Wear It Well

What do you choose to wear each day—not on your body, but on your heart and soul? In What Will the Well-Dressed Christian Wear?, evangelist R.W. Schambach uses a creative metaphor drawn from the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Colossians to explore what it truly means to live the Christian life. Schambach argues that genuine holiness is not about hemlines, hairstyles, or jewelry; rather, it’s about the spiritual clothing we choose to put on and the old attitudes we choose to cast off. He contends that the real definition of being “well-dressed” in God’s eyes is to be clothed in mercy, kindness, humility, patience, forgiveness, and above all, love.

Schambach challenges superficial religiosity by contrasting external modesty with internal transformation. He points out that far too many churches focus on rules about physical attire while ignoring the spiritual virtues that God values most. His central question—“What are you going to wear to the marriage feast of the Lamb?”—sets the tone for the book: it’s not the fashion of Paris or Hollywood that matters, but the fashion of heaven. From this biblical wardrobe, drawn from Colossians 3:3–14, Schambach crafts a guide for replacing the garments of anger, malice, and deceit with the shining robes of compassion and love.

From Outer Rules to Inner Renewal

Schambach begins by examining the obsession that many religious groups have with outward conformity—how long your dress sleeves are, whether you wear a tie, or if your hair reaches a certain length. He argues that while modesty is indeed a biblical principle, a preacher’s job is not to play fashion police but to inspire believers toward holiness of the heart. True modesty, he explains, arises from the Spirit’s inner guidance rather than a church’s rulebook. Once the Spirit controls your desires and attitudes, you’ll naturally dress and act in a way befitting a child of God.

He humorously recounts how some Christians become “hung up on the clothesline”—focused on secondary debates about appearance, baptism forms, or jewelry—while ignoring the weightier spiritual battles within. Christianity, for Schambach, must never sink into legalistic squabbles. Instead, believers should “lift up Jesus,” because when He is exalted, He draws people to Himself, not to a set of human-made standards. The book calls you to step back from judgment and focus on Christ’s likeness as your measuring line.

The Death of the Old Self

A powerful section centers on Paul’s command to “mortify your members which are upon the earth.” Schambach interprets this as the death of the old you—the self enslaved to lust, anger, jealousy, or deceit. He insists you can’t put heavenly garments over dirty rags. Before you can put on new life in Christ, the old patterns must die. This dying-to-self, he says, isn’t achieved through willpower but through identification with Christ’s crucifixion. Schambach tells the story of a discouraged young woman who abandoned church because she “couldn’t live the Christian life.” His reply was both humble and profound: “Neither can I—but Jesus can live it through me.”

Here lies one of the book’s deepest insights: the Christian life is not self-reformation but divine indwelling. Once you acknowledge your own inability and let Christ take over, victory becomes possible. The believer, he writes, “is crucified with Christ”—dead to self-righteous effort but alive through divine power working within. Instead of fighting temptations alone, you trust that Jesus, living in you, conquers sin again and again.

The Armor of the New Man

When the old life has been buried, the dressing begins. The “new man,” renewed in the image of his Creator, transcends racial, cultural, or social boundaries—“neither Greek nor Jew, bond nor free.” Schambach exhorts you to “put on” a full wardrobe, piece by piece: first bowels of mercy, then kindness, humility, meekness, patience, forgiveness, and finally, love, “the girdle of perfectness” that binds them all together. He illustrates these virtues through vivid stories from his pastoral experience—such as the elderly woman in Brooklyn whose joyful perseverance inspired her unbelieving neighbor to seek salvation. Her consistent compassion was the most beautiful garment she could wear.

These garments, he stresses, are fruits of the Spirit, not fleeting displays of religious zeal. Unlike spiritual gifts that may come suddenly, fruits must grow through practice, patience, and obedience. The book urges readers to stop chasing public recognition of “gifts” like prophecy or healing and begin cultivating simple, Christlike virtues that strengthen relationships and expand compassion.

Why This Message Matters Today

Schambach’s message cuts through modern distractions with pastoral urgency. He warns against “churchy worldliness,” gossip, and bitterness that poison fellowship as effectively as obvious sins. His admonition to “put off filthy communication” still strikes a chord in an age of online slander and public outrage. Holiness, he argues, is revealed not in appearance but in how you handle anger, how you forgive, and how you show mercy when others least deserve it. The final test of being “well-dressed” isn’t in what you profess but in how you love.

