Msgr. Andrew Varga, pastor of St. Luke Parish in Westport, Connecticut, sent in this terrific homilette on Spy Wednesday.

See also these related articles:

• Spy Wednesday
• Holy Thursday
• Good Friday
• Holy Saturday
• The Easter Vigil

A homily for the third Sunday of Lent

Today, through our ancestors in faith, Moses and the Unnamed Woman of Samaria, the Church’s liturgy calls us to reflect on water—living water. But all week everything in me has resisted—a lot! NO, NOT NOW! The images in my mind are of too much water. Too much rain on our soil here at home. Flooding on our streets. Homes damaged and people displaced. Worse, the images of the death dealing tsunami in Japan swirl in my head and are constantly reinforced by news stations bringing the effects of that tragedy into my cottage and into my heart night after night. I see crates of bottled water being distributed to mothers who fear for their infant’s lives because they cannot depend on the gift of nature to help them. I hear about workers in nuclear plants being severely burned by stepping into contaminated water. How can we possibly—how dare we —reflect on living water today?

This gospel truly scrutinized my heart. The only answer I found is that I, and you, too, have already been swept away in waters of death and called to a new kind of life and a new way of seeing reality. Are we not aware that we who have been baptized into Christ have been baptized into his death … so that we may live in newness of life. But living in newness of life is a lifetime project for us both individually and together. And that’s the heart of the message of today’s gospel.

In John’s gospel, and especially in the pericopes proclaimed on the third, fourth and fifth Sundays of Lent, Jesus attracts people … he draws people to himself, never for their own sake alone, but for the sake of the community. In these passages that are used for the scrutiny rites for the elect preparing for baptism, Jesus confronts and challenges people, and asks them to make a decision about him. The choice that they make brings them to the place where all disciples must live, that is in the midst of paradox, in the midst of the paschal mystery of dying and rising.

At one level, this is the story of a woman of ill repute whom Jesus desires to forgive, heal, and even send as his messenger to her townspeople. It is a story into which we are easily drawn as we identify with the woman’s efforts and failures to live and love well, as we witness her intimate conversation with Jesus. With her, we try to make meaning of this encounter. We can learn from her that becoming a disciple is a process that takes time…a lifetime.

The Samaritan woman shows how important it is to be being true to oneself before God. She has no guile as she states the truth of her own situation. Jesus responds to her as one not particularly concerned about law, rules, and norms, but as one who breaks through structures and expectations that are oppressive, unjust, racist, or exclusive. As she gradually comes to know Jesus, the woman commits to discipleship expressed in her willingness to leave her water jar to tell her story among the townspeople. Her decision reminds us that discipleship is not for one’s self but leads to action that makes a difference in the lives of others. If discipleship is to mean anything at all, it will shine forth in our words, actions, and manner of life.

Another and deeper layer of the Gospel has little to do with this woman and everything to do with the community of discipleship that God desires. The Samaritan woman typically has been characterized as a sinful, sexually promiscuous, adulterous woman and seductress—a rather demeaning and sexist portrait of a strong and bold woman disciple and evangelizer. Rather, this passage is meant to reveal to us God’s desire for disciples who will worship in spirit and in truth. In fact, this woman scrutinizes Jesus, carrying on a serious theological conversation about his identity and about where and how disciples should worship. Representing the whole people of Samaria who do not worship in Jerusalem as the Jews do, she literally challenges Jesus to explain himself and his message and in doing so gets drawn into a more and more intimate relationship with him.

She questions him, but in fact, the entire dialog between Jesus and the woman is symbolic of God ‘wooing’ Samaria. It calls to mind the Hound of Heaven: You have seduced us, Lord, and we have been seduced. Her community, like ours, enters into the gradual process of falling in love — into full covenant fidelity. This passage is not concerned with the woman’s private moral life but with the love life, the worship life, the integrity of life of the whole community. It has to do with how we, as disciples, find meaning and make meaning in life and in the face of disaster and death.

From the moment of our immersion into the waters of death at baptism, we have been being wooed into a more intimate relationship with God, each other, and with our sisters and brothers throughout the world. Fidelity to those relationships may plunge us into devastating waters time and time again. Life in Christ will situate us over and over again in the midst of paradox and the unexplainable. But we always rise again and we shall rise again. Only if we believe in the paschal mystery that we proclaim and celebrate in this Eucharist does that which makes no sense make sense. Only in the context of such mystery and gift can we at one and the same time find ourselves deeply saddened, even repelled by the death-dealing power of the waters of the earth that we have witnessed and yet cry out from the core our being, Please, give us living water.

