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Sanctity of the stole should not be stolen
By Dorothy Cummings McLean
January 29, 2010
Dorothy Cummings McLean
Husbands are useful for filling holes in one’s vocabulary. My mother does crossword puzzles within yelling distance of my father, and while reading I turn to Mark when he’s closer than the dictionary.
“What’s a mozetta?” I inquired, raising my eyes from a book.
“What’s a mozetta?” I inquired, raising my eyes from a book.
“It’s a short-hooded cape worn by the Pope, cardinals and bishops,” said Mark.
I was taken aback. Speaking as a cradle Catholic, it is annoying when a recent convert knows churchy stuff I don’t.
“How do you know that?” I demanded.
“Darling,” said Mark, “I’ve been serving at the altar since I was 10.”
Anglo-Catholic converts, I ask you! Along with classical theology, they always seem to know the traditional liturgical stuff. Having had to fight for generations for ornaments associated darkly with popery, these seemingly small things really matter to them.
“Look, darling,” said I last week. “It’s my confirmation picture.”
I showed him the photo on my computer, and he gave a cry of anguish.
“You’re all wearing stoles!”
Having walked out of a Mass in which extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist went into the vestry and emerged wearing stoles, I understood his pain. Stoles, which represent apostolic authority, belong only to priests and deacons. On priests, they also represent the ability to forgive sins.
“Yes, I know. But we were still experimenting back then. I think our stoles represented the priesthood of the laity.”
“Look at you all,” said Mark. “How many of you got ordained to the priesthood of the priesthood?”
“Uh…” I scanned the faces of boys I haven’t seen in years. “None?”
There is no use saying clothes don’t matter. We are visual people, and such visual cues as clothing stress for us the solemnity of certain roles and occasions. Brides wear beautiful white dresses. Grooms rent formalwear or don their best suits. Wedding guests dress nicely, and only the most obtuse woman wears a white dress to another woman’s wedding. For generations, Christians went to church in their Sunday best, and some still do. We say that God doesn’t care what we wear to Mass, but I seem to remember a man in the Gospel being chucked out of a wedding for not wearing a wedding garment. Clothes matter because clothes hold meaning.
When I studied Christian Latin, I learned that certain Mass prayers had been worded in such a way that they formed sacred shapes, like crosses. These shapes were, of course, lost in translation, and I wondered what else had been lost in the liturgical hurly-burly following the 1970 Missal. One tradition currently being rescued is appreciation for the symbolism of priestly vestments.
Redemptionis Sacramentum (2004) states that “The purpose of the variety of colour of the sacred vestments is to give effective expression even outwardly to the specific character of the mysteries of faith being celebrated and to a sense of Christian life’s passage through the course of the liturgical year.” I am always disappointed when a priest, stating in macho fashion that he “doesn’t do pink,” refuses to put on pink for the third Sunday in Advent. It’s a joyful day; liturgical pink represents joy. Where’s the joy in turning up one’s nose at pink?
The document also states that “the vestment proper to the priest at Mass… is the chasuble, worn over the alb and stole. Likewise, the priest in putting on the chasuble according to the rubrics, is not to omit the stole.” Saying Mass without a stole or just a stole over street clothes is out. Redemptionis Sacramentum is clear on this. It does a tap dance on such practises. Really, it is a vigourous document. It’s fun to read.
Traditionally, a priest prepares himself for Mass by praying as he dons his vestments. The first thing to go on is an amice, a linen cloth that the priest puts on his head before tying it around his shoulders, praying “Place upon me, o Lord, the helmet of salvation, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil.” The alb, the white robe that goes on next, represents purity. As he puts it on, the priest prays to be purified. Next, the priest ties a cincture, representing chastity in continence, around his waist as he prays that his sinful desires will be extinguished. Then (rarely these days) he ties a maniple, a cloth representing weeping, around his left wrist, praying that he will be given a reward for his labours and suffering.
Next, the priest puts on his stole, praying that he be given immortality and eternal joy. Finally, the priest puts on the chasuble. Traditionally heavy, it represents both spiritual protection and the yoke of obedience carried by priests. And while putting it on, the priest prays that he may bear his yoke well.
