The Use of Oraria for Altar Servers in the Orthodox Church

Historically, the orarion is one of three garments that are “garments of office’, meaning they serve as the principal badge or symbol of the ecclesiastical order of the person wearing them.  These three garments are the omophorion worn by the bishop, the epitrachelion worn by the priest, and the orarion worn by the deacon.  In recent history, in some local Orthodox jurisdictions, altar servers have begun to wear the orarion.  However, this is not necessarily a beneficial practice for a variety of reasons and so there is an increase in the number of churches returning to the historical practice of having their altar servers wear robes without oraria.  

The first reason is theological:  when an altar server wears an orarion, it misrepresents his status.  Oraria are worn by deacons and as such proclaim their status of ordination (subdeacons also wear oraria, but only after they have been blessed to the subdiaconate and even then, they wear their orarion in a different fashion than a deacon so that it is easy to distinguish them from deacons).  Often, in modern practice, boys will be  “tonsured’ or “blessed’ to wear the orarion, but this is not something that would have been done historically and many feel that it is unwise to place this life-long spiritual responsibility on a child too young to bear this kind of commitment.  Serving in the Altar during Liturgy is its own blessing.

The second reason is practical:  Oraria are long and rather unwieldy to wear.  We have all seen the rather comical thin-shouldered little boy trying for dear life to keep his orarion in place during Liturgy.  It slips off, he gets it back in place only to have it slip off again.  Ultimately, this presents a distraction from the Liturgy.  If the altar server wears only the robe, he is free to serve without the encumbrance of the orarion.

The third reason is financial:  High-quality orarion are very expensive to produce.  They require a specialty canvas interfacing, are fully lined, and use almost as much galloon (trim) as an entire robe.  For an order of 10 robes, the price of the oraria alone can exceed $1000.  

Lastly, it is helpful to consider historical practice when deciding whether or not to use oraria.  In monasteries on Mt. Athos, even on the greatest feastdays, there are just one or two monks who act as altar servers and they are usually vested simply in their rassa (outer cassocks).  This allows them to move quietly and discreetly throughout the Liturgy, performing their tasks in an almost invisible manner.

So the next time you see an altar server in your parish wearing a robe without an orarion, know that your parish is returning to an older, more historical, Orthodox practice.

A Trip to the Attic

When I was a child, I adored a series of mystery books about Nancy Drew, the fearless darling of the kinderset mystery genre.  She was always exploring basements and attics and other interesting areas in old, deserted houses.  After she found a clock with a secret message in one of the aforementioned attics, I longed for an attic of my own to search and make fantastic discoveries.  But, alas, ours was a newer house and had no attic.  Through the years, whenever I read of someone going through an old attic and finding a treasure, I had a wistful desire to live in a old house.

Now I live in an old house and I have not one, but two attics, and they're not very exciting—just full of Christmas decorations, paperwork, and hand-me-downs.  But this last week I had the opportunity to visit the Attic of all Attics, the “Icons from Sinai’ exhibit at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles.  

The monastery of St. Catherine of Sinai is truly the Orthodox world's “attic’, housing 3300 manuscripts and countless icons, some dating back as far as the fourth century.  Their collection shows a timeline of Orthodox iconography and manuscript craft that is unparalleled in the world.  The low relative humidity of the desert (approx. 30%) offers a prime preservation environment and many of these works are still  vibrant and beautiful when their contemporaries, stored in less hospitable environments, have turned to dust.  In a wonderful convergence, the Getty Museum, the best-endowed museum in the world, sent  museum conservators to Sinai, where they built highly-specialized travel containers for each piece, performed exhaustive documentation, and provided all of the necessary support to bring this piece of Sinai to the US.  I met a priest at the exhibit who had traveled from Washington, DC to view the exhibit.  My companion remarked on the how far he had come and he responded, “It's closer than St. Catherine's!’ and this put into words what all of us felt—that we were on a pilgrimage amid the hustle and bustle and traffic and noise of Los Angeles.

Stepping into the exhibit was a familiar feeling—it felt like stepping into church.  The icons gazed at us from the walls, well displayed with plenty of space between each icon so you could fully view and appreciate each saint's unique presentation.  One of the first icons I came to was a tender icon of the Theotokos holding the Christ Child, a gentle and loving expression on her classically-modeled face.  The color was lovely and muted and only as I leaned in closer did I realize that the entire icon was made of tiny mosaic tiles, the largest tiles being about one sixteenth of an inch.  The effect of the infintesimal tiles pulling you in to see the icon was one of the more profound visual experiences I have ever encountered.  I stood in awe of the creator and the craft and how seamlessly the icon drew one into contemplation of the Creator of all.  Next, I moved onto a remarkable icon of St. Michael the Archangel and was struck with the power and force of the icon.  In another icon of the Annunciation (remarkable in that an extremely faint image of the Christ Child in the womb is delicately inscribed on the Virgin's robes and can only be seen if you are at the right angle and know where to look), I was captivated by the poignant expressions of the main figures—the tender and vulnerable openness of the Panagia and the outright sorrow of Archangel Gabriel.  It had never occurred to me what the Annuncation might look like from the Archangel's point of view, but here in this icon, a glance gave me insight.