I’m not sure why, but some places do stuff to the scrutinies that makes them less “scrutinish.”

The primary symbol—the main event—in this rite is the exorcism. You can find the exorcism at paragraphs 154, 168, and 175. There are three things that we need to do well to make the exorcisms as liturgically meaningful as possible.

1. Pay attention to the words

Use the exact words given in the text. Catechumenate ministers are used to adapting texts in the rite because we are so frequently encouraged to do so by the rite itself. However, this is not one of those times. Don’t tinker. And the presider needs to rehearse the text out loud. Focus on the verbs. Practice the gestures as you say the words. Imagine you are brand new to the faith and hearing these words for the first time. What is it the elect most need from these prayers? Focus on that.

2. Laying on of hands

The rite seems to make this optional. I don’t think it’s optional if you want to communicate the power of this rite. The presider should solemnly and prayerfully lay hands on each of the elect. You can add to the solemnity by having the director of the catechumenate also lay hands on each of the elect after the presider. And the godparents can lay hands on their own elect after the director. Solemnly. Prayerfully.

3. Silence is golden

If the laying on of hands is done is deep silence, the power of the exorcism is heightened. Do not underscore this action with music. Do not rush the silence. Let the silence seep into the bones of the elect.

What not to do

These are some elements I have heard that get added into the scrutinies in different places. These things detract from the primary symbolic action I just described. If you are not doing these, pat yourself on your ritual back. If you are doing them just because you’ve always done it that way, then it will be easy to simply stop doing them.

If you are doing one or more of these things because you love them, I’d suggest you take a hard second look at them. Try doing the ritual as given to us in the RCIA one year and then compare that with your adaptation of the rite. Here are some of the things that are added onto the scrutiny that may not serve the rite well.

1. Don’t change the exorcism prayer

Some communities rewrite the prayer or add additional words to the prayer. The three exorcism prayers, as given to us, are clear and powerful. There is no compelling reason to change them or add to them.

2. Don’t anoint the elect

The children’s adaptation of the scrutiny (starting at paragraph 295) does include an optional anointing of the catechumens. I don’t know why it is in there. It is not in the adult rite. I’ve discussed my difficulty with the children’s adaptations before, and this just adds fuel to my fire. In the children’s rite, if you do the anointing, you do not do a laying on of hands—which I think is a serious drawback. I think what usually happens in places where the anointing is done is there is both an anointing and a laying on of hands—of children and adults. This is too much stuff for this rite. The anointing seems to detract from the silent power of the hand laying.

3. Don’t add in the Presentations

The Presentation of the Creed is meant to be celebrated at a weekday Mass during the third week of Lent (see RCIA 157). The Presentation of the Lord’s Prayer is meant to take place at a weekday Mass during the fifth week of Lent (see RCIA 178). Adding them into or after the scrutiny rites detracts from the centrality of the exorcism and makes the liturgy seem cluttered.

If you want to celebrate the Presentations on a Sunday, consider doing them in winter Ordinary Time, just before Lent, with those catechumens who will be celebrating the Rite of Election (see RCIA 104).

4. Don’t scrutinize the baptized candidates

Fewer and fewer places seem to be doing this, which is good. This really is something that cannot be done. The scrutinies are only for the unbaptized (see National Statutes for the Catechumenate 31).

5. Don’t scrutinize the assembly

I’ve seen this happen. There were no elect, no baptized candidates, no children preparing for initiation. Just faithful, Communion-going Catholics who knelt down after the homily and scrutinized themselves. This is just not helpful. The scrutinies are not an examination of conscience or a penitential rite for Catholics. They are exorcism prayers in preparation for baptism. By blurring the lines like this, we create a great confusion about the real difference between the unbaptized and the baptized. And that, in turn, diminishes what we teach about true salvation given freely to us in the sacraments of initiation.

6. Reevaluate inviting the entire assembly to lay hands on the elect

I haven’t seen this done, but I’ve heard of places doing it. I’m ambivalent about it. I imagine it could add to the solemnity of the rite if it were done with the same reverence and grace that happens when we venerate the Cross on Good Friday. On the other hand, it seems to me it would extend the rite for an unacceptable amount of time. If you are doing it already, I’d suggest trying it one year without the assembly laying hands. Then compare the two experiences.

