This afternoon, I went up to an ordination in Canton (congratulations, Rev. Megan Lynes!), at which Carl Scovel preached the ordination sermon. I always enjoy hearing Carl Scovel preach, even when I find myself in complete disagreement with him — he’s that good a preacher.
And this afternoon, I found myself in complete disagreement with one thing Carl Scovel said in his sermon. He said that in the New England church tradition, a pulpit robe is the outward mark of an ordained minister. Well, that may be true for some New England ministers, but it is not true of all New England ministers — it is certainly not true of me. I think there’s a case to be made for ordained ministers not wearing any distinguishing clothing at all. In brief, my arguments against robes for ministers run roughly as follows: (1) robes are expensive, like $500 and up, and I’ve got better things to spend my money on; (2) the typical pulpit robe dates back 500 years to John Calvin, which by now, for us, is merely an arbitrary date — why not go further back and wear an alb, or come forward a few hundred years and wear a business suit?; (3) robes are, well, idolatrous — they’re the sartorial equivalent of graven images; (4) to paraphrase Henry Thoreau, any job that requires you to buy a new set of clothes is a job you should be wary of; (5) I spent too much time with the Quakers, really started to believe in the plain-dress-living-simply thang, and robes are definitely not plain dress; (6) um, hate to admit this, but pulpit robes look silly.
Now I admit that I do own a robe. I bought it used, at the used robe place in the basement of Sheehan’s in downtown Boston, and it cost sixty buck ten years ago (they told me they got it from a monk who had died). It’s an alb, which dates back two thousand years, cause if I’m gonna be even vaguely in the Christian tradition I might as well take the historical re-enactment thing all the way back to Jesus’s time; and if I think of it as historical re-enactment, then it’s not idolatrous. Besides, I never wear the thing except when once in a while for the occasional wedding.
That’s my take on ministers’ robes. Now excuse me while I duck behind this stone parapet while other ministers, the ones who like robes, throw things at me. Or, more likely, leave strongly-worded comments below….
Oh dear, poor thing: you think you’re going to be assaulted for your opinion. Historically, both of you are wrong. The pulpit gown, in the New England context, is as much of a revival as the alb is a historical development. (You might get points by saying a white, shirtlike garment is two millennia old, but that’s a sign of the baptized, not the clergy. And I’m wearing one now. From American Apparel, no less.)
I take exception to calling a pulpit gown idolatrous. Really, now? If everything’s an idol, nothing is. And besides, we know the appeal to universal idolatry is the ministerial version of Godwin’s Law. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Godwin%27s_Law)
See: that’s wasn’t too hard, no?
Noting that some of my very favorite people will preach in robes, I have to say #6 is the killer argument.
And I do like the alb. Unlike many priestly robes, it was common wear. The logic of the alb says you wear something that others might, not something that distinguishes you from them.
Don’t agree or disagree with you.
I just know my robe has special meaning to me and enjoy wearing it when the special opportunity presents itself.
When I put it on, I’m reminded of my colleagues all robed at my ordination (including you…)
I’m reminded of the first time I wore the robe, leading services in a congregation’s first building of their own.
And when I wear it, usually for ordinations, weddings, and memorial services, I’m reminded that the ceremony I’m about to participate in is different than the normal every-day.
Mostly, though, I’m reminded of the love and pride with which my mother stitched each seam of the robe she made for me as an ordination gift.
Please continue your theological, historical, political debate on the accuracy and merits of robes.
Excellent points, especially #5 about plain dress. I can see why your liturgical practice works for you and is consistent with your ethics and theology.
I wear robes for ceremonial occasions. Whether I wear them for preaching depends on the atmosphere in the congregation and what I’m trying to accomplish. Women who came before me fought so that I could have the privilege of wearing robes, and I don’t take that lightly. Wearing a robe or a stole helps me remember my responsibilities, even after I’ve put the liturgical wear away again. Also, robes have pockets. No matter how hard I try, I cannot always find church-appropriate, affordable, and ethically traded women’s clothes with pockets.
Now come out from behind that parapet and let’s see that alb.
Of course, you are a counter-traditionalist, and so Scovel’s factually and historically correct statement about the meaning of the pulpit robe in the New England church TRADITION has no weight for you. That doesn’t make it inaccurate. It’s just that you are part of a contrarian tradition that tries not to embrace things simply because they’re part of a tradition.