Again and again as I looked at the icons, I was compelled by the very classical nature of the faces and their expressions.  I was frequently reminded of ancient Greek vases and classical sculpture, but compelled by something deeper and truer, something beautiful not only to my physical eyes, but my spiritual eyes as well.  The true artistry in the icons was that the emotion displayed in the faces was of a very theological nature, intensely human, intensely divine, yet not at all cloying or sentimental.  It was truly incarnational and I found myself blessing the saints who fought against Iconoclasm.  I came to the icon of St. Theodosia towards the end of my tour of the first room and seeing her austere and captivating face (it's the same icon that has been on all of the promotional material for the exhibit), I felt tears rise to my eyes.  Here, all around her, was her legacy, the icons she so bravely died to preserve.  And here were all of us, people of every class and nationality blessed by viewing these examples of “practical’ theology, of our faith put into action.  Bishop Kallistos Ware says, “Christians are true materialists because they see in material things the spiritual destiny of those things’.  Walking through the Getty, viewing these amazing images, I was witnessing this destiny played out over a thousand years.  

May the next thousand years be as productive and fruitful at the monastery of St. Catherine.

Why Plain is not in my Vocabulary

It happens every once in awhile:  I´m chatting with a client, trying to decide which vestment fabrics might suit his needs best, when he says it, “I´m a plain kind of guy, I don´t need anything fancy…’

This remark flummoxes me as I debate how to respond without offense.  Because, frankly, plain is just not in my vocabulary.  I use words like “champagne’ or “warm, turquoise-y blue’ or “pseudo-Athonite style’.   “Stunningly beautiful’ and “fabulous’ pepper both my conversations and my correspondence.  I´ve had my clients laugh often enough on the phone to know that my approach to conversing about vestments is a little intense.  But, despite that, I´ve never felt comfortable giving my true opinion when the word “plain’ enters the conversation.

So, here´s what I really want to say to you when you call and ask for something “plain’:

It´s not about you!  Your personality, sense of style (or lack thereof), your upbringing, your theological training, in fact, everything about you has nothing to do with your vestments.  The purpose and goal of Orthodox vestments are to bring the glory of the Kingdom of Heaven to our churches, our people, and our souls.  It may be a small, slight glimmer, but vestments should remind us of the Kingdom of Heaven, not of a bargain-basement, department store find.  They should not be plain or undecorated.  Our aesthetic tradition is longstanding and varied and I can assure you that it is not plain.  Our vestments are covered with crosses, flowers, grapevines, sheaves of wheat, even elephants (yes, there is a late-Byzantine sakkos made of a brocade designed with elephants).  Our bright fabrics and metallic trims often “clash’ by Western standards and our colors come close to electric—bright greens, amber golds, apple reds, cobalt blues, blood-red burgundies.  Designs can be quite “feminine’—large floral designs that some of my clients refer to as “couch fabric’ brocades.  All in all, we´re not shy when it comes to our liturgical garments.  

Often, “plain’ is associated with “monastic’.  This could be no farther from the truth in our vestment tradition.  I recently acquired a book, Miracle on the Mountain, which has wonderful photos of Mt. Athos over a span of 25 years, many of the photos of services with the clergy fully vested.  Years ago, I had a friend and client look at a particularly floral fabric.  When I remarked on its bold pattern and colors, he slyly remarked, “Don´t worry, I´m OK with my manhood!.’  Looking at these photos of Mt. Athos, these are men very OK with their manhood.  Actually, taking things a step farther, they are not worried about their masculinity because they are too concerned with the glory of God and the glory of the Kingdom of Heaven to be worried with something so trivial in comparison.  Almost all of the vestments are remarkable for their intensity, color, vibrancy of pattern, their overall “take your breath away’ quality.  These garments are otherworldly.  They are supposed to take us away, in a small measure to draw us heavenward.  They are NOT supposed to tell us anything about the individual wearing them.  A monk may wear a tattered garment for his work about the monastery, but when he enters the katholicon (monastery church), he dons some of the finest, most intricate garments in existence in the world today.  When he opens the beautiful gates, he is beckoning us to join him in heavenly worship.  And through God´s great and bountiful mercy, which knows that we are visual creatures, this monk looks heavenly.  When he serves the Liturgy, he is a constant reminder of where we are headed on our path of salvation.