The best way to make the scrutinies do what they are supposed to do is to follow the rite. I’m not always in favor of slavishly following rubrics for the sake of sticking to the rules. However, when it comes to the scrutinies, adhering closely to the official rite will best serve our communities and the elect.

Came across this recently in an essay by the American Catholic novelist, Flannery O’Connor (1925-1964):

Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, in instructing catechumens, wrote: The dragon sits by the side of the road watching those who pass. Beware lest he devour you. We go to the Father of Souls, but it is necessary to pass by the dragon. No matter what form the dragon may take, it is of this mysterious passage past him, or into his jaws, that stories of any depth will always be concerned to tell, and this being the case, it requires considerable courage at any time, in any country, not to turn away from the storyteller.

(Flannery O’Connor: Mystery and Manners, Occasional prose selected and edited by Sally and Robert Fitzgerald; New York: Farrar, Strauss & Giroux, 1957; p. 35)

Are the stories that we tell in the catechumenate “stories of any depth”? Would anyone guess that the journey of the Christian life “passes by the dragon” (whatever form this takes)?

Something to think about.

Here are some wonderful meditations for Holy Week from Rita Ferrone:

• Spy Wednesday

 

• Holy Thursday

 

• Good Friday

 

• Holy Saturday

 

• The Easter Vigil

1. What is the meaning of the symbol of ashes on Ash Wednesday and where do the ashes come from?
    
2. What are the fasting regulations for Lent?
    
3. Should we empty the baptismal font for Lent?
    
4. But aren’t we fasting from water during Lent? Like Jesus did in the desert?
    
5. Who signs the Book of the Elect?
    
6. Should the elect choose a baptismal name?
    
7. How is the catechesis for the elect in Lent different than catechesis during the catechumenate period?
    
8. What are the “Presentations” and how are they celebrated?
    
9. Do we have to use Year A readings for the RCIA scrutinies?
    
10. What are the proper prayers for the scrutinies?
     
11. How can we make the scrutinies more meaningful for the assembly?
     
12. What is the history and purpose of the scrutinies?
     
13. If the elect don’t rehearse the scrutinies ahead of time, how will they know what to do?
     
14. Do child catechumens celebrate the scrutinies?
     
15. Why can’t we celebrate a Seder Meal on Holy Thursday?
     
16. What are the Holy Saturday preparation rites and how are they celebrated? (Free retreat outline.)
     
17. Any tips for celebrating the Easter Vigil?

You might think the week after Christmas Day is a little early to be talking about emptying the baptismal font. Actually, it’s late. I walked into a local church during the fourth week of Advent to see what they had done with their environment. You guessed it. The baptismal font was bone dry and covered with a purple cloth.

So I’m on a mission. I’m asking all my friends to pledge never to empty their baptismal fonts again. And let’s all get T-shirts that say: “Friends don’t let friends drain fonts.” Why is this such a big deal? Here are seven reasons.

1. The liturgical seasons are not historical reenactments

When otherwise-pastoral people empty the font in Lent, the argument goes something like this. Jesus went into the desert for 40 days. There is no water in the desert. So we shouldn’t have water in our churches while Jesus is in the desert. Okay, here’s the thing. Jesus isn’t in the desert. Hasn’t been in the desert for 2,000 years. Isn’t ever going back to the desert. Jesus has transcended the desert and all the deprivation and desolation the desert symbolizes. Where is Jesus present? Truly, really present? In the primary symbols of the assembly of disciples gathered for worship: bread, wine, altar, word, oil, fire, and water. Lent is not a time machine that takes us back to when Jesus was absent for 40 days. As for what might be the pastoral justification for emptying the font in Advent, I haven’t a clue. But whatever it is, it doesn’t override the necessity of having baptismal water lavishly present when the assembly gathers for worship.

2. Draining the font is bad catechesis

Everything present—or absent—in the liturgy catechizes. What water teaches us is that we are a people who have died to ourselves and risen to new life. Every time we enter a church and cross ourselves with the saving waters of baptism, we teach ourselves, our children, and our catechumens that we will never die. To remove that life-giving water says that our baptism was not everlasting and eternal. We are teaching that our salvation is seasonal and occasional.

