Today is the only feast day in the year when the celebrant has, as far as I know, a choice of  three colors for his vesture. He can wear black or purple or white.

 Black of course, was for long centuries the color that went with death. I do not think so much as mourning or somber, sullen or resented grief, as rather seriousness. Death is a serious matter. Let it be treated seriously, in dignity and restraint. After all, black is still quite appropriate dress at a very formal affair, certainly for the male. Sometimes his partner. If the bride is in white, the groom is often in black. Not somber, but serious.

 Since a fairly recent custom permits a priest 3 Masses today, I wore purple 2 out of the 3. Offering 3 Masses nowadays is no more a privilege but a necessity for many an overburdened priest. But I did not wear black. We sent our black vestment to the poor of Russia.

 But purple I did. Surely the best of colors: warmer than blue and not so radical as red, but something of each: the color of honor and dignity. For bishops and monsignors. The penitential color of Advent and Lent. The elegance of purple, royal purple, will call to mind in Advent the ultimate coming as well as the proximate, the final one. And the purple of Lent moves us to penitence with the Christ on His way to the Cross. For purple is close to heavenly blue and the red of blood and suffering.

 Yet white is now in favor as symbolic of the joy of Heaven. There is the joyous aspect to death as birth to the eternal life won for us in Christ. We temper grief with hope and soften sorrow with an awareness of the glory that follows our end on earth.

 A lifetime ago black was favored by clerics, not, I think, as somber and sad. The black clothes set them apart somewhat as men engaged in serious matters: birth and life and death, sacrament, sacrifice and anointing, teaching, baptizing, marrying, and burying. All serious engagement with human life and their dress showed it.

 Black cars  too. And Cadillacs for bishops. Indeed, in those early tight days only bishops and gangsters could afford them. Not that Catholics begrudged them. They had precious little themselves, but they had beautiful churches and were proud that their bishop lived in a fine house, had a grand car. If they were nobodies, he wasn't.

 We are no longer into black, or Cadillacs. Or gangsters being shot on the front steps of the church, the priest photographed kneeling over the prostrate figure anointing him: days later another front page feature with the splendid funeral at the Italian parish, together with three cars of flowers. Our neighbors were shocked at this mixture of crime and piety, the zany mix of ugly and holy. And Heaven to follow a wretched, evil life by dint of a last minute rite.

 To which Catholics would blandly reply: "Don't forget about Purgatory. He'll have to pay up." And our brethren would be scandalized all over again. A strange crew, Catholics.

 The teaching is very simple: In the new Catechism so:

  "All who die in God's grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joys of Heaven. [#1030]
  The Church gives the name Purgatory to this final purification of the elect, which is entirely different from the punishment of the damned. [#1031]
  From the beginning the Church has honored the memory of the dead and offered prayers in suffrage for them, above all the Eucharistic sacrifice, so that, thus purified they may attain the beatific vision of God. [#1032]"

 We pray for our dead that they speedily find the fullness of life with God. We fear the judgment of God and do not presume too much, but support our hope by prayer for all the dead. For the average person prayer is enormous comfort and the best therapy in sorrow. Most Mass offerings sent here are for the dead. Many for the poor souls, so-called — meaning all the dead.

 We are all one community: the Church Triumphant, the Church Militant, the Church Suffering.

 And everyone living with us this hour on earth is our contemporary destined for Heaven as much as we, created by God, loved by God; we include all in our prayer. It is both privilege and duty.
 St. Augustine's mother told him not to be concerned about where they buried her. Just be sure you remember me at the altar.

 We might in turn say: I really don't care what color you wear at my final rites. Just be sure the prayers are fervent.  Amen.

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