So, the next time you think you need something plain, please reconsider.  I have heard the Kingdom of Heaven called many things, but I´ve never heard it called plain.

Dangerous Vestments

A client of mine recently lost the epitrachelion from a set of embroidered vestments he had bought in Greece. He needed a replacement and gave me the epigonation so I could match the fabric and galloon. I was looking over the epigonation to make sure I had the correct lining fabric in stock when I noticed something poking out of the back. Imagine my surprise when I beheld a pin that had been left inside the epigonation during the sewing process and had slowly worked its way out! “Wow,” I thought to myself, “not only are Greek-made vestments notoriously difficult to get a proper fit, they are actually dangerous!”

It got me thinking about how dangerous this work is—when I applied for an insurance policy a few years ago, one of the items my agent was most concerned about was one of my clients tripping on their vestments, breaking their necks and suing me. This “danger” had honestly never occurred to me. His next concern was that the insurance rates for seamstresses were higher due to the likelihood of injury.

Now I’ve been quite blessed in that I have sustained very few injuries in my sewing work, the worst being sewing over my finger and getting it stuck in the industrial sewing machine. That was pretty scary, but the needle didn’t hit the bone and I didn’t have to get a tetanus shot, so all’s well that ends well. But, what with that and the insurance agent and the pin, I’m starting to feel that I have quite the exciting and dangerous lifestyle!

If you’ve ever seen the mock-spy thriller, “The Tailor of Panama”, then you’ll remember the glorious (at least in my mind!) opening with the tailor scoping out his terrain of wool, deftly wielding his scissors and then brilliantly making his cuts while action movie music plays. He makes sewing look exciting, intriguing, and downright thrilling. Quite a far cry from our grandmothers placidly threading their quilting needles under the soft glow of a candle.

So the next time you’re tempted to think of we seamstresses as boring, staid, or commonplace, think again. We’re on the front lines, fighting steam burns, UXP (Unextracted Pins), and wielding scissors all to bring you a better garment. As the old World War II slogan says, “Beauty is Duty!”. We’re a danger-loving lot and you just never know what we might do!

My travels to Crete

In early October 2005, I had the opportunity to spend two weeks in Greece.  I spent one week in Crete doing textile conservation work at the Gonia monastery through a workshop offered by International Academic Charities in conjunction with the Greek Ministry of Culture.  The second week I traveled to Thessaloniki to meet with suppliers and do a little sightseeing.  It was a marvelous trip and very informative.  Below is a little more detail about my trip to Crete.

Anybody who knows me knows that I am an extreme homebody.  My preferred environment is my workshop and the biggest hurdle to my attending Vespers on Saturday night is that I have to walk out the front door.  At the last Antiochian Convention, my husband remarked that I should hang over my display booth a sign that read "For your convenience, I am not being an agoraphobic this week".  Add all of this to someone who abhors waiting and I don't exactly make the cover of Fodor's "Ten Best Travelers" issue.  

 But in the Spring of 2005 I learned of a class offered by International Academic Charities, a museum conservation education organization, titled "Conservation and Care of Ecclesiastical Textiles".  A quick reading of the class details about working on vestments in a monastery on the island of Crete and I knew I was going to be leaving my workroom and waiting in lines and loving it!  There is scant information available on vestments and the opportunity to study old vestments firsthand was too great a chance to pass up.  So I booked my flight and started packing (yes, I do pack that far in advance-it's an obsessive organizational thing).  Five months and two suitcases later, I stepped on board a plane early on the morning of October 1st and prepared for take off.

After flying for over 24 hours and going ahead in time ten hours, I reached Chania, one of the two major cities on Crete.  The airport was tiny and the plane practically landed at the doorway.  In what I was to learn is typical Greek fashion, we were not allowed to walk the 100 yards to the airport steps, but rather we had to wait 15 minutes for the bus that would ferry us directly to the steps.  My taxi driver quickly ushered me to a gleaming black Mercedes and we proceeded to zoom (and in Greece, taxi drivers don't drive, they zoom) into the small village of Kolimbari.  The weather was beautiful and I was surprised to find that the sky really was as blue as it looked in pictures.  I dropped off my luggage at the resort hotel that had been recommended and went to find the monastery.  I walked through the village, passing old men sipping coffee at the café and three gigantic squid hanging on a clothesline to dry and continued up the hill to the lovely Gonia Monastery, which overlooks the Aegean Sea from a rocky bluff.  I entered through the massive wooden gates and found myself in a beautiful courtyard.  There were grapevines draped verdantly over wooden arches, citron trees growing in containers and a small dog with three legs lounging on the warm stones.  The katholicon (monastery church) was directly ahead and the soft sound of chanting was deeply thrilling.  I had managed to arrive just in time for Vespers.  It was a curious experience to enter a church that was half a world away from home and feel immediately and completely at home.  Towards the end of Vespers I wandered to a side chapel to venerate the icons and noticed an older woman praying.  After a few minutes she approached me and started speaking English.  I was a little taken aback, but quickly learned that Presvytera Eleni and her husband were from Canada and were visiting her husband's family in Kolimbari.  She adopted me on the spot and proceeded to interrogate me about where I was staying, for how long, and what was I paying.  She was horrified to hear what the resort hotel was charging and marched me right off to her friend, Erasmia, who owned a small hotel just at edge of the village.  I was rather rummy at this point in the proceedings due to the jet lag, but after a hospitable glass of orange juice and much rapid Greek between Pres. Eleni and Erasmia, it was settled that I would have a room and breakfast for the week for a mere 20 euros a night (about $25).  I was delighted as the room was clean and neat and it was much closer to the monastery.  And while the morning breakfast of exceptional Cretan yogurt and honey was to forever vitiate my enjoyment of any lesser yogurt, the do-it-yourself water tank feature of the bathroom shower proved to make me thankful for on-demand hot water in a deep and abiding way.

