The year is 1963 and the body of President John F. Kennedy is brought to St. Matthew Cathedral. Jackie and the rest of the family are greeted by an onyx-chasubled priest who recognizes that now is not the time for empty platitudes, words of consolation, or hugs. What words will truly console the heart of a wife who has publicly endured the tragedy of such a horrid assassination? What platitudes are sufficient to provide balm to a nation whose head has been subjected to such an unimaginable and gruesome evil? The priest sighs with understanding and quietly chants in Latin “may the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace. Let light perpetual shine upon them.” It’s ok that it’s not ok.
There is a tendency in modern life, arguably because we are so far removed from having to regularly deal with our own mortality, to immediately move to efforts of consolation when someone passes away. Good priests and deacons who desire to offer some moment of light jump quickly to put on white vestments in an attempt to console fellow Catholics with the knowledge of the Resurrection. And while this is a perfectly legitimate option, few people know that there is even an option for the Church to mourn with its families, to wade into the horror, pain, and anger that we all immediately feel when a loved one is called home. I would like to take a moment to propose that on occasion, black vestments may be more suitable to dealing with the host of emotions that come with death.
Recall that while the Lord tramples death by death in His Resurrection, baptized Catholics still have to deal with the effects of Original Sin. We still are inclined to sin, we still get sick, and we still die, a fact which we experience with profound pain and revulsion because deep down, we have an innate sense that we are made for a kind of existence that shouldn’t end, an eternal one. This is why it is painful to do even normal things when someone important dies. Eating, sleeping, and even chuckling all feel like a massive disrespect to the memory and importance of those loved ones who we deeply feel should still be here with us. The difficulty is an unspoken acknowledgement that their death is not right. This is why even when our elderly parents pass away, we experience the loss as though they are “gone too soon”. What is 90-100 years compared to the eternity to which we know we are ordered? Even Jesus wept at the death of his friend Lazarus. Despite the fact that our Lord knew he could bring him back, he was overwhelmed by the innate knowledge that “this should not be.”
The Church recommends black because it is her acknowledgment that it’s ok that it’s not ok right now. The silver and gold lining of these vestments are a symbol that even in the midst of sorrow, the Catholic hopes in the promise of the Lord to deal mercifully with the sin of his little ones. This is also why the Church recommends black vestments as a legitimate option for the two liturgical days where we pray for our loved ones on the Feast of All Souls, and when we communally recall the horror of the Cross on Good Friday. They are simultaneous acknowledgments that this ought not be, and that even this can be conquered by the Lord’s mercy. When we rush too quickly to white vestments, it is possible that we miss the opportunity to mourn with one another, to wallow in the sorrow of sin whose wages are death. When we rush too quickly to vest in white, we run the risk that the uncatechized will be assured that their loved ones are in Heaven immediately, that there are no prayers or penances, no fasting that needs to be offered for the sin of those who have just died. We run the risk of a false consolation that leads us to believe that the funeral services are not necessary because we think of them as a “celebration of life” rather than the Church’s final attempt to pray for mercy on the sins of the departed, especially those in Purgatory.
This month of November represents a month in which the Church recommends prayers for the dead. While liturgically speaking, the opportunity to wear black for All Souls has likely gone, November represents an opportunity for parishes to recover a color which is explicitly recommended by the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (GIRM). What would happen if every parish prepared for Good Friday by purchasing a new set of black chasubles and dalmatics? The faithful would enter more deeply into the mystery of Our Lord’s death so that the contrast of the white for the Easter Vigil would be apparent.
While black is not suitable for every Funeral Mass, following the recommendation of the GIRM to wear black vestments may allow for opportunities to show that the Church mourns with her children, that it is ok for us to feel helpless against the onslaught of sorrow that accompanies the loss of life, that it is ok for our hope in the Resurrection to be expressed through hoarse voices raw from weeping, and that it is ok that it’s not ok right now.
May the souls of the faithfully departed rest in peace and may the Diocese of San Bernardino recover that most powerful symbol of mourning in the black vestments of the priests and deacons.
Ruben Gilbert is Associate Director of the Office of Divine Worship for the Diocese of San Bernardino.