Guest author Nicholas Brown, Ph.D. is a recent doctoral graduate from Catholic University’s Department of History and Anthropology.
Most of us, when we think about libraries, imagine books. (Fair.) Catholic University’s Special Collections houses thousands of texts, ranging from Rare Books’ medieval manuscripts to the dissertations of former CUA doctoral students kept by Archives. But Special Collections also cares for art, artifacts, pieces of cultural heritage – like the collection of nearly forty vestments and liturgical items donated by Hannah McCann on behalf of her late father John S. McCann who curated this collection throughout his life.
This collection is mostly made up of Latin Rite liturgical vestments, though it also includes some Byzantine vestments, some liturgical paraphernalia, and most surprisingly, a Masonic sash with the insignia of the Order of the Eastern Star. It would be a bit cheeky to call this an “ecumenical” collection, but not inaccurate.

Age unknown [back of garment]

It is very broad, and even within the Latin vestments there is a lot of variety. Some vestments are ornate and others are simple; some are part of sets and others are alone; some are in good condition and others are damaged.
One of the more dramatic examples of a damaged vestment is this one [fig 1]. This vestment, a chasuble, is made of rich, dark red or perhaps fuchsia fabric. Within the orphrey (the vertical band that runs down the middle of the chasuble) there are panels which depict – or once depicted – human figures with haloes. Today, they are faded beyond recognition, but we can imagine how vibrant it once was. The chasuble also seems to have been damaged during its “life” as a liturgical vestment, as well. On its front, we can see a place where the fabric was torn, and a patch was replaced. The chasuble doesn’t only show its age, but also the care that went into its maintenance over the years of its use.
Though the ornamentation of the red chasuble is out of step with the others, its cut is not. Like all the chasubles in the collection, it is a Roman or “fiddleback” chasuble, resembling a large apron (or, if you have been to the dentist recently, the vest one wears during an x-ray), rather than the fuller neo-Gothic style more commonly used in Catholic churches today. I suspect that this is not the original cut of the chasuble, but a change that was imposed on it at some point during its “life” as a liturgical vestment, which would explain why the lining of its outer edges is of a different material than the lining of the orphrey. This kind of alteration was the fate of many historical vestments, most famously the medieval “Westminster chasuble” worn during the burial of Richard III in 2015 (2).

ca. 19th century [back of garment]

This is only a hunch, but whether or not the chasuble originally had a fuller shape, it shows signs of alteration over time; it seems to have been damaged over the course of what must have been long years of use. On its front, we can see a place where the fabric was torn, and a strip of fabric was replaced. This is a very different kind of alteration, an intervention to restore rather than to change. The repair is obvious at first glance and not beautiful to look at, but tells us something important about the chasuble. It was not only an item used in worship, but also one to be maintained and cared for.
This is the only chasuble to depict human figures, but several of the others also have figurative art. Two very beautiful examples are these chasubles [figs. 2 and 3] which depict the Christological symbols of the lamb and the pelican. Most of us are familiar with the image of the Lamb of God, a sacrificial symbol which is right at home in the context of a vestment for Mass. The intricate embroidery of this chasuble brings this lamb to life in incredible three-dimensional detail, its silvery body standing out against the gold of the chasuble. The image of the pelican is less well-known today, but it is another classic symbol of Christ. According to medieval zoology, the pelican fed its chicks with its own blood (or alternately, bludgeoned its chicks to death and resurrected them with its blood), making it a Eucharistic symbol for Christ’s sacrificial outpouring of his own blood. Like the lamb, the pelican is made of incredibly fine and detailed embroidery, showing the mother pelican nourishing her chicks. Bright red droplets of blood stand out against the silver of her breast, and even the birds’ nest can be seen underneath the chicks.

ca. 19th century [back of garment]

So much care must have gone into the creation of these chasubles. It makes sense that the most elaborate decorative elements, both of these two chasubles and the others, appear on their backs, since this would have been what laypeople in the pews saw while the priest celebrated the Mass in the historical fashion, facing the altar rather than the congregation. To encounter them in the context of the liturgy, the context that they were created for, would have been a very different experience than encountering them today in Special Collections, and something is probably lost in that transition.
But something is gained as well. Of all the worshippers who saw the Lamb of God chasuble worn in Mass, how many had the opportunity to see the lamb up close? The faithful in the pews would have known about the legend of the pelican, but could they have noticed how the chasuble’s nestlings clambered for their mother, or how she provided a bright red droplet of her blood for each of them? As museum items, we can imagine how historical Christians would have experienced these vestments, but we can also go further; we can view them up close and from every angle, and can appreciate them and learn from them in a way that would not have been possible when they were liturgical items. Another way to put it might be that, though these vestments are not texts, we can still read them, and I am excited to see how they are read as they enter their “second life” in Special Collections.
There is one important continuity between the vestments’ “lives,” though. The original owners of these vestments did not only use them, but as we saw with the red chasuble, they also cared for them and maintained them. Before they came to Special Collections, they were also cared for John S. McCann, who spent years bringing together this collection which must have been an immense source of pride. Now it falls to Special collections to continue the care of these items which were so clearly cherished by those to whom they once belonged. In this way, we can honor not only the objects themselves, but the people and communities who have left their mark on them over the centuries. This is certainly not what the late Pope Benedict XVI had in mind when he wrote these words, but it is nonetheless true that “[w]hat earlier generations held as sacred remains sacred and great for us too” (4).
(1) For a dated but useful overview of historical vestments, refer to R. A. S. Macalister, Ecclesiastical Vestments: Their Development and History (London: Elliot Stock, 1896) (accessed May 5, 2026). See also Maureen C. Miller, Clothing the Clergy: Virtue and Power in Medieval Europe, c. 800-1200 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2014) (accessed May 5, 2026).
(2) “Pontifical Requiem for King Richard III,” Saint Bede Studio Blog, March 25, 2015,
(accessed May 5, 2026).
(3) On the former, refer to Brady Barry, “The Medieval Christ: Mystical Pelican and Redeemer,” Brown Art Review (accessed May 5, 2026). See also Augustine of Hippo, Enarrationes in Psalmos, psalmus 101, sermo 1, par. 8. Many thanks to Jane Maschue for connecting me with this passage.
(4) Benedict XVI, Summorum Pontificum (accessed May 5, 2026).
(5) Many thanks to Alexis Howlett who, in addition to formatting this blog post, provided the images of the vestments. Further, she was very patient during this blog’s long gestation, for which I am grateful.


























