Shroud

Shroud usually refers to an item, such as a cloth, that covers or protects some other object. The term is most often used in reference to burial sheets, grave clothes, winding-cloths or winding-sheets, such as the famous Shroud of Turin or Tachrichim (burial shrouds) that Jews are dressed in for burial. Traditionally, burial shrouds are made of white cotton, wool or linen, though any material can be used so long as it is made of natural fibre.

The Early Christian Church also strongly encouraged the use of winding-sheets, except for monarchs and bishops, and their use was general until at least the Renaissance - clothes were very expensive, and they had the advantage that a good set of clothes was not lost to the family. Orthodox Christians still use a burial shroud, usually decorated with a cross and the Trisagion. The special shroud that is used during the Orthodox Holy Week services is called an Epitaphios. Some Catholics also use the burial shroud particularly the Eastern Catholics and traditionalist Roman Catholics.

Muslims as well use burial shrouds that are made of white cotton or linen. The Burying in Woollen Acts 1666-80 in England were meant to support the production of woollen cloth.

Read more about Shroud:  Jewish Shroud Traditions

Famous quotes containing the word shroud:

    It is not however, adulthood itself, but parenthood that forms the glass shroud of memory. For there is an interesting quirk in the memory of women. At 30, women see their adolescence quite clearly. At 30 a woman’s adolescence remains a facet fitting into her current self.... At 40, however, memories of adolescence are blurred. Women of this age look much more to their earlier childhood for memories of themselves and of their mothers. This links up to her typical parenting phase.
    Terri Apter (20th century)

    I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.
    William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

    Until, on Vinegar Hill, the fatal conclave.
    Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
    The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
    They buried us without shroud or coffin
    And in August the barley grew up out of the grave.
    Seamus Heaney (b. 1939)