On Monday morning, I attended my first day of class, which was mostly lectures and information about conserving the vestments.  Since all of the class participants but myself worked in some field of conservation, there was emphasis on how to correctly handle old garments, proper cleaning and care of such garments, and setting up new, proper storage spaces within monasteries.  Our work for the week included setting up a database of information gleaned from the pieces we conserved so we were instructed in the computer program.  After the morning lectures, we had a lovely coffee break in the monastery's reception room which included myriad plates of sweets and pastries along with very strong coffee.  After more lectures, we then broke for lunch.  And what a lunch break-four hours long!  I wandered through the village enjoying the view of the Aegean and then got some much-needed sleep.  We returned for the final lecture, which wrapped up in the early evening.  Most of the participants headed off for coffee since "dinner" was at least four hours away.  (I was rather intrigued by the Greek meal times and during the week had one of my fellow students, Effi, explain it for me:  Breakfast is around 8am when you first get up and very simple-some yogurt or an egg.  Coffee break is at 10:30am and includes lots of pastries.  Effi would never dream of eating lunch before 3pm--she emphasized that she preferred 4pm--and dinner was around 10-11pm.)   The first couple of days the other students kept wondering where I was heading to so early in the evening-surely not to dinner!  

Tuesday morning saw us opening up the storage room.  It was such a delight to see an entire room filled with antique vestments that I could barely contain my enthusiasm.  The small, low-ceilinged, stone room contained wooden storage cupboards holding hangers full of sakkoi, phelonia, and sticharia in brilliant, well-worn brocades, all of it rather higgledy-piggledy with no apparent order.  Some of the brocades were obviously extremely old and very good quality to have stood this test of time while others were fairly new and familiar patterns.  I was still dumb with amazement at this glowing beauty when I noticed the piles of omophoria and epigonatia at the bottoms of the cupboards.  I knew these would contain metal-thread embroideries that I had only seen in books and at this point my enthusiasm knew no bounds.  The other students kept teasing me about my very apparent excitement.   

My work partner, Konstantinos, and I were instructed to pick a piece and bring it to the temporary conservation room set up in the monastery's library.  Konstantinos is pursuing his textile conservation degree in England and has as deep a love for textiles as I, so we were both excited to choose a phelonion that had a little slip of paper pinned to it with a priest's name and the dates "1670-1690" written in a spidery script.  The phelonion had a light gold background with small roses woven into the fabric in pinks, reds, and greens.  It was quite tattered and there were large tears in the front as well as patches of a different brocade that had been sewn in at a later date.  But the lines and cut of the phelonion were almost identical to the phelonia that I make every week in my workshop and I felt humbled and fascinated to be part of such an unbroken chain of tradition.  We worked on the piece for a several hours, documenting the fiber content, condition of the garment, repairs that had been made, as well as sketching the item for the database.

Just before we broke for lunch on Tuesday, the monks started furiously ringing the bells.  I had noticed all of the bell pulls since they were attached to large, colorful nylon ropes more worthy of a barge than a monastery church.  We were all curious when we heard the cacophony, but did not find it's reason until we returned from the lunch break and the monks informed us that one of their brotherhood had been elected as the new Metropolitan and we were invited to the celebratory feast that evening.  

I entered the courtyard of the monastery that night, curious and excited to be part of such a local feast.  What met my eyes was straight out of "The Godfather"-rows of wooden trestle tables laid out with plate after plate of mezza (appetizers) and bottles of wine stoppered with paper towels.  Where I had spent the last two days with just a handful of people, there were now at over a hundred villagers, all dressed up and crowding into the katholicon.  Children ran everywhere and ancient "yia-yias" (grandmothers) chatted with their neighbors.  Every light was on in the church and the effect was amazing-brilliant, blazing with light in the middle of the soft blue evening.  After the service, there was a reception line to greet the Metropolitan-elect.  When I came to kiss his hand and give my "Axios!" I added, "I am from America".  He looked at me knowingly and said "Presvytera Ameriki!".  My classmates and I spent the evening chatting and eating, finally leaving at an early, yet respectful 11pm.

