When Bubblegum Dresses Meet the Body of Christ...

(And Why Modesty Isn’t Just a Vibe) I was sitting in the pew at Easter Mass as a brand new Catholic, veil on, heart ready to worship the Risen Lord, when something caught my eye...

And listen, I say this with zero judgment and one hundred percent honesty: the woman who walked in was wearing something I would’ve proudly worn ten years ago. A bubblegum-pink tube dress, tight enough to look painted on, short enough to make a napkin look generous.

But here’s what stopped me cold: she wasn’t just there to attend Mass. She was a Eucharistic minister.

I watched her walk up to the sanctuary to distribute the Body of Christ, and my heart ached, not because I was scandalized, but because the sacredness of that moment was being drowned out by the distraction of her outfit. She couldn’t genuflect without risking a wardrobe malfunction in front of the entire church. I actually saw a few men look away, visibly uncomfortable, trying to focus anywhere but where their eyes were being drawn. Honestly? I didn’t blame them. It wasn’t fair, to them, to her, or to Our Lord.

And here’s the thing, I’m not writing this as some pious fashion cop. I’m writing this as someone who used to be her. I came from a world where modesty wasn’t even in my vocabulary. Tight, short, loud, and lace that was my uniform. My old self would’ve told her, “Girl, you look amazing. Flaunt it.” And I would’ve meant it as empowerment.

But then Jesus happened. And trust me, again this is not coming from a place of judgment. I have tattoos, piercings, and probably look more like Wednesday Addams than a church lady. And that’s one of the things I love about the Catholic Church: Come as you are. Come and eat. Come and commune. Jesus would never turn anyone away.

But that’s exactly why this hit me so hard. Because if Jesus welcomes us as we are, shouldn’t we, out of love, want to offer Him our very best?

Encountering Him in the Eucharist changed everything. It wrecked me, in the best way. Suddenly I could see not just who He is, but who I was meant to be. I’m still me, still rocking my unique style, still inked, still alternative but now, I don’t dress to turn heads. I dress to honor Him. Because my body is sacred.

And here’s the truth: our clothes preach. Whether we intend them to or not, they say something. When we stand at the altar, whether as lectors, musicians, altar servers, or Eucharistic ministers, what we wear should amplify the glory of that moment, not distract from it.

This isn’t about shame. It’s about sacredness. About remembering that we are the Bride of Christ, and that the wedding feast of the Lamb deserves more than a dress that can’t even survive a genuflection. So no, I’m not calling for burlap sacks or ruler-measured hemlines. I’m simply asking: if we really believe the King of the Universe is present at Mass, can we dress like we’re actually in His court?

Because here’s the secret: modesty doesn’t hide your beauty. It reveals it. And nothing feels more radiant, more powerful, or more free than knowing you are clothed in dignity, standing fully in the presence of Love Himself.

Justine Wisdom | Made For Battle