What Do You Do When the Shirt Tears?
Reflecting on the many rips-and-tears of life (and this nation) - and what comes next
Eleven years ago Michelle surprised me for my birthday. “I’ve got a plan for your birthday. Can you take off three days from work?”
On the morning of that first, free day Michelle said, “Ok, I have your bag packed. We are going to the Atlanta airport.” Once in the airport I was handed my ticket - we were headed to a place I’d only ever seen in the movies: New York City. And we were doing it in December!
Upon landing we moved quickly because Michelle had purchased us tickets to see a matinee of Jersey Boys. Afterwards, we ice skated in Central Park, walked the city lights, and marveled in the center of Times Square. NYC - the postcard-worthy way.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Michelle asked.
She had a few ideas, I had a few ideas - and among them was one involving a fairly unique souvenir.
“So, I heard of this new place that does custom fit shirts at a pretty good price…what if we could find time to check that out?” I’d never been fitted for anything beyond a couple wedding tuxedoes. Somehow it seemed very New York City-ish to have a custom fit shirt be the souvenir for my surprise birthday weekend.
We booked a late afternoon appointment at Alton Lane, took the elevator up to their homey, stylish digs, and entered to a generous welcome: “Bobby. Michelle. Good to see you! Wine? Or a whiskey? Anything to pair with the fitting experience?”
Wow. Talk about the NYC experience!
After settling into a leather couch, whiskey in hand, the tailor guided me through a book of fabric choices. I went with a blue-and-white checkered classic figuring the look allowed for more regular wear.
He then walked me through far more options than I ever knew could go into a shirt.
Collar.
Cuffs.
Pocket.
Buttons.
Hem.
“And do you wear a watch? Would you want the left sleeve made just a tad wider to accommodate?”
Then he invited me into an area where this company was using state-of-the-art digital technology to do precision measurements that would ensure that the shirt fit perfectly.
About a month later, the new shirt arrived in the mail, and for eleven years it was dressed up and dressed down. It went with slacks, and it went with jeans. Sleeves down and sleeves up. Tucked in and untucked.
On average, I’ve worn that shirt about 2-3 times a month for the past eleven years - sometimes close to weekly and sometimes closer to monthly. Ballpark, I’ve gotten around 300 wears out of it.
Somewhere around wear 225 came my first tear. It was in the left elbow area, and I promptly took it to an alterations place for a fix.
A second tear came along the right elbow bend, and I did the same.
The third tear happened right along the previously torn-and-saved seam on the left elbow.
I knew then that it was getting near the end. Still, I came up with another tactic to stave off the inevitable.
I would only wear the shirt when it was warm enough outside to roll the sleeves. When rolled, nobody could see the gaping, growing hole along the elbow area.
That worked for a bit, but it also made cleaning precarious. Each cleaning tore things further until - two weeks ago - it tore too wide. Plus, the fabric in that area has become quite thin. An emergency repair really is not possible.
—
All of us have a shirt. Or…
A relationship.
A rhythm.
A job.
A team.
A body.
A nation.
Perhaps all of them are things we once thought about no more than sample fabrics, but now worn in real time over the course of years they have become threads of…
laughs and smells,
ice skating and whiskey,
sacred, silly, and somber moments alike.
New threads cannot hold a candle to the sublime scents and scenes carried in those old colors.
And, of course, when we have a perfect fit - we hold onto it!
If it tears… We patch. We sew. We re-weave.
Anything need sewing these recent days?
Many, I know, have wondered about the strained threads of our nation - and much of that strain falls right along the same seam we’ve been trying to sew together arguably from our earliest days and certainly from at least the Civil War.
Some seasons, sure, we just roll the sleeves up, get about our work, and that seems to keep the tear out of sight for a time. But then every washing (read: election cycle) that promises a new start seems to create an even longer tear along the worn threads.
Can this shirt or any shirt so conceived and so dedicated long endure? Lincoln said something like that. He felt then as many feel now - the future of our fabric is very much unclear.
There are those longing for the shirt to fit seamlessly again in the way of postcard-worthy memories.
And those who rightly say, “The thread count of yesterday’s shirt did not even include us for most of its years!”
