In the late 1980s and 1990s, I was a software developer. One of my jobs was working for a manufacturing company in Philadelphia. In those days, we wore shirts and ties in the office. Our brass, following the trend at the time, implemented Casual Friday. It was wildly popular. And we found that having the entire plant in jeans and tee shirts did facilitate communications and seemed to make everyone more accessible. It did not take long for the company to abolish the dress code for the rest of the days as well. But we also noticed something: the work ethic began to slip, and the respect for authority diminished. I took a job elsewhere and did not stick around to see if they ever went back to some kind of dress code.

Of course, today, casual is king. And especially after Covid, when people became used to working in bathrobes and pajamas, we became even less likely to follow dress codes. Senator Fetterman even got the US Senate to essentially abolish the dress code, and presided over the Senate in casual attire, and met with a head of state in his shorts. The new paradigm proved to be unpopular, and the more dignified dress code was restored.

One institution that has maintained a separation between classes of employees, as well as a strict dress code and grooming standards is the military. As a hierarchical institution (as is the creation itself, not to mention the family), the military depends on rank and structure. The uniform reinforces this idea, and also provides a sense of unity and purpose among those wearing it - as well as a connection by way of tradition to something larger than the individual. The uniform - as well as the grooming standards that go along with it - provide discipline and readiness to carry out one’s job, to work together to achieve missions, and to engage in the great commission of defending the country. You know where you fit in with a glance.

So far, the military has resisted the notion of Casual Friday and the egalitarianism of jeans and tee shirts for all.

After the famous opening scene in the movie Patton, in which George C. Scott gives a very much cleaned up version of General George S. Patton’s actual speech to the Third Army (which you can find online) in front of the massive flag, the movie begins in earnest with the aftermath of a shocking defeat of American troops in the Kasserine Pass in North Africa. It is hard to watch, as unburied corpses are being eyed by vultures and stripped by locals. The battle was an unmitigated disaster.

The previous commander is relieved, and is replaced by Gen. Patton. He explains to Gen. Omar Bradley the root cause of the American defeat: a lack of discipline:

They don’t look like soldiers. They don’t act like soldiers. Why should they be expected to fight like soldiers?

The General shows up to take command a day early, finding - as he expected - virtually non-existent discipline. Officers were not providing leadership. Nobody had a sense of purpose. Men were lax, out of uniform, and disrespectful of rank. Patton makes a point to be overzealous in order to quickly change the expectations of the men under his command:

He even made sure that the medical personnel in the hospital saw themselves as soldiers, as part of the unit.

In the course of the film, we learn what a transformative effect that discipline had on the soldiers under his command. His eventual command, the Third Army, became legendary. This is not to deny that Patton was himself a deeply flawed person (as the film also portrays), but there is something to be said for why soldiers maintain health and grooming standards, retain an arcane kind of separation between officers and enlisted, and insist on uniforms: both dress and utility. If you have not seen this Academy Award winning movie, I highly recommend it - especially for pastors, who are, after all, soldiers and officers in the Church Militant.

I have the honor to wear a military chaplain’s uniform, though I am a civilian. And on a side note, If any of our pastors would like to serve as a volunteer chaplain for the US Air Force Auxiliary, contact me. It is a privilege and a joy. We LCMS pastors, with our emphasis on Seelsorge, bring distinct gifts to the chaplaincy. And we need chaplains! I think there are some eight or ten of us LCMS military chaplains serving in this auxiliary role with the Civil Air Patrol. The US Coast Guard has a similar auxiliary chaplaincy program, and I believe two LCMS pastors are serving in that capacity. I plan on writing more about this in a separate article.

At any rate, wearing the uniform does have a palpable effect on the wearer. It is a powerful reminder of belonging to a corps, including both the living and the dead, who have been set apart for service. We wear insignia to remind ourselves, one another, and the public of our vocation. We strive to bring honor to the uniform, and to recognize the chain of command.

Not having military experience, serving in a summer encampment for the first time a couple years back was quite an experience for me. It is simply different to serve with those set apart for service: folks who are in shape, squared away, polite, and disciplined by customs and courtesies. It instills a sense of personal discipline, belonging, and a desire to pursue personal excellence in pursuit of a goal of accomplishing the mission together. It is quite the contrast returning to life off base.

In addition to my chaplain’s uniform, I also wear the clerical uniform. The black shirt and white collar is known around the world for what it is: a mark of office that sets the man apart as a soldier in the Lord’s service, in the Church Militant. It does instill the same sense of purpose and mission-readiness as the military uniform. And like the military, we have both dress uniforms (vestments) and utilities (clericals): battle dress, if you will. And like the military uniform, the clerical uniform has practical advantages: access to sensitive places (like hospitals and restricted areas at crime scenes, fires, and areas cordoned off by natural disasters). A cadre of us black-shirted South Louisiana pastors enjoyed full access to take part in rescue missions after Hurricane Katrina in 2005, being waved on by sentries to carry out our work during martial law.

But the clericals also serve to remind ourselves and each other of our holy vocation.

