Copyright: © 1998 Paul F. Bosch.
This document may be freely reproduced for non-commercial purposes with credit to the author and mention of the Lift Up Your Hearts web site http://www.worship.ca/ as the source.

Peter Mansbridge: Good evening. My guest tonight is Christopher Plummer, one of Canada's finest gifts to the theatre in our time, and perhaps our nation's premier interpreter of Shakespeare. Mr. Plummer, let me begin by asking the question I know so many are eager to ask, since last week's Stratford matinee performance of Julius Caesar, in which you played the title role. You know what I'm going to ask: the audience was shocked, to say the least, when you made your entrance in sneakers, shorts, and tee-shirt. The rest of the cast was costumed traditionally: in togas and the robes of Roman patricians. But there you were, considerably less formal. Why did you do it?

Christopher Plummer: It was too hot! Have you ever worn a Roman toga?...

That little dialogue is, of course, the product of my fevered imagination; it's strictly a fantasy; it never happened. But, of course, it's a parable. In recent weeks, on two separate, sweltering Summer Sundays, I found myself at worship in assemblies where the pastors presided at Holy Communion in alb-and-stole alone: no chasuble. Since I know and love and respect both pastors, and since I know they both own and regularly use chasubles, I asked them why. The answer: "It was too hot."

Let's ask, first, Why vestments? And then ask, Why these vestments, especially when it's hot?

Vestments in corporate Christian worship, like all other "signs" in worship, carry three distinct burdens of meaning: 1) the utilitarian, 2) the symbolic / pedagogical / phenomenological, and 3) the historic.

1) The utilitarian function of vestments is clear enough: they cover the shiny trouser seat, the patched knee, the gaudy necktie, the rubber-tire waistline, the looming buns. In a word, vestments direct the attention of worshipers away from the visual idiosyncracies of those who wear them, and toward the event being celebrated.

2) The pedagogical function is also obvious: vestments provide an opportunity to teach. The white alb recalls our baptism; the stole recalls the yoke of Christ, and the special burden of the ordained to represent the Christian community in public preaching and administering the sacraments; the chasuble (from the Latin for "little house") recalls the wedding garment of the messianic feast.

The seasonal colors of stole and chasuble, further, add yet another pedagogical enrichment. One of the splendid gifts of the so-called liturgical churches to the ecumenical treasury in our day is the pedagogical opportunity represented in the change of colours designating the various seasons of the church year. The historic ecclesiastical vestments represent a far richer teaching opportunity, throughout the year, than, for example, the use of an unvaryingly black academic robe. Congregations are missing a significant opportunity to teach, if they do not utilize the historic vestments of the church's own tradition.

3) Finally, the historic argument for vestments: they represent an ancient tradition in the church; they provide a trans-cultural witness. Luther would recognize the alb and stole and chasuble; Francis of Assisi would; Augustine would. Says a pastor-friend: "When I put on these vestments, I am two thousand years old."

Are all these meanings self-evident? Of course not. They must be interpreted and explicated again and again. And yet again. But that's simply part of the business we're in, as human beings. See Genesis 2:18-20. We're custodians of a culture and a tradition of which we need not be ashamed: "sign" and signification. And that culture, that tradition will always need explicating and interpreting.

A footnote on alb-and-stole-and-chasuble for Eucharist: It was the use of the cassock and surplice by Anglican clergy for Anglican Morning Prayer on Sundays that served as inspiration for their being adopted by North American Lutherans, in Lutheranism's delayed "Oxford Movement" of the 1930's and 1940's, as vesture for Lutheran Sunday worship. Which of course was rarely Morning Prayer, but rather the Holy Communion, or ante-Communion. The use of cassock-and-surplice-and-stole for Holy Communion (or the use of alb-and-stole, without chasuble) is thus a North American Lutheran eccentricity. You're only half-dressed.

My advice: Wear that chasuble, even on a hot day. Resist the temptation to use only alb-and-stole at Eucharist. It perpetuates yet another Lutheran sectarianism. "Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding garment?"

(A future essay in this series will address what faithful readers will recognize as a favorite distinction of mine: the difference between the truly "catholic", small "c", and the idiosyncratic and "sectarian"...)

Now. How about forgetting that heavy chasuble on that hot Summer Sunday? Sorry: comfort and convenience are not the first considerations in Christian worship. (Or in theatre: ask Christopher Plummer.)

(I'm not as hard-nosed as I'm sounding here. I've been known to wear only a swim-suit and sandals under that alb-and-stole-and-chasuble, at a retreat, say. Hey, I've been known to wear sneakers, shorts, and tee-shirt when presiding at Eucharist, at, say, a church camp in Summer. But the principle I'm arguing here is a sound one....)

As I was saying: Comfort and convenience are not the first considerations in worship. Worship leaders are custodians of some ancient and authoritative "signs". So our first consideration, as worship leaders, is to make certain the "signs" we're using "speak" with their full authority. That suggests that we must, first, spend some time and imagination trying to discern what the naked "sign" is saying. And second (assuming the sign is speaking a Gospel message) we must do all we can to make that message clear within our communities.

Granted: A heavy green woolen chasuble on a hot Summer Sunday can be pretty unbearable. (Your green chasuble shouldn't be tailored of a heavy wool in the first place! The green chasuble is the one you'll be using all Summer: make certain it's light-weight! My green is a crisp denim. Yes!)