Tattered (Christmas Clothes #4)

How many of you have heard the phrase he wears his heart on his sleeve? Most hands, I expect.

It describes someone whose emotions are simply on display. You never have to wonder whether they are embarrassed — their red face announces it. You never wonder whether they are happy or sad or angry. Everything about them tells you.

But have you ever wondered where it comes from? I did, so I looked it up.

It first appears in print in Shakespeare — in Othello, spoken by one of the villains. Which made me wonder whether he invented it or borrowed it. According to Merriam-Webster, it likely comes from the medieval sport of jousting.

In case you need reminding, jousting is two grown men donning full suits of armour, mounting horses, and riding at one another with a rail between them, each holding an enormous wooden lance, attempting to knock the other off his horse while staying on his own. I am fairly confident this game was invented by two twelve-year-old boys.

One piece of that armour is called the sleeve. And if a knight was dedicating his performance to a lady of the court, he might wear her kerchief, or scarf, or ribbon on it. Hence — wearing his heart on his sleeve.

I find it interesting that the phrase originates with armour, because these days we use it to mean the opposite: someone wearing no emotional armour at all, fully exposed, visible to everyone and possibly easy to manipulate.

So it usually carries a negative note. And fair enough — there are moments when you should not wear your heart on your sleeve. Playing poker, for one. Or if you are a manager having to confront an employee.

But there are times when it is genuinely good. When your spouse or your children can see how much you love them, that is good. When a friend walks into the room and sees you light up, or hears you actually laugh at their joke, that is good. When someone shares tragic news and you simply sit with them, listen, and pray — that is good.

And when it comes to your relationship with God, I think wearing your heart on your sleeve is vital. Honest. Full of worship.

I will also warn you: it can be uncomfortable. Humbling. Even devastating. And I believe that uncomfortable devastation can lead into some of the greatest joy you have ever known.

I readily admit this is not the sermon you expect on the day before Christmas. But to truly appreciate tonight, to get the most out of tomorrow, to genuinely worship God for sending Jesus — I think we need to sit today in a little awkwardness, a little discomfort, a little humility.

The Clothing I Left Out Last Week

Last week we were in Genesis 37, which opens the story of Joseph — not the husband of Mary, but the son of Jacob.

His story runs from chapter 37 to the end of Genesis, but it reduces to four chapters of life. Chapter one: at home, seventeen years old, thoroughly annoying to his brothers — made worse by being his father’s favourite, and by the gift of a colourful robe that set him apart and fuelled their jealousy. So they sold him into slavery. Chapter two: slavery. Chapter three: prison. Chapter four: second-in-command of Egypt. If that last jump sounds implausible, read Genesis 37–50 for yourself.

Now I have a confession: I misled you slightly last week. There are other instances of clothing in that chapter, and I deliberately left one out because I knew we would come to it today.

Then they took Joseph’s robe and slaughtered a goat and dipped the robe in the blood. And they sent the robe of many colors and brought it to their father and said, “This we have found; please identify whether it is your son’s robe or not.” And he identified it and said, “It is my son’s robe. A fierce animal has devoured him. Joseph is without doubt torn to pieces.” Then Jacob tore his garments and put sackcloth on his loins and mourned for his son many days. — Genesis 37:31–34 (ESV)

Having taken the money from the traders and shipped their brother off, the brothers need a story. So they take the robe — the very symbol of their envy — shred it, kill a goat, and smear the blood on it, so it appears Joseph was attacked by a wild animal and they simply came across the remains.

The Irony Jacob Could Not Have Missed

Two weeks ago we looked at Jacob himself — the younger of twin boys, born minutes after Esau. As firstborn, Esau held the birthright: on their father’s death he would inherit the greater share of the wealth and take up leadership of the family.

Jacob wanted it. He manipulated Esau into trading his birthright for a bowl of stew. And later, to secure the blessing meant for the firstborn, he deceived his nearly blind father — with his mother’s help, wearing some of Esau’s clothes so he would smell right. And they killed two goats to prepare the stew, taking some of the hide and putting it on his hands so that if his father touched him he would feel hairy Esau rather than smooth Jacob.

