Short skirts and beautiful bellies.

We attended another baptism today -- or at least, attended part of it.  Jack was feeling pretty ill and spent much of the day in bed, so we left the party earlier than we had hoped, sorry to have to miss the celebrations.  As some of you might remember from the first infant baptism we attended in Romania, these are a really big deal.  The ceremony is small and happens at the Orthodox church with only a small group of friends and family, but the after-party is huge -- three or four separate meals served over the course of 8 hours, punctuated by dancing and drinking and all sorts of revelry.  (Our experience with baptisms at the Pentecostal church we attend is a totally different story, though similarly jubilant... more about that another time!)

Today, an interesting thought struck me at the baptism after-party, one that surprised me a little.  First of all, let me explain the context of the party: it's in a local restaurant's dance hall, and there's a lot of alcohol, a lot of dancing, and a lot of tight, short dresses.  At first glance it looks like... well, as some would put it, "a den of sin."  (Harumph.)  But the celebration is of something holy, or at least that's what it's supposed to be -- a celebration that this little baby (the little baby who is fast asleep in the corner as the music booms over the loudspeakers) -- that this little person is somehow created and chosen by God.  And so we celebrate, because that's an amazing and miraculous and wonderful thing!  So we dance, and eat, and dress our finest.  Whatever that finest may be.

I will admit, usually Romanian party styles are not my thing.  The whole tight fit/short hem/sheer fabric combo so common on the streets of Lupeni has taken a bit of getting used to after 20+ years in predominantly-Christian circles in the American Midwest.  But today at the baptism, I couldn't help but smile at it.  Sure, a few of the outfits were a little much.  But it takes some courage for a new mother to put on a short, tight dress and to dance with her best friends for hours celebrating the new life of her son.  There were many women with magazine-perfect bodies there, but there were women with bodies of all shapes and sizes as well.  And I don't know... as much as I believe there is an important place for modesty, I also think there is a place for accepting and even celebrating healthy bodies in all their wonderful diversity.  So it makes me smile to see middle-aged women in tight dresses, dancing and eating, their stomachs bouncing with laughter -- stomachs that are less than "perfect" from pregnancies and child-rearing and the beautiful normalcy of aging.  I dunno.  In my observation of American culture, in which I was raised, we seem to treat modesty as a problem only for those who fit a pretty narrow definition of beauty.  Everyone else is told to hide, cover, or tuck -- the issue of 'decency' has a whole different slant (usually implying "eww, hide that!") for those with rolls.  So sure, maybe there are some conversations about modesty that need to happen here in Lupeni too.  But at least they seem to be a little more equal-opportunity.  And somehow that's refreshing to me. 

Personally, I am still convinced that modesty matters, particularly for Christians.  But I am equally convinced that honoring these temples -- these God-given and God-created bodies -- matters, regardless of their shape.  (I'm not talking about health here; I am talking about the fact that most of us, even with healthy lifestyles, have curves and bumps in places that don't fit on magazines.)  And to be honest, sometimes I think 'modesty' ends up as a convenient excuse for the body shaming that happens with so many of us... and maybe it would be better, more freeing, if every now and then we would wear a short skirt (cankles and tummy and all!) and just dance and laugh and celebrate.  In these bodies.  Looking our finest.  Whatever that finest may be.