Prior to the Novus Ordo Missae, priests had an entire ritual for putting on vestments for Mass. Each vestment had its own short prayer, often alluding either to the vestment’s symbolic meaning and/or a moral allusion. In the Latin rite, those prayers fell into disuse though some priests have apparently recently tried to recover them. How might we think about vestments and vestment prayers?¹ I’ll arrange that discussion around three poles: the anthropological substructure of vestments; mystical meanings; and the ecumenical dimension.

Of Clothes and the Man

An axiom of Catholic theology is gratia supponit naturam—grace builds on nature. In its spirit, let’s examine the human side of vestments we use liturgically.

The fact that Catholic clergy put on special clothing for liturgical purposes is itself distinctive. Many, though not all, religious communities use garments set aside for worship. But the oldest branches of Christianity—the Catholic West and Orthodox East—employ somewhat unique vesture for the liturgy.

Paradoxically, the vestments that the Catholic Church uses for Mass originated as the common clothing of ordinary people in the Roman Empire. Herbert Norris writes, “Early vestments were derived from the everyday dress of ordinary people . . . . [T]hey wore the usual everyday garb of the people, and their costume differed only in some details, if at all, from that of ordinary folk.”²

But while starting out as the common clothing of average people, Norris also notes two important developments. First, bishops and/or local councils stipulated early that clergy have a separate set of clothes for liturgy. They were not to use their everyday garments. The idea of “Sunday best” is not an invention of bourgeois 20th-century American Protestantism. Second, after the greatest style changes brought about by the Germanic hordes that overthrew the Western Roman Empire in the fifth century, the Church maintained her older clothing tradition, i.e., the “ordinary” clothes of earlier times, now out of everyday style, which thus became sacralized.³

The alb was the Greek chiton, though it gradually acquired a “maxi” style, like a tunic. The amice was a head covering, akin to a kerchief. Raymund James also thinks it functioned something like the collar does today: to keep other vestments from being soiled by hair or bodily contact. Some authors hold that the stole and maniple started out with towel-like wiping functions; others, that it was “a kind of scarf worn by certain Roman dignitaries as an outward sign of their being engaged in some official duty,” i.e., a sign of office. The chasuble was the paenula, a conical, poncho-like outer garment. Later, it was called the casula (“little house”) because of its tent-like coverage and function, a word that becomes “chasuble.”⁴ One article of clothing they did not take over was the toga, since it belonged to Roman citizens, a class for a long time a minority among Christians.⁵

As history moved past the fall of the Western Roman Empire, these archaic garments now acquired more of an exclusively sacral character, their use adapted to clerical criteria. An example: Norris says that, by the seventh century, the manner of wearing the stole was indicative of the order: deacons over the left shoulder, priests crossed at the breast, bishops straight down so as not to cover the pectoral cross on their breast.⁶

Along with that process, vestments began to acquire symbolic meanings. Norris downplays that: “One curious consequence of the unfamiliarity of the minister’s clothes has been the evolution of quaint symbolical explanations of their meaning. Such explanations are entirely artificial and fanciful: they may be reasons for continuing their use, but hardly for wearing them in the first instance:”⁷ I would not be so dismissive. I would compare this gradual process to how Christians came to attribute different senses to Scripture: they didn’t start from the allegorical but the literal, meditation upon which eventually led them to see different levels of meaning in a text. The ancient pagan Greek donning his paenula on a cool day en route to work almost certainly did not see in his overcoat a “yoke,” much less a yoke of Christ. But reflection on familiar things, especially when they became exclusively liturgical vestments, could draw out other, religious associations. And just as grace builds on nature, so religious ideas could overlay clothing that began as secular garments.

Mystical Meanings

During the second half of the first millennium towards the turn of the second, vestments acquired symbolic, mystical religious meanings. These meanings were often also incorporated into what was known in our times as the “vesting prayers” that a priest recited as he dressed for Mass.