A goat died so Jacob could lie to his father.

And now here is Jacob, holding a shredded, bloodied robe — a goat killed so his sons could lie to him.

Torn Garments

If I asked you to name the clothing in today’s passage, I would not blame you for saying the robe. It is a gruesome, memorable image, and Scripture makes much of it earlier in the chapter.

But the clothing I want you to see is in verse 34: Jacob tore his own garments, and put on sackcloth.

He is not tearing his robes to match the one in his hands, and he is certainly not making a fashion statement. (Though while looking for an image of torn clothing this week I discovered that in some circles the fashionable thing now is not merely jeans with a few holes but t-shirts so completely shredded you wonder how they stay on the body. I promise I will not be wearing any.)

Tearing your garments was simply the natural cultural response to intense sorrow. Had we started two verses earlier, we would have seen Reuben do exactly the same. When the brothers plotted to kill Joseph, Reuben talked them into throwing him in a pit instead, intending to come back and rescue him. While he was away they sold Joseph off — and when Reuben returned to an empty pit and heard what they had done, verse 29 says he tore his robes.

I do not think that way, and I suspect you don’t either. When I am furious or grieving, nothing in me wants to shred my sweater. We want to punch a wall. Throw something. Some people in that much pain turn it on themselves. We damage walls or skin — we do not tear up clothing. And yet if you have known deep sorrow or intense anguish, you understand exactly what he is feeling.

Sackcloth

Then he puts on sackcloth. You may have seen something like it — burlap is similar, though burlap is coarse plant fibre. Biblical sackcloth was usually made from goat or camel hair, which is extremely coarse and scratchy.

So imagine: your clothes are torn and unwearable, and what you put on instead is this itchy, abrasive fabric against your skin. My instinct would be the opposite — I am in this much emotional pain; why would I add physical discomfort?

I think there were two reasons. First, it matched physically what they were feeling internally. Second, it meant wearing their heart on their sleeve — anyone who saw the sackcloth knew immediately that this person was in mourning.

And they did not wear it for an afternoon. This was not funeral attire for a day, or even a week. Biblically it was worn for a month. Thirty days of scratching discomfort while you worked through your grief.

But sackcloth was not only for mourning the loss of a loved one. You wore it any time you were in deep sorrow.

An Entire City in Sackcloth

Jonah is an Old Testament prophet whom God commands to go to Nineveh, a city in Assyria. They are not Jewish, so Jonah objects on that ground — and more to the point, he considers them so evil that God ought simply to destroy them. He does not want God showing them mercy, and I suspect he also worries they might kill him.

So he rebels, boards a ship going the opposite direction, and you know the rest: the storm, the great fish, and being deposited back on shore. Then he makes the trek to Nineveh to preach.

Now picture this. You leave here today, realize you have forgotten something for Christmas Eve dinner, and pull into the shop car park — where a man is standing on the roof of his car with a bullhorn announcing that Waverly will be destroyed unless it repents. Most of us would walk past. Some would ring the police. Others would call a mental health professional. Almost nobody would listen.

So you would expect the Ninevites to react the same way. A Jewish prophet marches into their city announcing that the Jewish God will destroy them — why would they care? They had their own gods, including Dagon, a fish god.

Except word reached them that this prophet had arrived by way of a fish — and that his God had directed the fish. Meaning his God outranks our fish god. Perhaps we should listen.

And the people of Nineveh believed God. They called for a fast and put on sackcloth, from the greatest of them to the least of them. The word reached the king of Nineveh, and he arose from his throne, removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes… “Let everyone turn from his evil way and from the violence that is in his hands.” — Jonah 3:5–8 (ESV)

Notice: from the greatest of them to the least. This was not something only the poor did, or a stunt by public figures seeking attention. The king himself came off his throne, took off his robe, and sat in ashes. He even decreed that the livestock be covered in sackcloth — I would genuinely like to see a photograph of that.