Through engaging storytelling and plainspoken conviction, Schambach teaches that the Christian’s wardrobe begins with death to self and ends with love that is patient, forgiving, and enduring. By reimagining Paul’s metaphor of clothing, he reminds readers that spiritual beauty isn’t found on the hanger—it’s woven daily into the fabric of your life.

Schambach centers his message on this paradox: before you can dress for heaven, you have to die to earth. In Colossians 3:3–5, Paul writes, “For you are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.” Schambach interprets this not figuratively but practically—you cannot clothe an old corpse in new garments. The spiritual transformation must begin with death to the old nature: lust, anger, greed, deceit, and every indulgence of the flesh. The author drives home that “dead people don’t get mad, dead folks don’t sin.”

Crucifixion Before Garment

When Schambach says you must be “crucified with Christ,” he recalls Paul’s Galatians 2:20 declaration—“Yet not I, but Christ lives in me.” The story of a young woman who felt unable to live up to Christian standards illustrates this truth. Schambach confessed he couldn’t either but knew someone who could—Jesus Christ living through him. That admission strips away religious pretense: the Christian life is not about personal perfection but divine possession. Once the believer stops striving and starts surrendering, real holiness begins to grow.

How Jesus Lived It for Us

Schambach outlines how Jesus modeled this life. Born “in fashion as a man,” Christ laid aside His divine prerogatives (Philippians 2:8), faced temptation as we do (Hebrews 4:15), and endured death on the cross without sin. Because He conquered temptation as a human, He can now live that victory through you. When temptation strikes, Schambach urges you not to fight it alone—“Tell the devil he’s dealing with your Big Brother, Jesus.” The strength to resist comes not from determination but from divine indwelling.

Letting God Fight the Battles

Drawing on the story of King Jehoshaphat, Schambach illustrates what happens when believers relinquish control. Surrounded by enemies, Jehoshaphat turned to fasting and prayer. God answered, “The battle is not yours but the Lord’s.” This principle parallels your spiritual struggle: trying to conquer sin on your own leads to exhaustion, but letting God fight through you brings victory. Just as Jehoshaphat’s enemies destroyed themselves, old habits and sins collapse when confronted by God’s power.

In essence, Schambach teaches that dying to self is not annihilation—it’s liberation. Only when you stop trying to live the Christian life in your strength can Christ clothe you in His righteousness. This first act—mortifying the old man—is the foundation upon which all other virtues will be built.

Before you can dress in heavenly attire, Schambach insists, you must undress spiritually. Borrowing from Colossians 3:8–9, he urges believers to “put off” anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy communication, and lying. This symbolic undressing exposes the inner roots that hinder spiritual growth. Like removing soiled clothing before a bath, discarding these attitudes prepares your soul for renewal.

Dealing with Anger and Speech

Schambach devotes considerable energy to anger—the Christian’s hidden enemy. He laughs at those who justify their temper by quoting “Be angry and sin not,” retorting that the real question is, “Can you be angry and not sin?” He paints relatable scenes: believers losing their temper in prayer lines or board meetings, pastors snapping at parishioners. These are, for him, symptoms of an uncrucified self. He reminds you that the work of the Spirit begins when you confess—not excuse—your boiling emotions and replace them with humility and gentleness.

He also criticizes “filthy communication,” encompassing gossip, vulgar talk, and even veiled forms of mockery. The telephone, he quips, is the most dangerous instrument for spreading sin—more so than television or radio. Believers are urged to guard their ears as well as their lips, refusing to let gossip make “garbage cans” out of their hearing. Refraining from negativity, especially inside the church, becomes a major act of spiritual hygiene.

Lies and Little Foxes

Schambach calls lying the final layer to strip off. Deceit in any form—whether exaggerating, gossiping, or spreading half-truths—blocks spiritual growth. Even “white lies” corrode character. He likens these small sins to “little foxes that spoil the vine,” the subtle compromises that destroy holiness. By confronting even minor dishonesty, you keep your soul uncluttered and ready to wear new spiritual garments.

The message: you cannot mix worlds. You can’t wear God’s robes over resentment or deceit. As Schambach puts it, “Before you can dress properly, you’ve got to put off the dirty rags first.” The process of putting off prepares the way for the glorious wardrobe of the new man.

Once your past self has been put to death and stripped away, it’s time to put on the new man—a fresh identity reflecting the image of Christ. Schambach emphasizes that in this new life, all divisions vanish: race, status, and culture lose meaning because “Christ is all and in all.” The wardrobe that follows is not made of fabric but of attitudes and virtues that mark a transformed heart.