3. There is no such thing as a “fast” from baptismal water

One of the arguments for removing the water from the font in Lent is that Lent is a season for fasting. So some say that it makes sense to fast from water. Really? Maybe in some gnositc universe. But in Christianity—or even just in the ordinary material universe—water means life. No water means death. When we fast, we don’t fast from things that are good for us. We fast from temptations, from indulgences, from all that masters us that is not God.

4. Emptying the font violates church teaching

About ten years ago, somebody got tired of dipping his fingers into a font full of sand every Lent, and so he faxed a “What up?” to the Vatican. The Congregation for Divine Worship wrote back saying, “This is what you Americans spend your time on?” Well, they didn’t say that exactly, but they did say that an empty font “is contrary to a balanced understanding of the season Lent.” A balanced understanding, they said, recognizes that, in addition to being a season of penance, Lent “is also a season rich in the symbolism of water and baptism, constantly evoked in liturgical texts.”

5. An empty font violates the spirit of Vatican II

Related to the issue of balance noted by the CDW, the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy reminded us that Lent has a two-part character.

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By recalling or preparing for baptism and by repentance, this season disposes the faithful to celebrate the paschal mystery. The baptismal and penitential aspects of Lent are to be given greater prominence in both the liturgy and liturgical catechesis. Hence, more use is to be made of the baptismal features proper to the Lenten liturgy. (109)

And why would we want to make more use of the baptismal features of Lent? Because we have a whole group of people (the elect) preparing for baptism—the very purpose of Lent. So instead of draining the font, we should be filling it to the brim.

6. An empty font weakens the funeral liturgy

When we celebrate a funeral, we are celebrating a life lived in baptismal grace. A powerful symbol of that baptismal life is blessing the casket with living water. It is hard to see living water in a sprinkler that an acolyte retrieves from the sacristy closet. The water for blessing the casket should come from the same place in which we baptize—even in Lent. Especially in Lent.

7. Bad practice leads to more bad practice

That’s what I experienced in my church visit during Advent. Because some parishes have been emptying the font during the lenten season, one community, at lease, decided that more is better. Let’s have a dry font for both Lent and Advent. Next we may have empty fonts on rogation days or First Fridays. So let’s just stop the shenanigans now, before things get worse.

Remember: “Friends don’t let friends drain fonts.”

• Water in the font during Lent

The Paschal Triduum is the center of the liturgical year, and the Easter Vigil is its high point. It is the liturgy at which night turns into day, and death into resurrection.

Why vigil? St. Augustine had a pithy insight into this question: “We now need not wait for the Lord to arrive…. And yet our annual celebration is not simply a commemoration of a past event; it implies a present action on our part, which we accomplish by our life of faith and of which this Vigil is the symbol. The entire course of time is in fact one long night during which the church keeps watch, waiting for the return of the Lord, waiting “Ëœuntil He comes.’”

The Easter Vigil is a masterpiece of inculturation. The oldest annual celebration in the calendar, it bears the marks of its creative handling over almost two millennia. Let it wash over you, and lead you into the mystery of Easter tonight.

This liturgy is full of unsuspected delights.

The event of central importance on Holy Thursday will be the Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper—the liturgy which begins the Triduum. I hope everybody is going to take part in this wonderful celebration! I won’t try to anticipate what takes place. Better to experience it for yourself.

Perhaps Holy Thursday is also a good time to pay some attention to how we dine at home. As you set your own table and prepare a meal on this day, be mindful of what a blessing it is to share food. The fact that Christ’s total self-giving love is wedded to the event of a meal should give us pause.

This altarpiece (1508-17) is the work of the sculptor, Master Paul, in the church of Saint James in Lõcse, in Upper Hungary (now part of the Slovak Republic). A good deal of individual character is written into each of the faces and figures. Look at Judas, seated across from Jesus, a moneybag slung over his shoulder and an ironic expression on his face. (You can see more here: http://www.wga.hu/html/m/master/paul/)

When I was a kid, we called the Wednesday of Holy Week “Spy Wednesday” in honor of the evil machinations of Judas which set the scene for the eventual arrest of Jesus. Of course we all thought spies were pretty exciting. Nowadays I laugh at that expression (which never had any basis in the liturgy or anything like that), but I do marvel at how Jesus washed the feet of all of them—even his betrayer. That’s love for you.