The question comes up every time I attend a clergy gathering: “Why do you wear a black robe?”
I wear a cassock – a long black robe, generally used by Anglicans and Roman Catholics for non-Communion services. I don’t wear the smaller white robe over it, just the black.
Most clergy in liturgical churches – in churches who wear robes – wear white robes, called “Albs.” In fact, the word alb is the Latin word for white. But I wear black.
It’s not just because I love Johnny Cash, the Man in Black (although I do). It’s also not just because I like to be different (although that’s true too).
Symbols matter, and they send a message even when we don’t intend for them to. And when we don’t think about the message we send — sometimes we send messages that we never would have wanted to say!
Pure & White
“White” has a long history as a symbolic color in the church.
Baptismal gowns / dresses / robes are usually white. They represent that the person baptized has been washed clean of their sin – that they have been made holy.
By extension, clergy began wearing those white baptismal robes to lead worship – a sign that our worship leaders are holy and pure, that in their leadership they represent Christ to the congregation.
The candles on the altar? White. Holy. Pure.
The paraments (altar decorations) for Easter – also white. Because the celebration of resurrection is holy!
Of course it is not just in the church, is it?
A “white hat” hacker is someone who uses their computer skills to help the companies they work for. Which is based on the old Westerns, where the sheriff would wear white while the bandits would all wear black. The “good guys” wear white.
Unintended Consequences
The language of “white and black” as a shorthand for good and bad – holy and evil – may have served a useful purpose once. But any usefulness in the imagery has been overshadowed by the unintended consequences.
In the 17th century, we* began to use new categories for people – for beloved children of God. We called people of European descent “White” and people of non-European descent “Black.”
We took the language of the metaphor about ideals – and we applied it to people.
White people – good people, holy people, pure people – can sit in the front of the bus. Black people – evil people, bad people, impure people – have to ride in the back.
We built an entire racial caste system around the idea of White and Black. And we used the language of the historical metaphor to enforce it and give is strength.
“Of course White is better,” we said, “The day Jesus rose from the day is white and the day he died is black.”
“Of course Black is worse,” we said, “The Bible calls us to move out of darkness and into the light – out of black and toward white!”
I would guess that most White church leaders don’t think of these things when they put on a white robe – when they cover their black suit with a white robe. But we used these messages to reinforce the racial caste system for two hundred plus years — that symbolic meaning doesn’t just disappear!
Unholy Messages
In the Middle Ages, it became especially common for the robes of religious leaders to have a hood. Sometimes it was practical – to cover a bald head in the sun! Other times it was about style – providing a layer of modesty for (especially) female religious leaders. Still other times it was symbolic – marking the status or role of a leader in the community.
Over time, that hood even got included in the robes that worship leaders would wear on Sunday mornings. It had an air of tradition to it. White robes with hoods — what could go wrong!
We all know what could go wrong.
The terrorist organization known as the Klu Klux Klan originally had no uniforms. That changed in the early Twentieth Century. DW Griffith’s propaganda film Birth of a Nation featured klansmen wearing long white robes, with a hood and facecovering. A former Methodist minister began selling these new Klan outfits the week Birth of a Nation was released, and hired publicists to promote his new Klan organization (and sell all the appropriate regalia).
The hooded white robes became a symbol of the race-based terror campaign of the Klan for the decades that followed.
Make no mistake, these Klan members who worked for the genocide of non-white people in the US were “good church folks.” They were often implicitly endorsed by the historically European-descent churches to which they belonged – sometimes even explicitly endorsed.
Listening Better
I grew up in the church. I was trained in the church. It never occurred to me to see anything questionable in White leaders of a mostly White church, walking around in their white robes.
My eyes were opened by the description given by Lenny Duncan of his time in seminary:
I noticed all the robes for worship assistants were white — pure, crisp, with white hoods. I could not believe that in a seminary … no one had stopped to examine the symbolism of these robes. I perceived these robes as an existential threat to my personhood.
What WE – good, well-intentioned church folks – mean is not as important as how we are perceived. “Do not set a stumbling block before others,” says Jesus.
With a white robe, I may be trying to say something about baptism and new birth. But if all someone else can hear is White Supremacy — maybe it is time to consider a new way to express the message that matters to me.
Church leaders need to learn to listen to those outside the church. White church leaders need to learn to listen to the voices of people who look and love and live differently than us.
A Better Message
Because of the unique history of our context in the US, we have to pay attention to how the meaning of symbols have shifted.
“White” and “Black” have become shorthand for “White people” and “Black people.” Whether we mean it or not, that message is there. And that is not the message we want to proclaim!
Lenny Duncan in his book Dear Church goes on to say
Now I wear a black cassock when I lead worship, because whiteness does not equal holiness, and blackness does not equal evil, brokenness, or self-denial. Black is holy.
Black is holy!
Can you imagine the power of hearing those words in our churches? Of seeing in our symbols and language the beauty and holiness of blackness? (And to be clear, that is a Biblical statement)
I believe the church is called to use holy imagination and blessed creativity to think about all of the images, language, and symbols that we employ.
How can we help ALL God’s beloved children see that they have been made in God’s image? How can we lift up the experience and perspectives of those who look, love, and live differently than us? How can we make our churches a safer place for the most vulnerable in our communities?
I wear a black robe on Sundays.
It’s one thing I can do as a faith leader to affirm the holiness of blackness, and to undercut the bias and prejudice that is present in our wider society (and too often the church).
*”We” in this usage refers to people or European descent like myself, and especially such persons in leadership in the church.