The Lady in Brown

It was the spring of 1965, when the third- and fourth-graders at Saint Andrew's School were assembled in the parish church, having received the Sacrament of Confirmation several months before. Each of us was ceremoniously given two small pieces of brown wool with little images on them, connected by two lengths of brown rope, to be hung around the our necks.

It was what Catholics refer to as an "Enrollment in the Brown Scapular."

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Today, the western Church celebrates the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. It is one of the most popular feasts in honor of the Blessed Mother, if only for its association with the Brown Scapular.

In its original form, a "scapular" is a tunic-like garment worn over the habit of male or female members of religious orders. In its more popular form, it is two small pieces of cloth connected by two cords, worn over the neck.

The so-called “Brown Scapular” identified with the Carmelite Order and their traditional brown apparel, originated in the appearance of the Blessed Mother to Saint Simon Stock in 1251. She is said to have told him, upon granting him the Scapular:

“Take, beloved son this scapular of thy order as a badge of my confraternity and for thee and all Carmelites a special sign of grace; whoever dies in this garment, will not suffer everlasting fire. It is the sign of salvation, a safeguard in dangers, a pledge of peace and of the covenant.”

Of course, this does not make the Brown Scapular some sort of magic talisman, which would amount to superstition, and thus objectively sinful in practice. The "Sabbatine Privilege" associated with wearing the Brown Scapular requires that the person: 1) Wear the Brown Scapular continuously, 2) Observe chastity according to one’s state in life (married/single/whatever), 3) Recite daily the Little Office of the Blessed Virgin, OR observe the fasts of the Church together with abstaining from meat on Wednesdays and Saturdays, OR with permission of a priest, say five decades of Our Lady’s Most Holy Rosary OR With permission of a priest, substitute some other good work.

Pope Benedict XV also said you could knock 500 days off Purgatory if you kissed it, devoutly (if you're into that sort of thing).

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Also popular (and arguably more common) is the wearing of the "scapular medal." This is a small medal worn in lieu of the Brown Scapular, although not really a replacement. The minimum requirements, laid down by Pope Saint Pius X in 1910, is that the medal must "show the image of Our Most Holy Redeemer, Jesus Christ, showing His Sacred Heart, and the obverse that of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary." Most of them have a rather common appearance, but yours truly once found a remarkably uncommon choice on eBay.

The devotion remains popular today, as a new generation of Catholics discover tradition. One can spot a Catholic "kickin' it old skool" from across a crowded room, bearing the telltale sign around their neck that peers out from underneath the neckline of their clothing. More information about the Brown Scapular, the devotion attached to it, and the ceremony for its reception (which is how yours truly got his as a fourth grader in the spring of 1965) can be found here.

Of course, once you are enrolled, you don't have to enroll again, nor does your Scapular have to be blessed. (See above.)

Devotion to this title of Our Lady takes other forms in Italian communities throughout North America. Most notable is the annual patronal celebration of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, a 129-year-old parish located in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, New York. Every year at this time, a giant tower topped by an image of Saint Paulinus of Nola is carried aloft in procession on a giant platform, accompanied by a brass band. For the boys of the parish who participate in carrying the statue, this event symbolizes a manly rite of passage.

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Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Catholic world, we remember Saint Marie-Madeleine (baptismal name Julie) Postel, born in France in 1756. Entering into religious life under Franciscan rule, she went on to found the Sisters of Christian Schools. During the French Revolution and the subsequent Reign of Terror, not only did she hide fugative priests at the risk of her own life, but was charged with carrying the Holy Eucharist to others in hiding at the direction of her bishop. Such measures have long been common during times of persecution, and was the original intention of Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion, as opposed to ... well, you know.
 

My Bicentennial Moment

Today, the United States of America remembers that day, two hundred and fifty years ago, when an assembly of men risked everything to declare thirteen colonies an independent nation (or, to be more precise, "Free and Independent States").

I remember a day exactly two hundred years after that day, and exactly fifty years before this one.

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I got a lucky break in the summer of 1976, landing an internship at a presigious graphic design studio in downtown Cincinnati, at the Gywnne Building, headed by the art director/designer/photographer/renaissance man George Tassian. When I wasn't doing that, I was helping organize folk music concerts, hanging out at the coffeehouse scene, and at the University of Cincinnati, where I was a student, hence the internship.

Her name was Karen Grey. She was a sweet, redheaded, girl-next-door, Suzy Sorority type, who laughed at my jokes. We worked together in the Shows Department at Kings Island in the summers of 1973 and 1974. We each had our own reasons for moving on after the magic died, but we agreed to spend the Fourth together, walking down International Street one more time, for old time's sake.

His name was Jack Rouse. As the founder and president of Kings Productions, the company that concocted magic for the masses every year during the off-season, he was the genius behind the live show productions at the park. Back in 1973, I was honored when he choose me among the four guys who dressed up as the cartoon characters known as The Banana Splits for a special film previewing the new park in Richmond known as Kings Dominion, especially as I was the only rookie among the foursome. He always remembered me, and always had time to speak with me. Karen and I were both thrilled to meet with him again, still down-to-earth, yet still larger than life, as he ventured around the park to review the fruit of his labors.

They were Paul Revere and the Raiders. They were past their heyday in the 1960s as the fun pop rockers on the Top 40, but after many years (not that many when you look that far back), and a few changes in lineup, there they were, all five still rockin' with the colonial cosplay schtick, the guitar section still prancin' in perfect sync, as Karen and I looked down from our vantage point at the International Restaurant. The fireworks would soon go off at ten o'clock, as we always knew they would, and when it was over, I took her home.

I saw her again about four years later, at Arnold's Bar and Grille downtown. I was laid off from some other sweatshop-with-ferns known (in polite company) as a design studio, and preparing to get the hell out of Dodge City. She was at a table with some friends of hers, and told me she was engaged. I remember her telling me he was a doctor. Naturally.

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I also remember a few dissenting voices fifty years ago, taking at least some of the fun out of the romance that was American history, but it was nothing like what we have today, a bunch of cocktail party radicals bloviating on television on how awful this country is, even as millions do whatever it takes to get here, including my two step-grandchildren from the Philippines, who couldn't be happier than to fit like a glove into American life. The Washington Post has reported on what the America of 1976 thought it would be like in 2026. Ever wonder what we got right back then?

And let's not forget the victories of Team USA in the World Cup, and what "futbol" players of other countries are learning about America.

And so it goes.
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