Vestments by Design

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Not that many months ago I didn’t have a clue what an orphrey was. Now I’m designing them.

If you had mentioned a galloon back then, I might have snickered. Not anymore. Even though I am still very much a novice in the world of church vestments and paraments, I’ve learned to pay attention and ask questions.

Original Six Chief Parts drawing.
Copyright © Edward Riojas

What I’ve also learned is the work is fascinating, and I think you’ll agree after this peek at the process behind producing the lovely offerings of Ecclesiastical Sewing. Shortly after Carrie Roberts launched her small company, she asked me to collaborate with her on some projects. My function is to act as designer, primarily creating images for use on embroideries that adorn her products.

Besides creating original designs, I also help resurrect old ones. That in itself can be challenging. Like an archaeological site, some designs are incomplete or partially destroyed. It sometimes falls to me to fill in the missing pieces through simple logic or artistic conjecture. One project on the back-burner, for example, involves recreating a scene of the stoning of St. Stephen for the back of a chasuble. All that exists is a delicate pencil drawing, done in classical, academic style. A third of the drawing has been torn off and is lost forever.

Adobe Illustrator screen shot,
wire frame view.
Copyright © Edward Riojas

Old designs come to me in the form of photos, as in the case of the torn drawing, or as digital files. Some of the files are “rastered” images – basically, digitized images that have been converted to photos – or they come as “vectored” images – editable designs that are comprised of shapes. The latter are easiest to alter and color, while the former need complete redrawing in an illustration application. It can be mind-numbing work, but it’s a thrill to bring old designs back to life and know that they will once again be appreciated.

New designs are another matter. A general directive for a design is first given by Roberts – perhaps for a new Reformation “set.” A set is a group of associated designs that can be used in every application necessary in the chancel. While not every church needs every application, Ecclesiastical Sewing is prepared to meet every need, which can include stoles, chasubles, frontals, superfrontals, falls, chalice veils, and the occasional banner. That means the design components must be flexible enough to fit large and small spaces, and vertical, horizontal, and square configurations.

"Stitchout" from digitizer.
Courtesy Ecclesiastical Sewing

The first step is to do rough drawings of the basic components. Depending on the set, there may be a few drawings or many. For the new set commemorating the 500th Anniversary of the Lutheran Reformation, the drawings piled up because we wanted something beyond Luther’s Rose; something that would be more confessional, yet distinctly Lutheran. The Six Chief Parts anchored that new set.

Once we hashed out which direction to go, selected drawings were then translated into vectored images by scanning the original drawings and then rebuilding them in Adobe Illustrator. The program not only allows editing of every line and shape, but it also enables adjustment of color.

Technical aspects of color are important, because the normal working color mode in Illustrator is either CMYK or RGB. The threads in garments and embroideries, however, are a far different animal. Final color choices for embroideries make use of a 400-plus color palette of numbered thread selections by Madeira, a German manufacturer. Bridging the gap is partially accomplished by converting colors to the Pantone color system within Illustrator.

Finished design machine embroidered
on exclusive Luther brocade.
Courtesy, Ecclesiastical Sewing

The Illustrator files are then handed off to a “digitizer.” At this point, the constraints of an embroidery machine are put into play when creating a digital “stitchout,” which can show flaws and force adjustments in the design. The width of a stitch, for example, can only be so wide before a shape must be stitched in a different manner. Corners of a stitched border can also reveal problems. A lovely embroidery can be reproduced in all its glory, provided it contains only 15 colors and doesn’t bog down a machine for hours on end, creating an embroidery that rivals the weight of its wearer.

Changes and adjustments then come back to me. Sometimes this happens a second or third time. Occasionally, a prospective client may also suggest a worthy change.

Adjustments are made well after I have handed off the final files. A particular thread color may not work as well as Roberts would like, either within the embroidery, or with adjacent fabric choices. And then there are critical choices to be made with brocades and orphreys and contrasting galloons. The cut of a chasuble. The lining of a frontal. The lay of a stitch. Some of the detail work is far above even the most seasoned seamstress. Such fussing is the cost of creating something beautiful and lasting, while visually confessing Holy Scripture and elevating it above the mundane.

Flocking to Church

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Not that anyone left the windows open last Sunday, but there are more birds in the sanctuary than one would otherwise expect. Whether depicted in stained-glass, carved in stone, or jutting from a pulpit, birds have for centuries been carriers of symbolism within Christendom. Knowing the difference between species and the sometimes-subtle variations can help in one’s visual understanding of the buildings where worshipers flock.