Wednesday saw us back at work, measuring, documenting, preparing.  I was mostly over my jet lag by this point and I took every available afternoon and evening to explore Kolimbari as I was finding the culture and atmosphere of Crete almost as interesting as the textiles I was working with.  I took a walk through the village one afternoon and enjoyed viewing the various domestic scenes-a workman pushing a wheelbarrow, an old woman watering her terrace garden.  Seeing the life in Kolimbari presented a striking contrast to my life in America.  These people lived in an ancient land where they counted the time by centuries, not decades.  There seemed to be a certain antiquity to how they went about their everyday lives.  During the walk, I saw a woman my age filling a tub and washing clothes.  Except for her modern dress, the tub being plastic, and the modern plumbing, the scene could be from ten years ago, or a thousand.  It was timeless and yet utterly human.  It seemed an odd juxtaposition, but as I considered it, I found in it a type of "theosis"-a way to be human and in communion with the timeless God.  I was intensely struck by how our overly scheduled, time-obsessed American life is yet another way to distance ourselves from God.

Thursday and Friday turned out to be quite fascinating as well.  The entire class took a trip to visit the monastery of Accadia about one and a half hours away where much renovation is being done.  The head conservator gave us a personal tour and my greatest delight was finding several excellent books on ecclesiastical embroidery in the monastery's bookstore.  After Accadia, we traveled to the Venetian port city of Rethymno where we were given access to the conservation laboratories.  There were several icons being restored and we were shown an amazing, heavily-embroidered epitaphios that had been restored about a year before.  Our instructor allowed us several hours in Rethymno on our own and I thoroughly enjoyed wandering the little alleys lined with shops.  Friday we finished up the workshop at the Gonia and then had the entire afternoon and evening free.  I was able to get a ride into Chania, another Venetian harbor city, with some classmates and had a lovely afternoon sipping coffee just feet away from the lapping water.  

By the end of the week, I was mentally reviewing my time in Crete, and I was struck continually by the other students' apparent disregard and lack of appreciation of the amazing riches of the antiquities in Greece.  One of the students was telling me of her conservation laboratory where there are whole storerooms of items from the 1920's that have not been conserved because there just are not enough resources.  It didn't seem particularly distressing to her, just part of the job.  As my amazement and appreciation of the riches of the Gonia grew, I felt increasingly that I was from a "new" country.  My fellow classmates had a certain jaded attitude and came to enjoy teasing me for my unbridled enthusiasm.  I felt a bit like the country bumpkin visiting the big city, which struck me as fairly comical given the fact that my hotel room didn't even have hot water on demand; but in the sense of history, it was true. Crete was thousands of years old while my home city was a forest until little more than a hundred years ago.  As for an ancient and unified culture, well, I was not a part of one.  I came to think of Greece as an "old" country and America as a "new" country.  At first, I found myself denigrating my life in America with its fast pace and infatuation with technology, but as time went on, I saw that the "newness" of America is what allowed me to become Orthodox.  Only in a country with such an influx of cultures and heterogeneity of attitudes, could I "choose" to embrace such an ancient faith.  I came to appreciate my American "naivete" and enthusiasm, traits which were seen as slightly foolish by Greek standards.  I thought of the remnants of the pioneer spirit that still exist in my neck of the woods and I was grateful.  Grateful to be American in a way I never had been before.  And while I've never been the overtly patriotic sort, I was truly, deeply happy when the plane landed in New York a few days later and I was on American soil, my soil, once again.  My travels had taken me another country, and another time through my study of textiles, but had brought me full circle.  It was with a full and happy heart that I got back to work, entering my place in the chain of tradition-a practioner of an ancient craft in a new and promising land.

These are a few of my favorite fabrics…

I work with hundreds of yards of fabric every year, but I have some that I keep coming back to for a variety of reasons.  All of these fabrics I like better the longer I work with them.  So here's the Top Ten:

#1 Byzantine gold/gold/red real metal
        This is one stunner of a fabric.  It has a deep amber-gold background that is shot through with real metal threads and red accenting.  It does not have an overt liturgical motif, but a vertical design that looks very ancient.  It really comes alive with gold/burgundy galloon and a cherry satin lining to draw out the red accenting and provide depth to the fabric.  Truly a glorious fabric!

