do with authoritarianism or tyranny.
Third, what if the disappearance of the ministerial uniform has contributed significantly to the public disappearance of Christianity?
While the disappearance of the Christianity from public discourse has not gone unnoticed, the same cannot be said for its disappearance from public view. Now, it stands to reason, in view of their calling, that Christian ministers have a large part to play in bringing Christianity into public view as well as into public discourse. And although that will always primarily be done with a visible life of faithfulness in service, there is no denying that an outward mark of their calling and service becomes useful.
Consider the following examples:
First, if I were to walk through Partick in uniform – as I often did – I would have a significant number of conversations, initiated by others, which I would not otherwise have had.
Incidentally, even if I did not have conversations, in a short journey from Partick station to either of the two churches in which I ministered, I would have around twenty people greet me – in a culture now where hardly anyone greets anyone – just because of my uniform. That showed me, to my own surprise, that there was far more goodwill somewhere in the general population than we would sometimes suspect.
Second, on a visit to hospital, not only was I able to move around at ease within the hospital itself, but, again, I would have several conversations which I would not otherwise have had – sometimes, rather awkwardly, in a crowded lift!
Now, while it can always be argued, with plausibility, that a minister should be ready to approach anyone, it can’t be denied that doing so is often problematic and it is difficult to gauge who is or isn’t ready to interact. But that is not the real issue – the real issue is why we as ministers should be so quick to discard a visible marker which would allow or encourage other people to come to us?
Again, like many lessons we learn on the way, all this came home to me in a very powerful way, early in my ministry in Glasgow, on one single evening. I think I have referred to that evening before from the pulpit, but they bear repetition not only because of their inherent illustrative value but because the Lord used them, at the time, to teach me something.
On that evening, coming home from a prayer meeting and travelling up Crow Road on the way to a hospital visit, the car a little ahead of me was involved in a serious accident. On getting out of my car, I was immediately asked by the police to speak to one of the families that had been involved in the crash – just because I was in uniform.
Remarkably, later that same evening, as I was leaving Gartnavel hospital, I was approached in the corridor by a drug addict who asked me for help and allowed me to pray with her – again, just because I was in uniform.
Without wishing to denigrate in the least the sincerity of others, is it wise of us, as ministers, to bypass such opportunities simply by discarding an obvious outward mark of calling and service?
Of course, some of the conversations attracted are not always pleasant – but that is part of our calling too and, sometimes, a conversation which begins with a measure of hostility develops into something quite different. My real point is that, without the visible sign of calling and service, the opportunity wouldn’t arise at all.
I recall travelling, several years ago, to a Presbytery meeting with three other ministers, one of whom was an outspoken opponent of a ministerial uniform. It so happened that for part of the journey, there was a car in front of us with a fish symbol on its rear (the fish was a well-known early church symbol of Christianity in the early church).
This particular minister commented on what a good idea it was for Christians to make themselves known in that way. When he was asked, if that was the case, why he was so opposed to a ministerial uniform, he had nothing to say.
Fourth, and of admittedly lesser importance, public recognition can have practical in-house benefits as well – and not least in a General Assembly where our poor reporter was stationed. For a variety of reasons, ministers and elders can sometimes come at issues on an assembly floor from quite different perspectives, and it can be more than useful to know, particularly in a large ecclesiastical gathering, if a speaker is the one or the other.
Even in a worship service, someone remarked a few years ago that he was hearing some unusual things from the pulpit but due to the combined tendency of ministers to discard their uniform, and others besides ministers – or even elders – preaching, he could never be sure if what was being said authoritatively from the pulpit was coming from a minister, someone in training, an elder or – increasingly, as it seemed to him – someone who just happened to be available and willing (qualified or not).
When I began training, there were some churches which followed the old practice of requiring students to preach from another desk rather than the pulpit, my own home congregation of North Uist being one of them. I can still see the senior elder standing at the bottom of the pulpit steps in case I would presume to climb them!
Whatever one makes of that particular practice, what can’t be denied is that important distinctions were being made and applied in those days which helped to guard the distinctive sanctity of the ministerial office and to impress that sanctity on the popular mind. And, needless to say, the right to wear ministerial uniform only belonged to those who were qualified to minister in Word and Sacrament.
Finally, although I began by giving the two reasons usually given for discarding the collar, I suspect that there is an unspoken third: that perhaps some ministers don’t want to be known as ministers except where it is safe to be known as such and on their own terms. There are understandable reasons for this – I have experience abuse myself – but we must be careful that such a feeling doesn’t develop into some kind of shame for seen as ministers.
In this connection, you will note one category of ministers who are always in uniform – yes, female ministers. And why should that be? Because they absolutely want you to know that they are ministers!
Now, while there is a wrong kind of pride in office – one which says ‘look at me’ – there is a right kind which ought to be there and which manifests itself in a simple willingness to be seen, heard, approached and recognised as an appointed spokesperson of God upon this earth – a willingness to be known, in season and out of season, as an ambassador of God.
In closing, and on reflection as I am writing this, I realise that I wear my own uniform less often than I did – and hereby resolve to change that.
Your minister