Eagle lectern.
(St. Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, England)

The Holy Spirit is most often identified by the image of a dove, but that image sports a couple of important features – or at least it should. The Dove is always shown descending, with its head down. This is to indicate that inspiration comes via the Helper, who is from above. The head is also usually given a tri-radiant halo [that is not a cross] to indicate that it is a Person of the Holy Trinity. There are the odd occasions in sacred art in which the Dove might be seen near the ear of a figure – either near a prophet, indicating Divine inspiration in their writings, or near Mary, the Mother of our Lord, in which case the conception of our Lord is being shown.

When a dove is used to indicate peace, it should always be shown flying horizontally, sans nimbus. Also, it typically carries an olive branch in a reference to the aftermath of the flood. Because this bird often flies off-course into crowds of tie-dyed shirts and love beads, it’s probably wise to avoid this version entirely out of confusion.

One of the earliest winged symbols used in the Church is a bit of a stretch where ornithology is concerned. The Phoenix was borrowed from Greek mythology, but it wasn’t the normal brand of bird. When occasionally used by the Church, it is an identifier of Christ Jesus. According to myth, the bird died by fire, then later arose again from the ashes. It’s questionable origin nonetheless was used by some early Christians to point to the death and resurrection of Jesus.

Orlets rug.
(Courtesy, pokrovchurchsupply.com)

Another ornithological symbol with dubious origins is “The Pelican in Her Piety.” The simple fact that the image carries such a title gives a good hint to its Medieval age. The pelican is shown piercing her own breast so that her young may live. The idea that pelicans would sacrifice themselves in such manner made it an endearing symbol of our Lord. Unfortunately, like some other metaphorical images used in Christian symbolism, the self-sacrifice of a pelican is totally unfounded in the natural world.

Eagles play an important role in Church symbolism, but one must take context into account before assigning meaning. Anglican churches, among some other denominations, sometimes have pulpits or lecterns that sport eagles of size enough to accommodate a large bible on the backs of spread wings. They exude a decided “federal” feel, as if talons should clasp bolts of lightning or laurel wreath. In this context, however, the eagles pay homage to the Word of God, for in former days eagles were thought to fly unflinchingly toward the sun. The noble birds were incapable of being blinded – even by the brilliance of the Word itself.

Rooster vane.
(Trinity Church, Veilsdorf, Germany)

In somewhat similar manner, the Orthodox Church sometimes uses the image of a young eagle on a small rug – or “Orlets” – on which a bishop stands while officiating. The eagle flies over the image of a city, indicating the populace over which the bishop presides.

Of course, the eagle is also the symbol of the Evangelist St. John. In this context, its meaning originates from the soaring style of the Gospel writer’s words.

Strangely enough, the barnyard’s entry has somehow taken preeminence on the occasional church building. It is common enough to note when a rooster supersedes all other symbolism – even the cross – on pinnacles of some church spires. It may seem a bit odd, until one unravels its meaning. The rooster became an uncomfortably-humbling reminder to Peter that he had denied Jesus three times. But while the rooster reminds us of the Law and our utter failure in its keeping, it also reminds us of the Gospel, for roosters announce the early morning, and where congregations worship on the eighth day, the rooster reminds us weekly that He is risen indeed.

Before the Cross

"Christ the Good Shepherd."
3rd - 4th century A.D.
(Catacomb of Priscilla, Rome)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

It is extremely difficult for modern Christians to imagine life without the image of the cross. It is so much a part of our thought and being that its absence would be a massive jolt. Not only is it central to our theology, but the image of the cross has been spread into unlikely places like fashion and national branding. It no longer surprises anyone to see it apart from the Church or even connected to its enemies. Yet the image of the cross was not widely used in the early Church – if it was used at all.

Displaying the cross for early Christians would be very much akin to us using images of an electric chair or a gas chamber. It would be inappropriate. It would be scandalous. The question must then be asked: What images DID the early Church embrace?

The idea that the good, pious people of the Church never had “graven” images is just silly. No one overreacted to the Law in such manner – that idea came much later when folks decided they probably should have scruples and insulated themselves from breaking commandments.

Beginning with the Temple in Jerusalem, the decorative arts played a large role among the Israelites. One need only look at early Jewish manuscripts to see the opulence given to sacred writings. And, yes, they used images beyond flowers and pomegranates.

But Jerusalem was not a sealed vacuum when Jesus Christ began His ministry. The Romans were in control. There were also subtle influences from other cultures that brushed up against Israel. Indeed, Israel had been force-fed a nasty diet of Babylonian culture, which probably filtered down through the generations. And Rome borrowed much from Greece. This cultural cocktail had influence on at least one of the earliest Christian images – The Good Shepherd.

One of Israel’s great heroes was King David and, although he was most often depicted regally, his roots as a faithful shepherd were equally lauded. Given the sins of his life, it was also natural to prefer thoughts the of future king as an unadulterated youth among gentle sheep.

