Where is Jesus’ seamless garment?

The topic is old hat, but its contentiousness is ever new. Many a priest, layman and young person continue to shake their heads over it. Last year, cousin Norma sent me “The Pact of the Catacombs” (Inquirer, 4/21/11) by Denis Murphy and “hope[d] to see your comment on this article.” The Pact initiated by 40 bishops and signed by another 500 after Vatican II promised simplicity of life in, among other things, the “appearance of being rich men, especially in matters of dress.” Lent is upon us, and where is Jesus’ seamless garment?

In the Middle Ages and on to the Renaissance, the Church, in one of the darker aspects of its history, became beguiled by temporal power and wealth. Moving west as Europe became the center of “Western civilization,” the Church ruled with a formidable double header: spiritual leader and feudal lord. Wealthy beyond belief, the hierarchy mimicked the monarchies of Europe in many ways.

Beside ecclesial wardrobe, Jesus’ seamless garment faded into memory’s haze. Ecclesiastics were appareled like true royals from head to toe—from papal three-tiered or triple tiara to bishop’s miter to laced tunic, cape, summer and winter cappa magna, sash; velvet, silk or red leather footwear; rubies, emeralds, sapphire on ring, crown, pectoral cross, staff—with regal red and scarlet dominating, in the surreal midst of which a nun-friend felt dazed in St. Peter’s Square. Why would a full-blooded male want to be decked that way?

The final flourishes were the titles—Excellency, Eminence, Holiness, Grace, Prince, Primate, Patriarch, Supreme Pontiff—which so overwhelmed the humble Pope John Paul I that he was said to have considered dropping them and refusing to be “crowned” Pope. Add coats of arms, the  Swiss Guards, “a relic of Europe’s past,” the princely palaces, the splendor and pageantry of ecclesial ceremonies. To the eve of Vatican II, despite material and spiritual setbacks, Church panoply remained intact.

True, a “disrobement process” has been ongoing, but ever so slow and spotty. Crowning with the “beehive” triple tiara teetering on many a papal crown (no pun intended) has been dropped. “Throne” has been changed to “cathedra.” The “great cape” with full train is no longer mandatory. Ecclesial shoes are simpler. All that Archbishop Gaudencio Rosales asked for was “enough space for himself and his German shepherd.” The irony is that while many earthly monarchs have shed royal raiment except for the most traditional of ceremonies, not quite so the hierarchy.

Tribute must be paid to those bishops, missionaries and priests who are in as dire straits as the poor with whom they live, and deeply imbued with “mission,” the hallmark of the Church. How is it possible that such destitute communities exist within an Institution so enormously wealthy?

But why begrudge the hierarchy some royalty? After all, they are above-and-apart from us. A lot of the faithful like it that way. Generations reared that way now think that’s the only way to go. Actually, the above-and-apart notion is one of many theological points being discussed, but that’s another story.

Besides, too, every garment and accessory is ceremonial and symbolic. But surely, there can be simpler ceremonies with simpler steps, and simpler symbols that need no gems, white fur, or lace.

What is not hard to see is that royal raiment props the princely/kingly model of Church that is bruited about as giving way to the pastoral-prophetic mold. It’s all one in a package that includes authority now in crisis in Catholic modernity, a still current “imperial style” of governing, and a vocabulary that still reflects monarchy. “Throne” is still around. In Cebu last January, “… Cardinal Vidal descended from his throne and led Monsignor Palma to it…” We still call our bishop’s residence  “palacio.”  Bishops posed with GMA “in full regalia.”

Clothes and words are just skin-deep?  Not exactly. They can go deep into hearer, speaker and beholder. Sometimes clothes make the man. Reciprocally, culture creates vocabulary, and language preserves culture. Go around in fine clothes in a Mercedes daily and you’ll think rich and talk rich. How can you get into the marrow of the poor? This is perhaps one of the worst effects of pomp and circumstance. Except for heroic missionaries, priests and prelates, it may be, so to speak, hard for a robed bishop to lift his skirt and step on dirty ground. May this not be a reason why the establishment Church still fumbles over the “preferential option for the poor?”

Take it from the sages: How does one reconcile “all the Church finery in the remembrance of so simple a person?”

“Jesus … was the poorest of the poor. Roman Catholicism … is the richest of the rich…” Jesus  said, “My kingdom is not of this world.” “Bring nothing with you….” Where are “the simple and pure lines that the face of the church of Jesus had at its birth?”

Said Peter as he raised Cornelius to his feet: “Get up, I myself am also a human being.” Oh, what a great distance there is between “a man decked in lace and a scarlet train” and Jesus in his seamless garment.

Asuncion David Maramba is a retired professor, book editor and occasional journalist. Comments to marda_ph @yahoo.com, fax 8284454