The amice’s placement on the head came to be seen as shielding what is in the head, thus a “helmet of salvation” against Satan, temptation, and sinful thoughts. “Helmet of salvation” came from Ephesians 6:17, which speaks of donning the “helmet of salvation” in the context of advancing the Word of God and extinguishing “the flaming arrows of the evil one.”⁸ The traditional vesting prayer for the amice emphasized exactly that shielding, quenching function.⁹

The alb is often spoken of as a “garment of salvation,” whose color (always white) pointed to purity and integrity. Again, as in some sense the foundational vestment, this “garment of salvation” also alluded to Scripture, where the Psalmist (132:9) prays that “your priests be clothed with righteousness” while Isaiah (61:10) expresses gratitude for “having clothed me with the garments of salvation; he has covered me with the robe of righteousness.” Again, given its color and the fact it could often be woven as a robe into which one stepped, there were no doubt associations to Christ’s seamless robe for which the soldiers cast lots, a robe understood to be indicative of his priestly office (John 19:23-24.).¹⁰ The vesting prayer for the alb, invoking its whiteness, speaks of being “made white in the Blood of the Lamb” (see Revelation 7:14), whose consecration that priest is preparing to celebrate.¹¹

The cincture, a white cord fastened around the waist that held the alb and stole in place, is a vestment that has in some places fallen into disuse, largely because most parishes have several albs for different priests’ heights, sometimes with velcro-tab fasteners replacing the cincture’s utilitarian function. Given its placement as a belt around the hips, the cincture was symbolically seen as virtuous restraint of one’s lower (sexual) passions. Isaiah (11:5) says “righteousness shall be the belt of his waist, and faithfulness the belt of his loins”—Rabanus Maurus considered the cincture alluding to the custodia mentis, the “custody of one’s thoughts.”¹² Joseph Braun also writes that because the cincture held the stole in place (especially when the stole’s positioning indicated the cleric’s order), the former was seen as a sign of the self-control necessary to be worthy of the sanctifying grace the stole—sign of clerical office—symbolized. The vesting prayer for the cincture explicitly prays for purity, chastity, and continence.¹³

The stole is presented as an ornament and vestment of dignity, pointing to immortality, for which spiritual purity is prerequisite. The vesting prayer specifically speaks of that immortality, its loss by original sin, and implores that God find the celebrant “worthy of everlasting joy.”¹⁴ Braun also holds that the stole upon the neck points to “the powers of evil” that may weigh down and encumber a priest. Likewise the stole, as mark of the clerical state, being upon the neck points to the obligations a cleric assumes: humility, obedience, wisdom, patience, and purity.¹⁵

Finally, the chasuble—worn over the upper body, covering and weighing upon it (particularly true later, when the highly embroidered and ornamented fiddleback chasuble came into vogue)—was seen as a “yoke,” specifically taking upon one’s self Christ’s easy and light yoke (Matthew 11:30). The vesting prayer for the chasuble specifically mentions its “yoke” symbolism.¹⁶ Because the chasuble, as topmost vestment, also so comprehensively covers the body, it was connected to charity, which is “put on above all things and is the bond of perfection” (Colossians 3:14). Some writers, observing the unity of the chasuble (one piece of cloth with a hole for the head), considered it symbolic of the unity of the Old and New Testaments, of the Church, as well as the priest’s all-encompassing shield against evil (which is, after all, the flip side of charity).¹⁷

I omit discussion of the maniple because it has largely disappeared.

It is also telling that these associations often focused on the moral cleanliness of the priest to celebrate the liturgy and, specifically, his need to put away lower passions that made him impure and thus morally (not just ritually) unclean to offer sacrifice and to tend to “holy things” (as the East speaks of the liturgy). Given the incidence today of clerical sexual abuse as a scourge that alienates many people from the Church, one might suggest the moral focus of the vesting prayers remains relevant.

As Norris noted, these spiritual associations were never associated with these vestments when they were garments of quotidian use. It was only when they were “sacralized” that they acquired these associations. Some may call that projection, the kind of accretions subsequent times overlaid on the Church of the first five centuries. I prefer to suggest that, as these garments acquired an exclusively religious use, their wearers came to see more in them than anachronistic clothing. After all, these garments had lost their original, secular purposes, e.g., priests didn’t wear chasubles to keep dry and warm. Not to have found new meanings in them for their new, exclusively religious purposes, would have been bizarre. It would suggest they persisted out of some liturgico-canonical positivism. We use them because we said so. Or because we see no reason to change the practices of the first five centuries, even though the original meanings of these vestments are now meaningless and we have not found others than their mere continuity. That leads to the question: why not just scrap those vestments and adapt to the new fashions of the times, as did various Protestant denominations, especially of the lower church traditions?

Ecumenical Dimensions

The disappearance of vesting prayers in some ways makes Latin Catholics outliers among those parts of Christianity—the Latin West and the various Churches of the East, both in and not in communion with Rome—that still use these ancient garments. Many Eastern churches have prayers for vesting. The act of vesting is not merely a utilitarian act of donning a costume; vestments have, by tradition, become so associated with the liturgy that, in its normal celebration, they are presupposed. If that is the case, why would prayer be alien or even optional to vesting?

