So, the original plan was to watch Preachers of L.A., and theologically reflect on its ostentatious display of wealth and ego alongside its proclamations of God’s faithfulness and blessing, because we all know that God uses the same standards we do to measure success and purpose, right? I mean, we Americans–with our 60″ LED televisions, 8-burner Viking stoves, and $95,000 cars with massaging seats–have figured God out.** It’s just a wonder that no one else has taken up our brand of Christianity, what with our ability to remotely drop bombs on innocent children and their parents in the name of terror and our disdain for those living with mental illness or in poverty. Certainly, we wouldn’t remake God in our own image now, would we?
Anyway, once I watched the show I instantly knew that I could not address the show from a theological position for two reasons–1) Others have said it much better than I could ever say. 2) Nobody actually watches this show for any sort of theological nuance. And in all honestly, it is unfair and just plain wrong for me to comment on the work God has done in and through these pastors’ lives…in all of our lives. As much as God may work through us, I have no doubt God also works in spite of us.
That said, I have one reflective tool left to assess this show: being a smart ass. I know that is not anything to be proud of, but you did not grow up with a sister who–in the middle of an argument–could come up with points, sub-points, and consequences on the spot. Whose mind works like that? So, rather than waxing theological on the show, I thought I’d stick with what I know best how to do.
Here are 3 cheeky and almost-facetious thoughts/questions on the LA Preachers’ Wives tea party. Granted, I did not have high expectations for the tea because the host was neither a Southerner nor a blue-blood New Englander.
1) My reservations about this tea were quickly confirmed upon seeing the apparel of the host, First Lady Myesha. Apparently, someone told her it’s okay to wear a form-fitting, cleavage-revealing dress with a blusher. No, honey. Either it’s the boobs or the hat. Not both. You can’t be Queen Elizabeth and Anna Nicole Smith at the same time. More importantly, save the cleavage for the beach, bedroom or post-5 o’clock party.
2) Okay, I am trying really hard to look at Loretta’s dress from multiple perspectives. Perhaps, she was coming from a funeral and didn’t have time to change from her mourning dress. Maybe she was going to a cocktail party later that evening. Maybe all black at an afternoon tea is a new fashion trend of which I have little knowledge. It’s true I never know of any fashion trend until it’s over. Perhaps there are other reasons for wearing this otherwise flattering dress. I’ll take your suggestions. In the mean time, this black has got to go.
3) I’m no Carolyn Hax, but I know it’s not appropriate-especially upon meeting someone for the first time–to inquire about his/her relationship status at length. Sure, if y’all are at a girlfriend’s house where fifths of 20-year-old Grand Reserve are flowing, ask away. But at a tea? No ma’am. And let’s be real, we (and they) already knew Loretta’s relationship status with Noel Jones: they are just friends. Granted, it’s some kind of 16-year “exclusive friendship.” Whatever. We can roll with it.
I mean, I’m the least fashion-forward person among my friends, and even I wanted to clutch my imaginary South Sea pearls. Gracious. Of course, if you dropped me in some swanky Rodeo Dr. bar or lounge after dark, I’d probably go find a corner to read the book I snuck into my out-of-season orange purse and count the minutes until I could leave.
Well, word on the street is that the invitation to Christ’s miraculous & unending feast of grace, wholeness, and healing, comes with no strings, dress code, or cost. In fact, I’m pretty darn sure the only thing we need to bring is ourselves–the stylish and not-so stylish; the broken and healed; the whiny and the grateful; the grieving and the hopeful…every single bit.
I do hope you’ll come. There’s a seat saved just for you. And the meal–oh, buddy–its richness will just blow your mind.
**I include myself in this critique of popular Christianity in America; for while I couldn’t care less what kind of car I drive, images of homemade sauces simmering in multiple ORANGE Le Creuset dutch ovens on a Theramdor 6-burner gas-top stove make my insides tingle. Imagine the culinary possibilities…they stand right next to those seductive voices of material security.** Kyrie eleison.