#2 New Gregory gold/white/red with rayon galloon
        Some people see this and go "Eeuw-pink vestments?" because the white/gold/red brocade does have a slight pink cast.  But I find the three-color fabric extremely beautiful and simple.  From a distance it has a strong geometric patterning that looks straight out of an icon.  And while I have tried every metallic galloon available on it, I like it best with the simple rayon galloon.  My husband has a set of this and it's one of his two favorites (the other favorite is a lightweight, embroidered set).  He wears it frequently, so I have had quite a lot of time to study it during Liturgy and I never cease to be impressed by its beauty.  It is also a very sturdy fabric and wears well over time, making it an excellent choice for every Sunday wear.

#3 Thessaloniki
        This embroidered fabric from Greece was the first three-color embroidery I saw and it still astounds me.  An intricate design with gold, green, and red, it was designed for the clergy of Thessaloniki, hence the name.

#4 Silver roses and crosses design
        This is an oft-overlooked fabric when clients are considering embroidered vestments because clergy here in the States often have an aversion to liturgical fabrics with flowers.  However, modern liturgical fabrics have their origins in brocades, which usually featured highly ornamented flower designs.  The silver and gold design is particularly beautiful on a deep blue background, but it also makes an excellent Pascha set when embroidered on a bright white background.

#5 The hand-embroidered fabric from Greece
        My supplier in Thessaloniki sent this to me to demonstrate the quality of hand-embroidery that he can produce (he has a hard time understanding that there isn't much of a market for $3000 vestments here in America).  I have been a student of embroidery, including gold-work embroidery, for a number of years now and I thought the art was largely dead.  When I spread the full 10' by 10' panel on my cutting table I started to cry, overwhelmed by its beauty.  I felt quite silly, but I had only ever seen something this exquisite in a museum case and was humbled to have it sitting right in front of me.  It is one of the dreams of my life (that sounds very melodramatic, but it is true) to make this into vestments that will truly bring an image of the Kingdom of Heaven to earth.

#6 St. Nicholas real metal brocade
        Due to the price (about $1400/set), St. Nicholas is definitely not one of my top selling fabrics, but it is one of the best real metal brocades on the market.  The design is large and ornate, while still being very ancient looking.  As with most real metal brocades, the gold threads have a slight platinum cast, which gives the fabric an understated, elegant look.

#7 Small Crowns black/gold/red
        I have only sewn one set of this fabric, but it stands out as one of the most beautiful sets of the hundreds I have sewn over the years.  The background is black, with a smaller "pineapple" design in gold and red.  It would be appropriate for a "dark" set, especially appropriate for Holy Week, and could even be considered a "red" set if lined with red satin and finished with a gold/red galloon.  I would love to revive the tradition of using black vestments during Holy Week and this fabric strikes me as a great place to begin.

#8 Palmette design
        This is one of the newer, "border-style" embroidered fabrics from Greece.  In addition to the all-over embroidery, the design is made larger and embroidered as a border around the entire phelonion and the embroidery is so concentrated on the epitrachelion that I have trouble fitting the galloon on.  The fabric has to be hand-turned on the embroidery machines to achieve this affect so the price is higher, but if you are looking for something really special, this is the fabric to choose.  When I went to Divine Liturgy at St. Demetrios in Thessaloniki, several of the clergy were wearing vestments made of this type of material.  There are newer, border-styles coming out that are less lavishly embroidered, and therefore less expensive, so if this style intrigues you, please inquire about additional border-style designs.

#9 Blue tropical-weight wool
        Well, the humble wool must join its glitzier sisters!  I cut hundreds of yards of wool each year, and still love it's marvelous qualities: stain-resistant, breathable, and drapes beautifully.  I am quite partial to blue anterris, especially when finished in the traditional manner with black topstitching and black braid.  The contrast is subtle and very elegant.

#10 Blue Venetian rayon brocade
        This fabric is largely overlooked because most guys think it's too floral (read "girly").  However, when made up, it is quite beautiful with the color being a unique shade of steel blue, which is a nice contrast to the bright multi-colored flowers.  When I was in Crete, I saw many old vestments (17th to 19th century) that were made of this sort of floral brocade.  This is one of those fabrics that, when I lay it out on the table to cut, I stand back for a few minutes and just admire it.

The Power of the Cassock

Occasionally, I am asked my opinion on clerical dress in America and if I think it should be changed.  This debate seems rather charged, with everyone having a decided opinion.  I think it would be beneficial if both "sides" understood where the other is coming from.

So let me introduce the "Sides":

On side #1 is the Daily Cassock Wearer:  This is the priest who always and only wears the cassock.  He wears it to serve, to visit parishioners (either in home or hospital), and he occasionally wears it to the grocery store if he needs to pick up milk on the way home from the hospital.  I remember one Sunday evening in seminary where one of the married student apartment building's extremely loud fire alarms went off at 11pm, rousing all the families.  Everyone came stumbling out of the apartments in various attire-jeans, robes, etc., except for our visiting priest from Greece who came out fully attired in cassock.  For him, his cassock was like his undershirt and being seen in public without it would have been like being seen in public naked.  

