A young fellow with whom I once worked teased me about my combover hair style. I should place “hair style” in quotes, which I just did, because I haven’t bothered with such vanities since my early ’40s. It’s not that I didn’t care about my appearance, it simply wouldn’t have done do any good. To make appreciable inroads on my graying hair and growing paunch, I would have been forced to pursue unthinkable means, such as dying my hair, and (shudder) exercising. I still have hair more or less covering my pate, but now it’s practically all white. And my paunch? Well, let’s not go there.
In titling this piece, “Combover Religion,” I’m not commenting on the brothers’ hair styles. Rather, my statement involves covering up the “bald spots” in our faith, experience, and behavior. Unlike my head of hair, we, the church, aren’t especially transparent about our shortcomings. This isn’t about our hidden sins, if there were such things; I’m talking about our faith-challenges. You know, our little disappointments with God and the brethren, our battles with excesses, and our inflated testimony.
Do you feel as though your brethren wouldn’t esteem you as highly if you revealed your personal glitches? If we were to go by that concern’s frequency, not a one of your faith-family could take exception to your crooked halo. (I could replace that twenty-three word sentence with, “nobody’s perfect,” but it wouldn’t be as colorful.) One foundational problem with most of our churches is, we fail to practice what Jesus preached.
Don’t get me wrong; not all churches are ruled by pretenders. In fact, the body with whom I fellowship consistently supports and helps those who aren’t the picture of personified sainthood. We aren’t perfect, and don’t expect perfection in anyone else. If the folks at your church come across as perfect, you need to find another place to fellowship, where the folks accept one another without “combovers.” To view all the “one another” passages in the church’s Instruction Book, click here.