Yesterday, I saw a young woman in church wearing a mini-skirt, a pale blue crop top, high heels that clicked like a second hand on a quiet clock, and tattoos that laced her body from neck to ankle. She arrived just before the sermon, the doors creaking open to the late spring sun behind her. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Even the pastor hesitated mid-sentence.

She didn’t flinch under the weight of their stares. She walked straight down the aisle—her heels sharp against the tile—and slid into the third pew, alone.

To many in our church, she was everything wrong with the world: bold, bare, inked, loud without speaking a word. She didn’t look like she belonged in a place where people wear their “Sunday best” like armor.

But as the service went on, I started watching her more closely.

Where others were distracted, she listened. Where people mumbled through the hymns, she sang—not loudly, but with a tremble in her voice that made the words feel new again. She bowed her head not out of routine, but like someone truly asking for something. Or maybe offering something up.

And when communion was called, she stood and moved with the kind of care I only see in nurses or caretakers—gentle, deliberate. She helped an older woman two rows back reach the edge of the pew, then offered her arm like it was second nature. The woman looked at her, startled, but accepted. I watched her guide her slowly to the altar rail, then wait beside her until they could kneel together.

There was no audience for that. No one she was trying to impress. It wasn’t a performance—it was kindness, automatic and real.

Afterward, while most people rushed to the parking lot or buried their heads in fellowship coffee cups, she stayed behind. She helped fold bulletins, asked about the food drive, even sat with one of the teenagers who’d been crying in the back row, speaking softly to her for a long time.

Her outfit hadn’t changed. Neither had the stares.

But I couldn’t stop thinking: if grace lives in action, not fabric—then who among us was dressed more appropriately?

Her style was loud, sure. Unapologetic. She looked like someone from a storybook written in a different language than the one we were used to reading. But her actions? They spoke fluently in the language of faith.

Maybe that’s what we keep forgetting.

It’s easy to judge the mini-skirt, the ink, the heels. It’s harder to admit that someone who looks so different might be living the Gospel more fully than those who’ve never missed a Sunday.

Yesterday, I saw a young woman in church dressed like no one else. But I hope she comes back.

While her actions spoke fluently in the language of faith, I still agree that when choosing church attire, balance appropriateness, comfort, and respect.

The dress code varies by congregation, with traditional services often requiring formal attire and casual services allowing more relaxed clothing.

For formal services, women should wear knee-length dresses or skirts, paired with blouses or cardigans, and closed-toe shoes. Men can opt for suits or blazers with button-down shirts and ties, completing the look with dress shoes.

Casual services permit modest jeans or khakis, paired with blouses or polo shirts and comfortable shoes like loafers or sandals. Avoid graphic prints and distressed clothing.

Modesty is key in any church setting, regardless of formality.

Avoid revealing clothes, and cover shoulders when required. Jeans can be appropriate if they are dark-washed and paired with elegant tops.

Ultimately, the most important aspect is the spirit of worship, so focus on respect and comfort while dressing appropriately for the occasion.