On side #2 is the Clergy Shirt Wearer:  This is the priest who faithfully wears the Roman Catholic-style clergy shirt (with the white tab showing at the collar) along with suit coat anytime he is performing his clerical duties as well as to the grocery store if he needs eggs on the way home from the hospital.

Now that we've got the "sides" clear, let's go back a little bit in time:

When Orthodoxy was becoming well-established in America, especially during the 1950s and 1960s, many priests came from Orthodox lands and settled in America.  In their home countries, priests wore the cassock and did not cut their hair or beard.  This was the "uniform" of Orthodox clergy and anyone who saw someone thus attired immediately understood who he was.  No one was asking, "Is that the mailman or the butcher?"  The cassock commanded respect.

But when these same priests came to America, there was no cultural acceptance of long hair, long beards, or men wearing "dresses".  It was seen as immigrant, weird, and rather unkempt.  This in the 1950s and 60s when men wore suits to the office and "casual day" was unheard of.  By American standards, clergymen were expected to dress like businessman, well-attired in a respectful suit.  Suddenly, the cassock not only did not command respect, it invited ridicule and suspicion.

So many of the bishops of the day required that their clergy adapt and wear the clergy shirt along with suit coat.  This was done for the respect and dignity of the Church.  The bishops didn't suddenly think that Orthodox attire needed "updating" and, "Boy, wouldn't a new shirt be spiffy?!".  Rather, they wanted this new country to respect the Orthodox Church.  They did not want Americans thinking of Orthodox as hippies or druggies.  

Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but I think the bishops were right to be concerned about the dignity of the Church.  This should always be part of the consideration in The Great Cassock Debate.  However, I think a new era is dawning in cassock wear and I am very glad to see it, not as an ecclesiastical tailor (although I really like making cassocks), but as an Orthodox Christian.  America is a very different place now in the 21st century than in the 1960s with many more cultures and influences in our current society.  Most Americans are fairly open-minded when they see something unfamiliar and are mostly curious.  Now, I have been told, when a priest is out and about between hospital rounds in his cassock, he doesn't get suspicious looks, but is usually asked what type of minister he is.  This is a great opportunity for evangelism.  The cassock now opens a door rather than slamming it shut as in previous decades.  I think we are entering a time when the Church can reclaim the cassock as our traditional clerical "uniform" without fear of harming the dignity of the Church.  

I was recently in Greece with my husband, who in addition to wearing his cassock, had on his kalimafchion (Greek priest's hat).  After a couple of days of being deferred to in stores, having his hand kissed by complete strangers, and getting let into obviously "off limits" historical sites, we started jokingly referring to "The Power of the Hat"-it seemed we could go just about anywhere as long as he had the hat on.  I would encourage clergy in America to start embracing "The Power of the Cassock" to further the Church.   What a great day it will be when anyone in America can look at a priest attired in a cassock and know that he is Orthodox.

The Tools of the Trade

My life as an ecclesiastical tailor is filled with tools of all sorts.  For anyone else who's a bit of a "tool hound", here's a short synopsis of the tools I love and use on a daily basis:

Shears-I cut hundreds of yards of fabric every year and I have been using the same Gingher shears since I was a teenager.  Over the years I have added two additional pairs of the exact same model-the 8" dressmaker's shears-so I can rotate them out every couple of months for sharpening.  They cut easily and cleanly, especially through brocades and don't dull too quickly when cutting real metal brocades.  I also have lots of little pairs of "thread snips" floating around my workroom, but the only ones I really like are the little Ginghers.  

Prismacolor pencils-I think there is no finer marking pencil in the world.  These high-quality artist's pencils have soft leads, leave a strong line on the fabric and don't stretch the fabric as they mark. The three colors I use are True Blue, Cream, and Carmine Red.  Being as fussy about using high-quality tools as I am, I also gave these to my children instead of crayons when they began drawing.  They are far more satisfactory to draw and color with as they leave a nice, saturated color and are more easily controlled than crayons.

Pencil sharpener-Although this isn't really a sewing tool, I recently installed an old-fashioned, manual pencil sharpener in my basement and I simply must extol its virtues.  It never runs out of battery power and a few quick turns provide a good, sharp point.  This was definitely one of those "Why didn't I think of this sooner?" moments after years of battery-operated sharpeners that seemed to run down after a few days.  It is also just plain satisfying to operate.

Needles-I like the John James brand for embroidery and hand-sewing.  I've tried many other brands, but have never found any I like so well.  

