In the Book of Common Prayer of 1549, the chasuble was
retained, with the cope as an alternative garment during worship. In the Book
of Common Prayer of 1552 it was abolished. But it is widely held that the
Ornaments Rubric of 1559, re-enacted in 1661, reimposed its use. Throughout the
Anglican Communion the chasuble is in common use, while peculiarly in the
Archdiocese of Sydney the chasuble is banned. So, what is it about the
chasuble? Kathleen Alleaume-Ross provides some history.
“And we do not
mind confessing
(Though that’s
bad) we get irascible
When we see a
parson blessing
In a
well-developed Chasuble.
If you want a feast of horrors you can get your very fill
If you come along on Sunday to St Peter’s on the Hill.”
(Anti-Ritualist Verse, published in ‘The Argus’, 1906.)
Controversy reveals meaning, questions historicity and
challenges authority. Within the Anglo-Catholic tradition the chasuble has had
the power to unleash riots and, as the opening ditty suggests, is able to
render ordinary man irascible.
A pamphlet obtained from St Peter’s describes the chasuble
as “the outer most garment worn by bishops and priests celebrating the
Eucharist, [it] is the emblem of virtue of divine charity, the virtue that
should permeate all that a priest does.” Liturgically the chasuble is the most
important of vestments because it is associated with the Eucharist, the most
important moment in the liturgy, and referred to as “the vestment par
excellence,” particularly in the Anglican Church. Made of superior quality
material and beautifully embroidered, often by hand, it is a treasured sight.
The chasuble is part of the Catholic tradition and started
life as a garment made of good cloth, furnished with a hood, with the purpose
of shielding anyone who cared to wear it from the cold. St Augustine of Hippo
(354-430) referred to it as a casula and St Isidore of Seville (530-636)
likened it to a ‘little house’ because of the way it covered the whole person.
Originally it was known as the paenula, then as casula (‘little
house’) and after the fifth century as the planeta. The chasuble was
worn over the clerical white alb by the celebrant of the Eucharist, at this
stage intended only to keep the celebrant warm, or as a sign of humility.
The fact that it is worn as an outer garment and that it
entails very little tailoring as such, makes it the perfect vehicle for some of
the very finest and complex examples of ecclesiastical embroidery throughout
the ages. The Y column design on the vestment represents the scourging and the
cross, the death of Christ for love of us. As a vestment, it is similar in
shape to what is known as a poncho. Later the Y-shaped columns in the centre of
the garment were known as orphreys, and they double as adornment. It is not
until 554 that its clerical use is acknowledged by St Germanus, Bishop of
Paris, and only in 633 at the Fourth Council of Toledo that it becomes known as
a clerical vestment. From this time onwards the garment becomes known as the
chasuble and begins to garner silk, precious and elaborate embroideries. What
begins life as a warm poncho worn by Romans in need of protection from the
cold, evolves into a garment fit for a king, or bishop. It is around this time
that its importance in the liturgy begins to be taken for granted.
But how legitimate is its place in the liturgy? To answer
this we must return to biblical times. In Jesus’ day Jewish religious leaders
wore distinctive and magnificently adorned vestments. Whilst this has led to
the justification by some traditions that use vestments that they were
preordained and inherent in Christianity, it is important to note that on this
question there are opposing views. The first view favours the notion that the
first vestments were modelled on the vestments of the Jewish priesthood and
according to minute instructions laid down in divine laws as revealed to Moses.
After all, did not the Hebrew Bible say in Exodus, when it spoke of Bezalel embroidering
winged creatures upon the sacred tent, at God’s bidding, that “He made the
curtain blue, purple, and crimson yarns, and fine twisted linen, with cherubim
skilfully worked into it … embroidered with needlework”? But while this is so,
why is it that Jesus in Marks’ Gospel exhorts against the scribes of his day
who use dress to symbolise power: “Beware the scribes, who like to walk around
in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces.”
Some scholars believe that ecclesiastical vestments
originated from the street wear of the ordinary Roman citizen and not from the
priesthood at all. R.A.S. Macalister (1896) claims that “during the first
centuries of the Christian Church, no vestments were definitely set apart for
the exclusive use of the clergy who officiated at Divine service: that clergy
and people wore the same style of vesture both in the church and out, subject
only to the accidental distinctions of quality and cleanliness.” This indicates
that the tradition common to Jewish priesthood did not carry into the early
Christian era. Jesus, it could be argued, did not wish to adopt the tradition
of Jewish vestments. This view is held by Robert Gribben, who writes in
‘Liturgical Dress in the Uniting Church’ that not only does the above quote
from Mark indicate Jesus preached against such attire, but in fact the
disciples he chose were used to common everyday wear. We are left with the
uncomfortable view that whilst we might associate divine power to what we know
as ecclesiastical vestments, we cannot prove that they were legitimate to the
Christian tradition. How is it that from its humble beginning as a warm poncho,
the chasuble came to be associated with the sacrament of the Eucharist?