And why? They were in mourning — but not over a death. They were mourning their sin. The king says it plainly: let everyone turn from the violence in his hands. They knew how they had been living was wrong. It was simply their culture, simply what was done. And when a God greater than their fish god walked into town and said change or be destroyed, they repented — and wore that repentance where everyone could see it.

And God relented.

Why We Are Talking About This on Christmas Eve

Because it is precisely why Jesus came.

We get caught up in the trappings of Christmas — and there is nothing wrong with them. The food, the family, the fun, the rest. All good. But we rush into it without pausing to ask why do we do this? Why did Jesus come?

Do not mishear me. I believe John 10:10, where Jesus says He came to give life, and give it abundantly. I genuinely believe He wants to give you the greatest joy you could know. I do not think Jesus is standing here today offering you an itchy goat-hair cloak and asking you to be miserable for the rest of your life.

But tonight we will see the most glorious spiritual clothing God can give — and to appreciate it fully, I think we wear something scratchy this morning. Just for a season. Spiritual sackcloth, sitting in sorrow.

Because Christmas only has value because of Easter. The Mona Lisa has value because Da Vinci painted it; Christmas has value because of the death and resurrection of Christ. Without Easter, Christmas is not Christmas — it is the birth of another baby. A baby who grew into a great man, a great teacher, a great example. But without the cross and the empty tomb, Christmas is empty.

Which means that at the very core of Christmas is death. Jesus came to be crucified. A baby was born to die. At the heart of this beautiful, precious holiday sits a genuinely morbid centre.

And He did not come simply to die as any human dies, or merely to model a good life. That baby was born to live the only sinless life ever lived, so that He could die in the sinner’s place. Had Jesus sinned, His death would have paid for His own. Being sinless, He could pay for yours.

That is why it is appropriate, sometimes, to sit in sackcloth and realize: He came for me. If we had no sin, Jesus need not have come — and if He had not come, there is no Christmas. The fact that He came says I cannot save myself. I need help. I need a saviour. I need the Christ child.

Our sackcloth is what enables us to truly worship Him.

Sit in Winter for a Moment

I think the person who most appreciates spring is the one who endured the hardest winter. So let us sit in winter briefly. Confess. Sit in repentance. Show sorrow over sin the way Jacob grieved his son, and the way the Ninevites responded when they heard.

And when you confess, do not be general. Be specific. Be like the king of Nineveh, who named it — the violence in our hands. Name your sin. Name your mistakes. Name your shortcomings. Put them before Him.

The good news is 1 John 1:9 — when we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. So although we sit in sackcloth for a moment, you do not leave in it. You are washed. You are forgiven.

One last thing that may help you do it.

In Isaiah 53, the prophet describes the coming Messiah — and in verse 3 he calls Him a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.

In other words, Jesus put on sackcloth. Not for His own sin, because He had none to repent of. He wore it because He saw the pain we were in, saw the struggle, saw our sin — and left His throne in heaven, took on human flesh, and entered into our suffering.

He put on sackcloth because He loves you.

And if He could wear it for us, I hope that encourages you to wear it for a moment and come to Him.

God of joy, we want to celebrate the arrival of Love incarnate. His glorious arrival is enough to cause forests to sing and angels to proclaim — yet we still find reasons to complain and sigh. Your light of salvation is bright enough to illuminate every corner of our lives — yet we still find ourselves shrouded in worry, fear and doubt. Your gift of love is more than enough for the whole world — yet at times we have withheld love from those we deemed unworthy. So we confess our sin to you. We put sackcloth on our hearts in repentance for our wrongs. We sit in ashes out of remorse for our sin. We rend our hearts, because we have not reflected your heart.

And having confessed, we thank and worship You — for You invite us into the light of the stable to worship the one in the manger. As we sit in Your presence, approaching Your throne of grace: swaddle us with forgiveness, array us in righteousness, and clothe us with the character of Christ.