After spending seven years in the American South swathed in Methodist and Baptist glories, I moved to London and changed my clothes. I resumed the practice of wearing a clerical collar.
Historically the collar was simply the dress of an educated man in society. Today it still tells the world you’re an educated person. When I began in ordained ministry I was in a working-class parish in the northeast of England. In my first adult confirmation class there was a firefighter who told me how much he appreciated me wearing my collar when I visited him. I was surprised; I assumed he’d think I was being stiff and formal and unfriendly. “No,” he said, “my supervisor at work often comes in to work at weekends when he doesn’t have to, and he wears his casual clothes just to show that he can. So when I see you wearing your uniform I know you’re taking me seriously.”
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