Thimbles-I love thimbles and simply cannot work without them.  I learned to use a thimble when I took a hand-quilting class years ago and now am unable to perform the smallest hand-sewing task without one.  I prefer the concave-top type where the top is slightly "dented" so the needle doesn't slip when I'm applying pressure.  Thimbles do take a little getting used to, but give so much more leverage when sewing-especially through layers of brocades, interfacings, and linings.

Chopsticks-this definitely falls into the category of necessity being the mother of invention.  Chopsticks are great for turning things inside out (like the double-sided satin ileton) because they have a "broad" and a "sharp" end so I can use either depending on the need.  They are also excellent for putting Anterri drawstrings into their casings.

Bamboo turner-a close second behind the chopstick, this is a great all-purpose sewing tool.  Its point is a little sharper than a chopstick, so it needs to be used with care.

Loop turner-this inexpensive, mystical device looks like a long crochet hook with a little metal piece that is hinged and "closes" the loop.  You put it through a long tube of narrow fabric and grab the end of the tube with the hook-and-hinge end and then gently pull to turn something inside out.  They break easily, so I always keep a spare around.

Tailor's iron-this is the Formula 1 of seamstress tools and I feel almost like an Indy 500 driver when I operate it.  Talk about steam!  These irons have a boiler connected to the iron by a steam hose and can go for hours giving out loads of wonderful steam and they make the most impressive sound (kind of like some big important steam engine).  When I first got mine, I ironed sheets for days because it was such fun to use.  The only drawback is that I am slightly afraid of it blowing up and I'm constantly driving away from my house asking, "Did I leave the iron on?"  

Ironing board cover-I'm really picky about the kind of cover I'll put on my ironing board as I like a non-slippery surface.  I usually make my own out of high-quality quilter's cotton (two or three layers) with a drawstring around the perimeter so I can cinch it down taut.  I've got some really nifty-looking, specialty ironing board cover fabric from my tailor's supply, but I haven't gotten around to making a cover out of it yet.  

Tweezers-as far as I am concerned, I would keep the tweezers if I had to get rid of almost every other tool (except shears and thimbles).  I think a good pair of cosmetic tweezers should be mandatory for any seamstress (this kind usually costs a little more than the standard drugstore kind).  They work wonders for getting into tight spaces, pulling out old threads, or when you need to remove a seam.  And you always have them handy when someone in the house needs a sliver removed.

Seam ripper-A friend took pity on me when she sawing me using an old, dull seam ripper and gave me this very fancy Clover-brand seam ripper complete with ergonomic handle.  It's very professional-looking and makes me feel just a little better when I have to take a seam out.

Steam chalk-this isn't really a tool, but a fun little tailor's secret.  You usually have to purchase it from a tailor's supply store and it comes in little rectangular pieces.  You mark anything dark with it (wool, cotton, etc.) and when you want the mark to disappear, you just iron over it and it's gone.  I have not had good success using this on light-colored fabric as it leaves a faint mark even after steaming.

Coffee cups-I do like a good cup of coffee and I think old coffee cups are great organizers in the sewing room.  I put marking pens, chopsticks, bamboo turner, tweezers, scissors, etc. into them and keep a couple next to the sewing machines so tools are within easy view and reach.  They are not only some of the cheapest organizers out there, they brighten up the workroom (thrift stores are a great place to find these).  My favorite is a 1960s mustard yellow, pot-bellied one that looks a little like an upside-down mushroom.  Very cheery.

Stapler and old-fashioned staple puller-This might sound a little odd, but anytime you need fasten a slippery fabric to an interfacing (I do this when making cuffs, zone, or epigonatia), it is very helpful to carefully staple the fabric into place, sew a little bit to hold it, and then remove the staples with an old-fashioned staple puller (not the "gripping" type, but the kind that looks a little like a paper knife).  This is a fool-proof method for getting things to line up perfectly.

Knitting needles-This doesn't fall into the sewing tools category, but I'm an avid knitter (it keeps my hands flexible) and my absolutely, bar-none favorite needles are the Addi Turbo circular needles.  They are incredibly comfortable and fast to knit with, plus the circular design keeps the weight of the knitting in my lap so it doesn't fatigue my shoulders or wrists.  Another great knitting tool is the Clover "Chibbi" yarn needles that have a slightly bent end and come in a handy screw-top case so you never lose them.  I just love when someone designs a tool that is so exceptionally well thought-out that you can't improve upon the design.

And last, but not least-

The little wooden thread spool holder that my dad made for me.  This clever contraption consists of top and bottom circles of wood with six small pegs affixed to the bottom circle.  The top circle lifts off and I slip a thread spool onto each peg.  To put the top circle back, I simply line up the top circle's wood grain perpendicular to the bottom circle's wood grain.  Voila!  I can pull out long strands of thread without ever losing the spool or having it jump off my worktable.