And those aching for new threads to weave with old threads and somehow bring forth a yet more enduring, colorful number.
And those that are resigned to the quiet, persistent tearing that lets the thinned-out sides slide apart and see if they can’t go it alone and recycle a semblance of new strength from among their half.
And those wanting to rip the whole thing to shreds and then pull select strands to style a tight-weave mono-color.
And those advocating for an entirely new fashion to be tailored from the materials of love, justice, and equity.
These groups differ significantly, they overlap in places, but all alike share this:
In the small (and big) tears that have been known in…
family dinner conversations
and friendships
and school boards
and communities
and changes in law
and past traditions
and future hopes
and some of the basic trust we have with one another…
…all have known grief.
Sometimes we push it down and carry on.
Sometimes we funnel the tears into a fury of tweets and posts, renewed advocacy, and a general simmering about the state of things. But make no mistake: at root, the anger is most fundamentally an expression of grief.
Sometimes we are super honest: we just cry.
When it comes to fabrics we’ve come to love, tears are always hard.
--
To be torn or not to be torn, that is the question. Shakespeare said something like that.
And honestly, I don’t know. At one level we’re talking about something simple, universal, and known eventually in every article of clothing, every relationship, every community, and every country: a tear. On the other hand, we are talking about centuries-long, complex threads - inextricably bound and ever-refashioning.
What will be the style at-hand eleven years from now?
Torn and tattered?
Sewn and patched?
A whole new garment?
—
For many years I was a pastor, so my default is usually to check out the ancient fashion and see if they can’t lend a cloak.
Or a Master Weaver.
On one hand, Jesus came to reconcile all things.1 That’s a lot of colorful, contradictory thread pulled together on the loom of life. And he also prays quite clearly: that we may be one.2 That’s some big-time Master-level sewing together of seriously different tribes, tongues, and nations.
On the other hand, Jesus spoke about how no one uses new cloth to patch an old garment. The new piece will eventually pull at and tear the old cloth, making things even worse.3 Which is to say: if you want the new thing God is doing, you can’t just patch it onto the tear. Get a new garment.
So…do we pray for and work for the visible sewing together of disparate groups? Or pray for and work for a wholly new thing?
Asked in terms of the still-more-ancient words: is it a time to tear or a time to mend?4
I’ll put it this way: my blue-and-white checkered shirt is no longer wearable. At the same time, I could not throw it away. I folded it into a box of keepsakes because I believe that it has something left, even if for a different purpose.5
Which means that for now, the basic truth is this: I can’t let go even as I am definitely wearing new shirts.
I wonder how many of us feel we can’t let go of our desire for this country (or relationship or injury or job or….) to be sewn up in a well-fitted way… and at the very same time we are also wearing new shirts that we may or may not like nearly as much.
In other words: I wonder if a lot of us stand with both truths in hand at the very same time…
Let’s sew this thing! Let’s get on with the new!
Which makes me think once more of Jesus. When he came forth from the grave, Jesus was at once…
full of scars (sewn seams on the old tears)
And also so new in his form and presence that his followers did not recognize him at first.
Can you imagine that? The old sewn and a wholly new thing - in the very same body at the very same time?
Resurrection is the word the church uses to describe the impossible paradox and our singular hope.
—
And so yes, on so many fronts - as individuals, and in our bodies, our careers, our relationships, our communities, and our nation - we have known a tearing, and the grief is real. And maybe in some of those arenas it is truly beyond repair.
The question is: Are we beyond resurrection? Can a sewing of the old and something entirely new be unfolding right now in the very same space?
Best thing I know is this: every thread counts.
So take the ticket and get on the plane without having a clue what’s next. Then go skate alongside the eclectic crowd and start weaving with one you might not usually go near.6
Over time we will discover whether we’ve been threading a fresh seam along the old tear or spinning a wholly new piece of cloth. Or both at once.
An art project? Use the remaining good fabric to sew a new shirt for my two-year-old? Leave it be for thirty years, pull it out of the box, and see if I can’t still smell Central Park?
See my 2022 Holiday Gift Guide for good questions to ask when weaving with someone new. See my Jr High Dance piece for an overview of what it’ll likely be like to connect with someone from another side/perspective/way.