Two examples.

In the Greek Orthodox Church,¹⁸ the sticharion is the equivalent of the Latin alb. Clerics vesting in it make explicit mention of being clothed in the “garment of righteousness” and “the robe of gladness” as well as making allusions to the adornments of bride and bridegroom—in short, a paraphrase of Isaiah 61:10. In a commentary on the sticharion, a Greek Orthodox priest noted it might remind one of the white garment a neophyte wore. That concept could reinforce the relationship between the common priesthood of the faithful and the ordained priesthood, a concern in some quarters in today’s Catholic Church. The epitrachelion is the priestly stole, the sign of priestly dignity.¹⁹ The Greek Orthodox vesting prayer alludes to that priestly office, invoking the example of the oil of anointing (Psalm 133:2)²⁰ that flowed down from Aaron’s head on “the hem of his garment.” The zone is the cincture equivalent, holding the stole in place. While donning it, the priest prays that God “girds me with strength and makes my ways blameless always.” The philoneon is the chasuble (modified in Greek practice to be shorter in front), for which the priest prays he be “clothed in righteousness” to rejoice as (and with) the saints. (As in old Catholic tradition, he kisses the philoneon/chasuble before assuming it).

The Melkite Greek Catholics have similar vesting prayers.²¹ Vesting begins with the vestments laid out. The priest faces east and his vestments, praying thrice, “O God, forgive me the sinner and have mercy on me.” He then recites a formula as he makes the sign of the cross over the vestments, blessing them. He then kisses and puts on each vestment. The prayers for all vestments—sticharion, epitrachelion, zone, and phelonian—are the same in the Greek Orthodox Church. The Melkite priest also wears right and left sleeve cuffs (epimanikion), the right alluding to creation and God’s own right hand, the left to learning the Commandments.

The Thread of Prayer

Reviewing the Church’s vestments and vesting prayer traditions, including in an ecumenical context, one can conclude that the desuetude into which that practice has fallen is unjustified. Vesting for the liturgy is not merely a utilitarian function; it is arguably connected with the liturgy, preparation for which should be preceded by prayer.

Potential criticism of such prayers seems to be that such prayers, when not mandated of all clergy, could be divisive both among priests and between priests and other ministers of the altar. The latter is arguably an exaggerated focus on the “common priesthood of the faithful” that fails to recognize that even Vatican II stipulated its difference “in essence” from the ordained priesthood.²² And while the liturgy presupposes the “fully conscious and active participation” of the faithful,²³ we cannot forget that the priest’s presence is sine qua non: without him, there can be no liturgy. Acknowledging these differences should admit acknowledgement of different forms of preparation.

On a pastoral note, the question of prayer before Mass may challenge the practices in many sacristies. To what degree do the ministers of the altar pray together in anticipation of the liturgy? How especially are “altar servers” trained in the art of prayer? What about acolytes and lectors, particularly given that the late Pope Francis sought to make more active practical use of these now lay ministries in Church life?

Similarly, how is our “after Mass” ethos infused with prayer? If one wants to adopt a very strict reading of the General Instruction on the Roman Missal (GIRM), one could note that the GIRM does not provide for priestly handshaking after Mass. Yes, recognizing and being available to one’s parishioners is important. Even more so is prayer, especially post-liturgical prayer of thanksgiving. Does our common practice—priest at church door, altar servers dispatched to the sacristy to do “practical things” (extinguish candles, clear altar, turn off lights)—give short shrift to a common prayerful conclusion to serving at the altar? Isn’t there something awry when it seems the average pre- and post-Mass time does not include prayer, individual or communal, about what we are about to do? I note “common” because, in principle, each minister of the altar can offer individual thanksgiving, even as they do “other things.” Whether such isolated individualism best comports with the spirit of liturgy is another question.