"Hermes Kriophoros" Roman copy.
(Museo Barracco di Scultura Antica, Rome)

However, the Jewish nation was not the only one familiar with shepherds. Sheep were pretty much a part of the landscape wherever one went, including the Apennine Peninsula. The mythology of Rome – and Greece, by extension – included gods to suit every interest under the sun. Hermes Kriophoros (“Ram-bearer”) was a figure that commemorated a sacrificial event in Greek mythology. It didn’t have anything to do with shepherding, but the pose of the image, especially in Roman copies, is eerily familiar to our modern eyes.

While the disparate Judaic and mythological figures had no influence on the Christian idea of The Good Shepherd, their similar images alone retained a high degree of familiarity, which can be influence enough.

Perhaps the biggest argument in favor of outside influence is the fact that the earliest images of The Good Shepherd do not show a bearded shepherd. They are not renderings of Jesus. The figure is always a young shepherd – not a young carpenter. They rarely sport halos. In fact, the only indication that these are symbols of Christ Jesus is the context of their location. It would be many years later that a tri-radiant nimbus was added to images of The Good Shepherd, indicating that He is a Person of the Holy Trinity.

Raising Cain

"Cain" Fernand Cormon. 1880. (Musée d'Orsay, Paris)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

The footnote in my study bible simply says "...the mark was never explained and is not important." It may be true that no explanation was ever given, but removing its importance seems an overstep.

I am referring, of course, to the mark placed on Cain.

The account of Cain and Abel overflows with tragedy. It contains so much horror of the Fall that some details appear trivial by comparison, and therefore are relegated to a position of less importance. Such is the case with the mark on Cain, given so that others would not dare kill him. God‘s mark of warning has, however, inspired some interesting theories.

The earliest recorded opinions are from Jewish scholars, who offer little consensus. One suggested that a single Hebrew character from the tetragrammaton – the four letters forming the Name of God – was indelibly placed on Cain’s forehead. Another taught it was indeed a Hebrew character on either Cain’s head or arm, but did not indicate which of the 22 it was. Yet another scholar boldly claimed it was the Hebrew letter “Waw.” Of course, an even earlier Jewish scholar went on his own tangent and explained that Cain grew a single horn out of his forehead. As if that would keep others from adding a trophy to their man-caves.

The Middle Ages produced suggestions of a different kind, which eventually morphed into some rather unsavory ideas. Different scenarios emerged suggesting God made Cain’s face black – one theory included a pummeling with hail – although Cain was not racially changed. That little detail, it seems, was simply too tempting.

Eventually, different groups caved into the notion that Cain’s sin of murder lead to the creation of a new race, and the ensuing genie has refused to go back into the bottle. Some Protestant groups latched onto the idea. Southern Baptists, in particular, used it as an argument for slavery leading up to the Civil War. Not wanting to miss the square-wheeled bandwagon, Latter Day Saints joined in. They might have raised an eyebrow or two when they claimed Native Americans were of Israelite ancestry, but they didn’t look so odd with the claim that all blacks descended from Cain. But much more than simple color, it was believed they also inherited Cain’s curse. Some stigmas are indeed hard to erase.

Others within the Church suggest the mark was a cross, although such a prophetic sign would mean little, if anything, to the first inhabitants who, according to Cain’s lament, had notion enough to kill Cain for the murder. One must wonder, however, what singular, horrifying tattoo would scream “Don’t even touch me.” Perhaps interwoven Seraphim with flaming swords. Perhaps even a glowing reflection of the face of God. Doubtless such a sight would not be welcomed by people reeling from the Fall and feeling too keenly the effects of sin. Such shunning would cause Cain to be a wanderer without a home for the rest of his sojourn on earth.

On the other side of Paradise we will someday understand the importance of Cain’s mark, but for now ignorance will have to suffice. Even in the tragedy of Cain and Abel, however, there seems a thread of prophecy that points to the Savior and His love for us. In Holy Baptism we have been indelibly marked by Christ Jesus, not as protection against mortal danger but as a promise of immortality. We are His. We sojourn this side of Eternity as foreigners and strangers, but are given a foretaste of our heavenly home and its banquet in the Lord's Supper. We shun the world and its brokenness, hold fast to the Word, and look beyond the grave to our true home, where God Himself has marked our names in the palm of His hand.

What makes your Christmas?

"Madonna and Child" Edward Riojas.
1998. (Collection of the artist)
Copyright © Edward Riojas

Copyright © Edward Riojas

A caller informed the radio DJ, “It isn’t Christmas unless I make banket.”

That was one reaction when a local [Christian] radio station fielded the question, “What one thing ‘makes’ your Christmas?,” and there followed all manner of warm and fuzzy traditions that, apparently, make the season bright. It was rather sad that most callers danced around the obvious. Whether we care to admit it, however, most of us have a similar list of ingredients. Things like “family,” “music,” and “presents” usually find their way into the recipe. Personally, I could throttle all those who prayed so earnestly for a “white Christmas.”