At seminary, a wise professor told us first-year seminarians to go get a clerical from the clothing bank, put it on, and wear it in public. It was indeed awkward the first time. People stare at you. Get used to it, seminarians. It was good advice. I remember entering Kramer chapel in procession in my suit and tie, as a man in charge of my own life. It was the opening service for the 2000 school year. I left that service as a different person: a man whose life no longer belonged to himself. Four years later, I would receive Holy Ordination and a call. The four years that I trained was not unlike that of a military recruit - who does wear the uniform of his country, but only provisionally, pending his graduation and being sent out on his first mission.

Some of us at Fort Wayne at the time were mocked for wearing clericals. And unlike the slur hurled at us by some (including by some of our brothers at St. Louis) we didn’t wear them all the time, and really, not even most of the time. But on days when we received the Holy Sacrament, I chose to dress up and to go “in uniform” for the day. I had given up the shirt and tie, and adopted the uniform of the Lord’s service. And of course, every pastor who wears clericals can tell you a plethora of stories about what a blessing it is to people in our fallen world to see the black shirt and white collar. We are Jesus’ men. We are men under orders. We are soldiers (or sailors, airmen, or marines, if you prefer) of the cross. Many times, in airports and other public places, people will smile and tell me that they appreciate my Christian witness - even having said nothing to them. Sometimes, they approach me with questions, or for prayers.

Imagine how transformative it would be if all of our clergy were to wear the clerical uniform often - even during the week, even at conventions and conferences, even when traveling. We have fallen for the casual trap, and we have gotten too comfortable with our anonymity. I’m not arguing that we should never be casual, but if we are going to be dressed up for some reason, why not put the collar on instead of a tie? Is it really less comfortable? Why not put it on when running errands, at least sometimes? We are representatives of the King. Why not silently confess and proclaim our Lord? It costs nothing. The world is indeed becoming very dark. What’s wrong with silently offering everyone around us a more excellent way, pointing them nonverbally to our Lord Jesus Christ?

At a recent conference that I attended (that included both preachers and hearers), there were few pastors in clericals. The guys who were not in clericals could not be identified easily as pastors by the laity (or clergy) present. Some of the pastors bore resemblance to Senator John Fetterman in attire and grooming. I noticed two deaconesses who were wearing distinctive garb. I wonder why most of the called and ordained presbyters, men under Holy Orders, were not.

Imagine what a blessing it would be to attend such functions, and for friend and foe alike, even the angels and the demons, to see dozens of well-put-together men clad in clerical uniforms. It could be a little like the experience of being on a military base: with a unified sense of service and commitment everywhere. And it goes without saying that a lot of our guys in the ministerium could stand to lose some weight. It can be done, brothers, with discipline. I am indeed speaking from experience. I think we should wear our uniforms with the same sense of polish as our military personnel. And that means we should carry ourselves well, and with dignity.

Imagine how transformative it would be for visitors to our campuses to see our seminarians - at least on special occasions - to be wearing clericals and looking sharp, like men on a holy mission (which they are) rather than looking like casual college students.

I live in a small city, and although we are a minority compared to the Roman Catholic majority, the folks here love and respect me. I am always in uniform for the civic events that I attend. I am often invited to say prayers. The people of my city know what the black shirt and white collar means. I have frequent opportunities to pray for people and to answer questions about the faith. I have served our volunteer fire company now as chaplain for 12 years. Needless to say, I always attend fire meetings in the clerical uniform. If it is an especially formal event, I may even wear a cassock. The reason I mention this is because I know how salutary it is for my ministry and for the people of our city. They know who I am, but more importantly, they know whom I serve. They recognize that I represent the King.

And I know that I will hear that it is an adiaphoron. Of course it is. If it weren’t, there would be no discussion about it. An adiaphoron means that it is a choice that we are free to make. But I think it is a choice with no down side, an option that confesses, proclaims, and glorifies the King we serve. What is the advantage in hiding that confession under a bushel? It is not a matter of Law to wear the uniform of the King’s service. But it should always be an honor. We should never take it for granted, or hold it in contempt. It is a privilege to be identified as the King’s man. Why wouldn’t it be? And it would be fitting to have a dress code for things like conventions and official district and synod events. It would be a boost to our esprit de corps, our morale, our sense of mutual militancy, and it would show support for one another - just as it does for our warriors who do indeed “wrestle against flesh and blood.” How much more for us engaged in battles “against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places”?

We serve the Prince of Peace. Our liturgy is replete with the word “peace.” But as the old Latin saying goes: “Si vis pacem, para bellum” - “If you want peace, prepare for war.” For now, brothers, we are the Church Militant.

As Patton observed concerning the men who were beaten at Kasserine Pass, I believe we in the ministerium suffer for want of discipline. There are indeed times when, in our desire for comfort and fitting in, we don’t look like pastors. We don’t act like pastors. So why should we be expected to fight like pastors? We do not need to be afraid of anyone as we serve, but let us hope and pray that we do not lose our “fear, love, and trust in God above all things.”