The Inside Layer: Bowels of Mercy

This first garment begins internally. “Bowels of mercy” represents deep compassion flowing from within. Schambach laments that many long-time church members are quick to condemn new believers instead of nurturing them. He compares spiritual infancy to a baby learning to walk—you don’t scold a child for falling but pick them up and encourage them. In the same spirit, mature believers should clothe themselves in mercy toward those who stumble, remembering how God extended mercy to them.

Adding Layers of Kindness and Humility

Kindness, humility, and meekness follow as key garments. These are not innate qualities but spiritual fruits cultivated over time (Galatians 5:22–23). Schambach warns against jealousy and rivalry within the church that stifle kindness. Some believers, he observes, despise others whom God uses because they feel left behind. The cure is to “put on humbleness of mind”—acknowledging that everyone is still learning, even seasoned believers. This openness keeps you teachable and usable by God.

Forgiveness: The Essential Fit

Forgiveness becomes a central theme. Without it, the whole wardrobe falls apart. Schambach recounts a powerful story of a woman near death whose sickness lifted only after she confessed bitterness toward her pastor. Once she forgave, healing came instantly. The lesson: spiritual or even physical healing can hinge on letting go of grudges. Harboring ill will blocks God’s blessings. Forgiveness, modeled after Christ’s own forgiving nature, must become your instinctual clothing.

When you put on the new man, you’re no longer performing holiness—you’re exhibiting Christ Himself. Each virtue acts as a piece of clothing, forming a visible testimony that others can recognize even before you speak.

Schambach reserves the highest place in the Christian wardrobe for love, describing it as “the girdle of perfectness” that binds every virtue together. Without it, mercy becomes condescension, kindness fades into mere politeness, and forgiveness turns selective. Quoting 1 Corinthians 13, he asserts that even great spiritual gifts—prophecy, tongues, faith—are meaningless without love.

Beyond Sentiment: Love in Action

Love, in Schambach’s theology, isn’t emotion—it’s endurance and sacrifice. He contrasts divine love (agape) with human affection, which often seeks its own reward. Real love doesn’t humiliate or retaliate; it builds others up. He challenges hypocrisy among believers who claim to love while publicly demeaning their spouses or fellow Christians. “You say you love somebody,” he warns, “and then you destroy them. That isn’t love.”

Cultivating Divine Love

This love must be cultivated through prayer and immersion in God’s Word—“His love letter to His people.” Schambach laments that many Christians know their TV schedule better than their Scriptures. True spiritual growth, he argues, requires sitting at Jesus’ feet until His heart becomes yours. When love governs your life, faith expresses itself naturally, conflicts dissolve, and unity prevails in the church.

Putting on love completes the outfit of the well-dressed Christian. It binds every other virtue together and makes you radiant before heaven—the difference between appearing religious and being transformed. In love, the Christian finds not just beauty but completeness.

At the heart of Schambach’s metaphor lies an invitation: become a living model of heavenly fashion. The “well-dressed Christian” isn’t someone perfectly groomed for church but someone whose daily conduct displays the spiritual garments of Christ. The story of the elderly woman in Brooklyn embodies this. Her joyful resilience in hardship prompted an unbelieving neighbor to follow her to church, desperate to find the secret behind her serenity. Her consistent holiness preached louder than any sermon.

Witness by Example

Schambach argues that your conduct is the best advertisement for the gospel. Coworkers, neighbors, and even skeptics watch to see whether your talk matches your walk. The way you respond to irritation or insult reveals whether Christ truly lives in you. Temptations to gossip, quarrel, or compromise are tests of your wardrobe’s durability. A “well-dressed” Christian proves their authenticity under pressure—remaining steady, patient, and gracious when challenged.

Rejecting Worldly Fashions

Schambach insists that the church must stop chasing “the fashions of Paris” and instead model “the fashions of heaven.” The Christian’s spiritual wardrobe should outshine earthly glamour. He delivers humorous but pointed critiques of churches that elevate image over integrity. You don’t need stained glass or robes to impress God—He’s looking at your heart’s outfit. The emphasis returns to simplicity and sincerity: “Come just as you are, but come to get something from God.”

Ultimately, Schambach calls every believer to walk the runway of life as a living testimony of grace. Your “garments” of mercy, humility, patience, and love reveal Christ’s character to a watching world and prepare you for the final wedding feast, where the Father will welcome all who are dressed for glory.