Everything liturgical holds deep meaning. Everything liturgical says something about the Mass. And because the stole represents apostolic authority and the ability to forgive sins, I think it wrong for lay ministers to appropriate it to themselves. This is just as tacky as wearing a white dress to another woman’s wedding.
I was taken aback. Speaking as a cradle Catholic, it is annoying when a recent convert knows churchy stuff I don’t.
“How do you know that?” I demanded.
“Darling,” said Mark, “I’ve been serving at the altar since I was 10.”
Anglo-Catholic converts, I ask you! Along with classical theology, they always seem to know the traditional liturgical stuff. Having had to fight for generations for ornaments associated darkly with popery, these seemingly small things really matter to them.
“Look, darling,” said I last week. “It’s my confirmation picture.”
I showed him the photo on my computer, and he gave a cry of anguish.
“You’re all wearing stoles!”
Having walked out of a Mass in which extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist went into the vestry and emerged wearing stoles, I understood his pain. Stoles, which represent apostolic authority, belong only to priests and deacons. On priests, they also represent the ability to forgive sins.
“Yes, I know. But we were still experimenting back then. I think our stoles represented the priesthood of the laity.”
“Look at you all,” said Mark. “How many of you got ordained to the priesthood of the priesthood?”
“Uh…” I scanned the faces of boys I haven’t seen in years. “None?”
There is no use saying clothes don’t matter. We are visual people, and such visual cues as clothing stress for us the solemnity of certain roles and occasions. Brides wear beautiful white dresses. Grooms rent formalwear or don their best suits. Wedding guests dress nicely, and only the most obtuse woman wears a white dress to another woman’s wedding. For generations, Christians went to church in their Sunday best, and some still do. We say that God doesn’t care what we wear to Mass, but I seem to remember a man in the Gospel being chucked out of a wedding for not wearing a wedding garment. Clothes matter because clothes hold meaning.
When I studied Christian Latin, I learned that certain Mass prayers had been worded in such a way that they formed sacred shapes, like crosses. These shapes were, of course, lost in translation, and I wondered what else had been lost in the liturgical hurly-burly following the 1970 Missal. One tradition currently being rescued is appreciation for the symbolism of priestly vestments.
Redemptionis Sacramentum (2004) states that “The purpose of the variety of colour of the sacred vestments is to give effective expression even outwardly to the specific character of the mysteries of faith being celebrated and to a sense of Christian life’s passage through the course of the liturgical year.” I am always disappointed when a priest, stating in macho fashion that he “doesn’t do pink,” refuses to put on pink for the third Sunday in Advent. It’s a joyful day; liturgical pink represents joy. Where’s the joy in turning up one’s nose at pink?
The document also states that “the vestment proper to the priest at Mass… is the chasuble, worn over the alb and stole. Likewise, the priest in putting on the chasuble according to the rubrics, is not to omit the stole.” Saying Mass without a stole or just a stole over street clothes is out. Redemptionis Sacramentum is clear on this. It does a tap dance on such practises. Really, it is a vigourous document. It’s fun to read.
Traditionally, a priest prepares himself for Mass by praying as he dons his vestments. The first thing to go on is an amice, a linen cloth that the priest puts on his head before tying it around his shoulders, praying “Place upon me, o Lord, the helmet of salvation, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil.” The alb, the white robe that goes on next, represents purity. As he puts it on, the priest prays to be purified. Next, the priest ties a cincture, representing chastity in continence, around his waist as he prays that his sinful desires will be extinguished. Then (rarely these days) he ties a maniple, a cloth representing weeping, around his left wrist, praying that he will be given a reward for his labours and suffering.
Next, the priest puts on his stole, praying that he be given immortality and eternal joy. Finally, the priest puts on the chasuble. Traditionally heavy, it represents both spiritual protection and the yoke of obedience carried by priests. And while putting it on, the priest prays that he may bear his yoke well.
Everything liturgical holds deep meaning. Everything liturgical says something about the Mass. And because the stole represents apostolic authority and the ability to forgive sins, I think it wrong for lay ministers to appropriate it to themselves. This is just as tacky as wearing a white dress to another woman’s wedding.
Dorothy Cummings McLean