In college, my older sister was cast in the role of Cinderella’s Stepmother in the musical Into the Woods. She was told to buy a pair of character shoes which she would wear during the performance. I remember going with her to a store which sat above a dance studio that specialized in theater and dance apparel. If memory serves, these shoes were tan-colored, had a bit of a heel and an adjustable strap across the ankle. I’m no expert on the rules and practices of theater, but apparently these character shoes were meant to help her with dancing, balance, and generally just being on her feet during multiple rehearsals and performances. Some performers claim that just strapping on these shoes gets them “into character,” making them stand straighter and walk more gracefully.
It’s often surprising how the things we wear can change not only the parts of us that people see on the outside but also affect the inside, too. This phenomenon is why we say things like: “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have,” and “Clothes make the man.” (Or as Mark Twain famously finished the thought, “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.”) We see this exhibited in superheroes drastically changing their identities when they change clothes (think Superman in a phone booth).
Since ancient times, it’s not only clothes that change a person’s attitude and confidence, but also armor. When the shepherd boy David volunteers to fight against Goliath—the giant with the bronze helmet, a coat of bronze armor weighing in over 100 pounds, and a pair of bronze greaves—King Saul’s prep session includes a fitting for Giant-resistant armor which was too big and altogether unnecessary for David. David sets the armor aside and claims a victory which was only possible because of God’s help.
Heading to the Book of Ephesians, we read about a different kind of armor—a spiritual defense. In Ephesians 6:10-11, the author Paul says, “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.” Paul lists the components of this armor: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the “gospel of peace” shoes, the shield of faith, and the helmet of salvation.
Each part has its own specific function, but they’re meant to protect and help the wearer to “stand firm,” to remain on our feet when times get tough and faith gets tested. Five of the six parts are defensive, with one piece—"the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God”—listed as the only weapon.
Unless you’re in a Sunday school class and you’re learning the parts of the Armor of God with plastic costume pieces, these aren’t physical items to hold in your hands. We can’t wake up each morning and strap on our gospel sneakers, though that would be nice (if they have good arch support).
I did a little digging into what this might have meant—"your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace”—and it’s surprising. Just like Goliath and his bronze greaves (for you soccer moms, picture metal shin guards), these “shoes” may have actually been coverings to protect the soldiers’ legs from hidden traps and sharp sticks which would be strategically placed in the way of a marching army. These soldiers weren’t always able to avoid these dangers, so they had to prepare for them. And if we’re talking about the "gospel of peace," then what we’re preparing for is peace-making.
This is my new way of thinking of character shoes: Whatever I put on my feet, I should pretend that they are my gospel sneakers. Sharp words and precarious pitfalls are just waiting to trip me up so that I’ll speak and act and think in a way that doesn’t promote peace or the gospel. So I have to be ready. Hopefully, if I know I’m sporting this spiritual footwear, I won’t just stand straighter and walk more gracefully. I’ll stand firmer and talk with more grace.