Scott @ 1 — Tell us more about the history of the pulpit gown!! You are the expert on these things, and I’m sure you’ve written about it — can you post links to articles on your Web site?
Your points about idolatry are also right on target. Remember that I am the son of a Unitarian who was one of a whole generation of Unitarians who threw the crosses out of the churches, removed all the symbols, got rid of everything they could. Two stories about that: (1) The Lexington, Mass., church finally got rid of the internally-lit cross that used to rise up mysteriously during the Christmas Eve candlelight service, and it wound up stuck in a trash barrel in front of the church on trash day, which doubtless provoked much comment amongst the more orthodox Christians in Lexington; (2) When my home church in Concord, Mass., finally got a flaming chalice, I happened to be sitting next to my mother on the Sunday they first lit it up, and heard her muttering under her breath, “Graven images.” All of which raise the very interesting question — once you start getting rid of the idols and graven images, where do you stop?
will @ 2 — Actually the killer argument (almost literally) is that the damn things trip you when you go up the steps into those high New England pulpits.
UU Jester @ 3 — Umm, I wasn’t at your ordination, remember? (P.S., I never wear a robe to an ordination.)
Lynn @ 4 — You write: “Women who came before me fought so that I could have the privilege of wearing robes, and I don’t take that lightly.” That, to my mind, is the best single reason for wearing a pulpit robe, and I would almost wear one just to show solidarity with my sisters in the ordained ministry who had to fight so hard to break into the old-boys’-network that was ordained ministry in Unitarian Universalism.
You make another excellent point when you say, “your liturgical practice works for you and is consistent with your ethics and theology” — and, more to the point, is consistent with my congregation’s understanding of who they are, and who their minister is. Because it’s really not about me, is it? — and it’s really not my place to make blanket judgments about any other minister or any other congregation without knowing the context in which they make their liturgical decisions.
Phil @ 5 — Contrarian? Me? Um. OK, yeah. I am so busted. Rats.
Your forgot to mention robes as a claim on authority. Either as smarts (afterall they’re academic), or spiritual.
I grew up in a tradition that frowned on robes and my Dad would complain about them; especially when we joined a larger Cong. Church (more youth programs) but the ministers would where collars to boot.
The 60s just hardened the equalitarian strain in me so I prefer not to see them in Church but I’m not militantly opposed either. It’s funny how the younger ranks of UU clergy like them now.
I much prefer going to a highly liturgical Church if I want to see robes. If you want that kind of religion, I’d go to an Orthodox Mass instead.
wear…I mean…spell checkers are heck
You know, funny thing, I woke up this morning with this thought, “Dan wasn’t at my ordination.”
You were at the vote to ordain me.
I just wished you were at my ordination.
(in a robe.)
carry on….
Pantyhose. The worst of the worst idolotraus (however you spell that) garb. Women made to look like Barbie Dolls! Not that I have anything against Barbie, cuz I don’t. She’s a doll, for heaven’s sake. But Pantyhose are simply evil.
Tights, on the other hand, are great. Especially on elves, Mikael Baryshnikov, and the model on page 275 of the December Vogue.
Jean, you have to send a link to the model in Vogue for those of us who do not have access to that mag without traveling long distances…
Here he is: http://www.style.com/vogue/feature/2008_Dec_Romeo_and_Juliet/
Bill Baar @ 7 — You write: “I much prefer going to a highly liturgical Church if I want to see robes. If you want that kind of religion, I’d go to an Orthodox Mass instead.”
I agree. The typical black pulpit robe is booorrrring. If you want to see cool liturgical garb, check out an orthodox church. Acutally, some pagan groups are equally good, and they tend to make all their own robes and garb (making their own garb is a big point in their favor, in my opinion).
Scott Wells @ 1 is about the only UU minister I know of who looks really really good in robes and collars and such. Maybe this is my real resistance to robes, etc. — I don’t look good in them, I just look goofy.
Jean @ 10 — Um. I just flashed on a vision of ministers wearing tights and leotards instead of robes….
Guess I’d rather see elves in tights.
Jean makes me wear a blue heart with my name on it on my collar and her phone number in case I get lost which I did once. And my collar is leather which is nice until it gets wet which it does when I swim in the summer. And I have a coat for winter which is green and blue. I like it.
PS Dogs never wear tights