Jesus Wasn't Passive — So Why Are We?
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I recently went to my daughter’s spring concert at her high school—and I was stunned.
Not by the music, but by the outfits. And I’m not talking about the stage costumes. I’m talking about the way these teenage girls were dressed—both in the choir and sitting in the audience, surrounded by their parents. Skin-tight dresses that barely covered anything. Cleavage spilling out. Outfits so tight and short that I honestly wanted to look away.
Where are the parents? Where are the fathers? And honestly—where are the mothers? I know we live in a broken world, but some of these girls are 14, 15, 16 years old, dressed like they’re about to hit a club at midnight. It was absolutely atrocious.
And this isn’t about body shaming. I’m a heavy woman myself. I get it. Some girls are bigger than others. Some are curvier, shaped differently—and that’s not the issue. The issue is when you try to squeeze into something so tight it looks like you’re stuffing sausage into casing. It doesn’t flatter the body. It doesn’t bring out beauty. It’s not empowering. It’s degrading. And worse—it’s imitating a false image of womanhood that the world has sold us.
These girls aren’t dressing for themselves. They’re dressing like carbon copies of the same over-sexualized trash culture that’s robbing them of their dignity. And we, as moms, are letting it happen. Some even celebrate it.
Now let me say what needs to be said.
If you’re walking into Mass, Adoration, or a church event in a miniskirt, high-heeled boots, a low-cut top, or letting your thong show—yes, I said it—don’t act shocked when someone calls out the contradiction. Don’t act like you're some kind of martyr for being “judged.” You're not being persecuted. You're being called to wake up.
You are a daughter of the King. So why are you dressing like you're auditioning for a music video?
You can’t post Scriptures online, lead the Rosary, and then show up looking like you're headed to a club. You're not set apart. You're set up. Like bait. And who do you think is biting? It’s not Jesus.
The world sold women a lie. It said if we show more skin, we’ll be powerful. If we ooze sex appeal, we’ll be respected. And some of you believed it. Some of you dragged it right into the Church and baptized it. You act like confidence means flaunting your body—and you slap the word “Catholic” on top like that somehow sanctifies it.
Modesty is not just a “church dress code.” It’s a reflection of what kingdom you belong to.
Men are visual. God made them that way. Yes, they’re responsible for their thoughts and behavior—but we’re just as responsible for what we put in front of them. If you’re flaunting what God gave you in a way that entices, distracts, or tempts, don’t act like you’re just being “yourself.” You’re playing with fire and blaming the smoke on someone else. You are a stumbling block!
We are the gatekeepers. And if you’re dressing to turn heads, don’t act surprised when you’re not taken seriously as a witness of Christ.
And Catholic moms—brace yourselves.
What are you doing dressing your daughters like two-bit hookers for Confirmations, Communions, and Sweet 16's ? Tight, short, barely-there dresses. Heels made for the club. Cleavage out. Legs on display. You plaster it all over social media like it’s something holy:
“Look at my beautiful daughter dressed up for her cousin’s First Communion!”
No. She looks like she’s on her way to meet a sugar daddy. Not receive the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ.
What are you teaching her? That real beauty comes from turning heads? That respect comes from showing skin? That somehow Jesus and streetwalker glam go hand in hand? Stop it. If you want her to know her worth, stop dressing her like she’s for sale.
And before anyone thinks I’m just on a soapbox, hear me clearly:
I’ve been there.
When I first came to the faith, I thought I was doing okay. I wore what I thought was modest compared to my old life. A little lower cut, a little form-fitting—nothing too crazy, right? But I didn’t know. I wasn’t trying to cause scandal. I just hadn’t let the Lord into that part of me yet.
But then I did. And that veil was lifted. And suddenly, I could see it—clear as day. The shirts I used to wear? Not modest. Not appropriate. Not for Mass. Not for anywhere. Because if it’s not appropriate in front of the Lord, then why in the world would I think it’s okay anywhere else?
I cleaned out my closet. Tossed the stuff that screamed “look at me.” I started dressing in a way that said “I belong to Him.” And no—it didn’t mean frumpy. It didn’t mean old-fashioned. It meant classy. Modest. Beautiful in a way that made men respect me, not lust after me.
I’ve seen teenage girls—17, 18 years old—come to church dressed in long skirts, elegant blouses, subtle makeup, and a reverence in how they carry themselves. And you know what? They were absolutely stunning. And yes, men noticed them. But not like that. Men noticed their light, their peace, their dignity. They didn’t just talk about Jesus. They radiated Him.
And if you think modesty is just a personal preference, let me tell you something:
This was planned.
There’s a book called The Anti-Mary Exposed by Carrie Gress. In it, she talks about how a group of radical feminists—yes, a literal dozen women in a boardroom—deliberately worked to erase the model of the Blessed Mother from society. They wanted to destroy the values Mary embodies: purity, humility, obedience, sacrificial love. They replaced her with the spirit of the world: lust, vanity, vulgarity, self-worship. And they didn’t do it quietly. They pushed it into fashion, media, schools, even church culture. And we bought it.
Some of us are out here quoting Scripture and praying the Rosary while dressing like Satan’s marketing team.
And yes, I’ll say it again: this is demonic. Because Satan knows the Word of God too. But he twists it. He perverts it. He mocks holiness by dressing it in rebellion. So if you’re out here preaching Jesus while showing off your body like bait—you’re playing both sides. And guess what? The enemy loves lukewarm women. Jesus doesn’t.
Let’s make something clear:
If it’s not modest enough for Mass, it’s not modest enough. Period.
Not for weddings. Not for parties. Not for the beach. Not for selfies. Not for date night. Not for Instagram. If you belong to Jesus, you belong to Him everywhere—not just when you’re holding a Rosary or lighting a candle.
So if you're feeling convicted right now—good. Let it shake you. Let it move you to examine your closet and your conscience.
But don't walk away in shame—walk toward Him in prayer.
Pray with a heart that’s sincere, contrite, and open.
Ask the Lord to take off the blinders. Ask Him to show you how He sees you. Ask Him to help you reflect Him in every area—including how you dress. Because He will. He’s merciful. He’s patient. But He’s also holy. And He’s not interested in half-measures.
Because what you wear preaches.
Let your wardrobe say, I am His.
Want to be noticed? Be noticed for your holiness.
Want to be beautiful? Be clothed in dignity.
Want to be powerful? Be like Mary.
Because modesty isn’t hiding your beauty.
It’s revealing your worth.
Laura Rosenberg is a dedicated single mother and a joyful Catholic convert who entered the Church at the Easter Vigil in 2017. With a fiery passion for her faith, Jesus, and pro-life advocacy, she brings a unique perspective to her writing. As a survivor of domestic violence in the form of narcissistic abuse, she shares her journey of resilience and faith, offering hope and inspiration to others. In her free time, she enjoys spending quality time with her daughter and deepening her spiritual life through time spent in Eucharistic Adoration, attending Mass, spiritual reading, and fellowship with other devout Catholics.