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1. For an earlier treatment of vesting prayers, see Michael Rennier, “Your Faith on Your Sleeve: Why Vesting Prayers Never Go Out of Fashion,” Adoremus Bulletin, 26 (May 2021)/6.
2. Herbert Norris, Church Vestment: Their Origin and Development (New York: E.P. Dutton & Co., 1950), pp. 8-9; Raymund James, The Origin and Development of Roman Liturgical Vestments (Exeter, England: Catholic Records Press, 1930), p. 3.
3. Norris, Church Vestment, pp. 9, 17. We should not, however, take the sacralization of vestments as merely being behind-the-styles: as Roulin notes, “To this essential character of liturgical costume there corresponds a character of stability and permanence, which may be called the result of its qualities of simplicity and beauty. Such, then, is our typical and ideal liturgical vesture.” Is this a liturgist appealing to earliest sources and the criteria of noble simplicity that, by virtue of their station in life, was the lot of the average person in the Roman Empire of those times? Dom E.A. Roulin, OSB, Vestments and Vesture; A Manual of Liturgical Art, trans. Justin McCann, OSB (Westminster, MD: Newman, 1950), p. 7.
4. On the alb, Norris, p. 8; amices, pp. 84-85, James, p. 12; stole and maniple, Norris, pp. 88, 92 and Roulin, p. 132 (for the sign of office); chasubles, Norris, pp. 55-64.
5. James, p. 4.
6. Norris, p. 89.
7. Norris, p. 9.
8. See also Isaiah 59:17.
9. “Impone Domine, capiti meo galeam salutis, ad expugnandos diabolicos incursus.” See Gaspar Lefebvre, OSB, Saint Andrew Daily Missal with Vespers for Sundays and Feasts (St. Paul, MN: EM Lohmann/Bruges: Abbey of St. Andrew, 1958), p. 783. It might be noted that those prayers also explicitly called for the priest to wash his hands before beginning the vesting process, for which a prayer was also provided.
10. See also David Stanley, “The Passion According to John,” in M. Rosalie Ryan, ed., Contemporary New Testament Studies (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1965), p. 340.
11. “Dealbe me, Domine, et munda cor meum; ut in sanguine Agni dealbatus, gaudiis perfruar sempiternis.” “Place O Lord, the helmet of salvation on my head, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil.” Lefebvre, p. 783.
12. Joseph Braun, SJ, Die Liturgischen Paramente in Gegenwart und Vergangenheit: Ein Handbuch der Paramentik, 2nd enl. Edition (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder & Co., 1924), pp. 83-84. Interestingly, speaking in the Lord’s Name while performing one of those symbolic actions for which the prophet is famous, Jeremiah (13:11) says God speaks of fastening his people like “a belt is tied around a man’s waist” so that the People of God would “praise and honor” Him, a task at which they failed. Jeremiah’s word for “belt” or “sash” is הָ֣אֵז֔וֹר, which the USCCB’s website (the New American Bible) translates as “loincloth.” Isaiah 11:5, however, seems to use a root of the same word: אֵז֣וֹר. I leave it to Scripture scholars to be more precise. Jeremiah’s symbolic act is to bury, then later retrieve that belt, which by then had rotted, indicative of Judah’s corruption.
13. “Praecinge me, Domine, cingulo puritatis, et exstingue in lumbis meis humorem libidinis; ut maneat in me virtue continentiae et castitatis.” “Gird me O Lord with the girdle of purity and extinguish in my loins the desire of lust; so that the virtue of continence and chastity may ever abide within me.” Lefebvre, p. 783.
14. “Redde mihi, Domine, stolam immortalitatis, quam perdidi in praevaricatione primi parentis: et, quamvis indignus accedo ad tuum sacrum mysteriium, merear tamen Gaudium sempiternum.” “Restore to me, O Lord, the sole of immortality, which I lost by the transgressions of my first parent and although unworthy, as I draw near to Your sacred mystery, may I be found worthy of everlasting joy.” Lefebvre, p. 783.
15. Braun, pp. 142-43.
16. “Domine, qui dixsisti: Jugum meum suave est et onus meum leve: fac, ut istud portare sic valeam, quod consequar tuam gratiam. Amen.” “O Lord You said: My yoke is easy and my burden is light: make me so able to bear it, that I may obtain Your favor, amen.” Lefebvre, p. 784.
17. Braun, pp. 118-19.
18. For a video on vestments and vesting prayers in the Greek Orthodox Church, see “Vested in Grace,” a film produced by the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America here: https://www.goarch.org/-/vested-in-grace-the-liturgical-dress-of-orthodox-clergy
19. The diaconal stole is called the orarion.
20. The Greek Orthodox prayer actually says “myrrh,” referring to myron, i.e., chrism.
21. “Vesting Prayers,” scan and private communication to the author from Father Mark Melone, May 31, 2025.
22. Dogmatic Constitution on the Church Lumen gentium, no. 10.
23. Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, Sacrosanctum concilum, nos. 14, 21, 41.