The answer, it would seem, is that the chasuble became part
of the sacred because it was decreed to be part of the sacred. But the
chasuble’s authority as it is, was not so much decreed, as acquired over time.
According to C. McDannell (1995), “objects may be powerful because something
else powerful has decreed them to be so.” The chasuble becomes a symbol of
clerical power as centuries go by, and as Christianity gains in popularity and
political support. Vestments become more and more a signal of “who is in the
group, and who is not.” But to the keepers of the Church they represent more
than a clerical uniform associated with status. The debate as to whether or not
they are keeping with Christian faith continues.
Long before Toledo, during Pope Celestine’s See (423-432) he
finds it necessary to caution the bishops of Vienne and Narbonne against
“devoting themselves rather to superstitious observances in dress than to
purity of heart and faith.” It is a direct attack on the use of vestments and
one by which the Pope hopes to make his feelings clear. So why, in spite of
this, did the chasuble gain both in popularity and embroidered excellence? By
the eighth century the embroideries begin to be very rich, typical of the
decoration to be found on Byzantine royal costumes. By the tenth century
ornamentation has taken on a celtic feel. The chasuble is shorter, pointed in
front, the fabrics used are predominantly silk and embroidery is still
prominent. The shape of the chasuble changes largely for practical reasons, as
celebrants required the free use of their arms during the Eucharist. As this
trend continues we see the appearance of gold, and sometimes precious stones.
The use of gold heralds the advent of the greatest period of English church
embroidery.
Opus Anglicanum was to church embroidery what Beethoven was
to music. Herbert Morris (1950) tells us that as the twelfth century nears,
silks are more likely to be used in the making of vestments and church
embroidery reaches a degree of magnificence never again to be seen. No other
country excelled in embroidered work quite as England did, an opinion echoed by
virtually ever writer on the subject. When Pope Innocent enquired of a cleric
as to the origins of his embroidered orphreys and copes, he was told they were
from England: “Truly is England our garden of delights … truly it is a well
inexhaustible.” Opus Anglicanum is characterised by the use of gold allegorical
and naïve figures. It features mystical beasts.
The shape of the chasuble however came under dispute in the
15th and 16th centuries. It was cut right back, so that
it comprised a much narrower front and back. Contemporary images of St Ignatius
of Loyola, for example, show him in this style which became known as Roman, or
more commonly as fiddleback-style chasuble. With the Catholic Reformation it
was St Charles Borromeo, Cardinal Archbishop of Milan (1560-1584), who was
responsible for laying down regulations about the dimensions of vestments
within the Roman Church. It is under his influence that the chasuble returned
to its original ample poncho-like shape, a style which will from thereon be
referred to as Gothic, or Borromean style. Meanwhile in England, the
Reformation saw a movement against the use of vestments, which by then had
become associated with the Roman Catholic faith.
Church embroidery was recognised as an art during the era of
Opus Anglicanum, but underwent some massive makeovers as a result of the
Reformation. The tradition was revived in the 19th century, with the
Victorian tendency to romanticise medieval embroidery, to associate it with
‘women’s work’, and through the Arts and Crafts Movement. An example of this
revival is the festal chasuble from the collection at St Peter’s, made from
white brocade and which was embroidered in 1928 by the Community of St
Margaret, East Grinstead. The viewer should note in particular the use of gold,
and the use of the pelican as an emblem from the medieval bestiary, which
epitomises Man’s redemption from the Fall through the blood of the Redeemer.
The embroidery is highly skilled and the design well-researched to reflect the
era of Opus Anglicanum. As a white vestment, it is still in use at St Peter’s
for High Mass. In keeping also with Opus Anglicanum, this piece was embroidered
by members of a cloistered order.
The Sarum model of liturgy is the same, Colin Holden tells
us, that Selwyn Hughes adhered to. Holden tells us that in the Sarum model,
“the chasuble, the main vestment worn by the priest celebrating Mass, was a
much ampler garment, cut on the round, and circular in shape, based on Gothic
chasubles seen in church brasses and illuminated manuscript illustrations.”
It should also be noted that in the field of ecclesiastical
embroidery commercial competition began as early as 1789, when firms such as
Wippells of Exeter were founded. In 1874, Watts & Co. of London established
itself as a purveyor of ecclesiastical design, producing chasubles in a number
of styles to suit all traditions and clerical predilections. Today larger
parishes such as St Peter’s own and use vestments made by Wippells, who are
still going strong, specialising in the transfer of hand embroideries from old
fabrics to new vestments.
Books referred to in this article:
Gribben, R. Liturgical Dress in the Uniting Church. (1993)
Holden, C. From Tories at Prayer to Socialists at Mass.
(1996)
Macalister, R.A.S. Ecclesiastical Vestments. (1896)
McDannell, C. Material Christianity. (1995)
Morris, H. Church Vestments. (2002)
This article first appeared in print in the parish paper of
St. Peter’s Church, Eastern Hill, Melbourne, in 2010.
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