While I can be as sentimental as the next guy, it’s irritating that we put strings on Christmas. It’s aggravating that we feel the need to feed our emotions, and work ourselves up to some euphoric plateau we think worthy of the Holy Day. Christmas, however, comes whether we feel it or not. Christmas is not a state of mind. Most of the time, Christmas is definitely not in our hearts. Claiming that Christmas is in our hearts belies the reality of Jesus’ birth, and is contrary to Holy Scripture.

“He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, yet the world did not know Him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive Him.” –  John 1:10-11

The simple fact that there was no room for them should give a clue to how much of the Christ was in the hearts of those so near to the first Christmas. Add to that a cranky, self-absorbed ruler who took offense when another king was born, and it’s obvious that many people didn’t want Him. At all.

But still He came.

Even later, when the ruler of the universe revealed His own identity, few wanted Him. Most were not getting warm and fuzzy inside. Jesus was not wanted – not THIS Jesus, anyway. Oh, sure, crowds fed their emotions, and worked themselves up to a plateau of hatred and disgust. They had so much Christmas in their hearts that they nailed Jesus to a tree. The all-knowing God knew this would happen.

And still He came.

That Christ Jesus, knowing beforehand what He must go through to save us; that He, the ruler of the cosmos and only God, descended from His royal throne for the sake of undeserving man, shows the everlasting, perfect love of our dear Lord.

It doesn’t really matter if there is banket or snow or even family for Christmas. It doesn’t matter if your tree is real or fake or if there aren’t any presents under it. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have a tree at all. It doesn’t matter if you feel alone or if you feel like trash. Christ came for you. Christ came for me. That, in essence, is what makes Christmas.

A Hymn for Christmas

"Madonna and Child" Edward Riojas. 2017.
(Copyright © Edward Riojas.
Neither text nor image may be reproduced.) 

Copyright © Edward Riojas

O Boundless Lord of Heaven

O boundless Lord of heaven,
Who tented far below
The canopy of angels
That man Thy Grace might know,

Creation Thou didst measure – 
A span of Thine own hand.
The seas, Thou didst create them,
And richly blessed the land.

Where dost Thy presence faileth?
Where dost Thy train not go?
What space might e’er contain Thee,
That we, our Lord, might know?

Thine never-ending glory
Thou settest near aside;
The Swaddled for the Boundless,
Among us to abide.

The snare wast set for Satan,
Who plagues our fallen race,
To tempt the Tempter’s blood-lust
And thereby sin efface.

O ever-gracious Christ-Child,
To Thee we give our praise;
To Father and The Spirit,
Our gladsome voices raise! Amen.

 – © EJR

Towering Consequence

"The Tower of Siloam." Edward Riojas
(Year C, Lent 3, Ecclesiastical Art CD)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Death and destruction. If it bleeds, it leads. The Jerusalem events made huge headlines in Jesus’ day, but Scripture spares us the particulars.

Luke 13 records a sensational event that is mashed together with another equally-disturbing news item — both brought up while Jesus was preaching to crowds on topics of interpreting the time and settling accounts with accusers.

Being eager to add a bit of input to Christ’s sermon, a few in the crowd brought up the rather horrific account of Pilate adding martyr’s blood to Jewish sacrificial blood. Apparently, the crowd’s attentiveness was waning. Apparently, they wanted to hear about something more juicy than interpreting the time.

It is human nature. No one but fallen man so richly relishes wallowing in the sins and foibles and misfortunes of his fellows. We have this morbid attraction to brokenness. In our misguided quest to fix things, we also love to place fault where we think it belongs.

Thus, Jesus brings up another event that surely was a topic of their discussion: The collapse of the tower of Siloam. One must be living under a rock to not feel a twinge of recollection from 9/11. Christ then asked a rhetorical question that was a bigger news flash for His audience: “Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them; do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who live in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.”

While our fallen state and the compounding of our sins certainly doesn't help our brokenness this side of Paradise, the tragedies of this life are not the direct result of specific sins. In some corners of Christendom, however, this is news, indeed. It may be because the Lord did indeed bring punishment upon specific sins of the Israelites. However, your unemployment and your flat tire and your failing grade and your diabetes and your chemotherapy have little, if anything, to do with some heinous sin. Those of you who beg to differ probably have a bigger argument with the Lord.

If the truth be told; if Divine punishment was doled out with such ferocity for our sin, then more women would give birth to ashes. We are that inbred with sin.

The rude question of “What sin did you commit to merit this?” is poorly aimed. A much better question is: “What did I do to merit Christ’s righteousness; what did I do to merit salvation?” In both cases, the answer is the same: Nothing.