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

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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 “˜until 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 Hungarian artist, Master Paul, in the church of St. James in L?cse, 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.

In our Diocese of San Jose, we have dancing books for the Rite of Election. Now hold on before you start groaning as you imagine young waifs in tights and leotards flitting about the altar.

Our Scriptural tradition has many stories of dancing—but the kind of dancing that comes out of ordinary, everyday people. David danced before the Lord, Miriam danced on the seashore, the women took up garlands and danced at Judith’s victory, and even John the Baptist did a little jig in his mother’s belly at the voice of Mary’s greeting.

And in our ritual, all of us dance—I mean, all of us, trained or not. When we dip our hand into the font, make the sign of the cross, bow low in reverence, raise arms in prayer, extend hands in peace and blessing, we are dancing. We are doing choreographed movement; we are expressing our faith, our joy, through our bodies.

This is what we do at our local Rite of Election, but just turned up a notch. The joy that our Rite of Election elicits—and the dancing that comes out of that joy—is often surprising for both the many long-time Catholics and “newbies” who come to our cathedral expecting a long, sober, restrained lenten ritual. Let me explain.

In our Rite of Election, after the homily, we present our catechumens to the Bishop in chant, in English and in Spanish. Then after he questions the godparents, asks the faithful for their affirmation, and confirms the catechumens’ desire to be initiated, the names of every catechumen are proclaimed by representatives from each parish. As the names are called, the catechumens and their godparents are led by their Book of the Elect to stand as a group before the Bishop. After he has accepted the proclamation of their names, the Bishop bows to the catechumens and godparents who bow to him in return.

Once all the names have been announced, those carrying the parish Book of the Elect stand around the altar (our cathedral is in the round) holding their books open high above their heads. Parish by parish, the catechumens are called to stand as the Books and the catechumens are blessed with incense filling the air.

Then at the climax of the rite, the Bishop standing at his chair proclaims with great solemnity: “I now declare you to be members of the elect, to be initiated into the sacred mysteries at the next Easter Vigil!”

With that declaration, the entire assembly roars into a jubilant sung acclamation—”Thanks be to God!”—repeated over and over, handclapping and all! And the Books dance! The people holding the Books are swept up by the joy of the assembly that they can’t help but move—some can’t even wait for the acclamation to begin! Up and down, side to side, twirling around in circles, the names of God’s chosen ones fill the space. The assembly, amazed at the sight, sings and claps even louder. Thanks, indeed, be to our good and gracious God!

What a way to begin Lent!

Here’s a short video of our dancing books here.

Rite of Election 2009 video, Diocese of San Jose (hi-res) from Diana Macalintal on Vimeo.

St. Augustine saw it as his duty to pass on four essential “sacraments” to the elect. These were the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, the font, and the table. He would teach them about the table after their initiation; he would explore the meaning of the font with them on Holy Saturday, before the Vigil. And the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer would be handed over in Lent. Augustine’s motivation was the same as ours as expressed in RCIA 147. If you have your rite handy, open it to that paragraph and read what it says. The church lovingly entrusts these ancient texts to the elect because they “have always been regarded as expressing the heart of the Church’s faith and prayer.”

As I wrote in The Way of Faith, my preference is to celebrate the Presentation of the Creed and the Presentation of the Lord’s Prayer during the catechumenate stage, before Lent (see RCIA 104-105). However, many parishes prefer to celebrate the presentations in Lent. In that case, the Presentation of the Creed is celebrated during the week following the first scrutiny and the Presentation of the Lord’s Prayer is celebrated after the third scrutiny.

Lenten presentations

The reason the Creed is presented either late in the catechumenate or during the period of purification and enlightenment is because it is like a summary chapter in a textbook. If the catechumen is truly ready for initiation, there should be nothing surprising in the Creed. As the RCIA says, the Creed “recalls the wonderful deeds of God for the salvation of the human race…” (147). The catechumens (or elect) are expected to commit the Creed to memory and there will be a test! They recite the Creed publicly on Holy Saturday, before the Vigil. (I let them use cheat sheets if they need them, but I don’t tell them they have that option until just before they have to proclaim it.)

The reason for presenting the Lord’s Prayer is also crucial. “The Lord’s Prayer fills them with a deeper realization of the new spirit of adoption by which they will call God their Father, especially in the midst of the eucharistic assembly” (147).

There are a few things to note about these presentations.

1. In many parishes, it is common to present a scroll or written text of the Creed and Lord’s Prayer. This is not what Augustine did, however, nor is it in the RCIA. The rite has the Creed and Lord’s Prayer “presented” orally by the presider and the assembly.
2. There is no combined rite for these presentations. The baptized candidates have already made a profession of faith (or their godparents made it for them) at their baptism, and a ritual presentation of the Creed diminishes their original profession of faith. The candidates should absolutely be required to memorize the Creed if they don’t know it. Their participation in the handing on and reciting back rituals, however, would be as members of the baptized faithful and not as members of the unbaptized.
3. Similarly with the Lord’s Prayer. Many baptized candidates already know the Lord’s Prayer. For those who don’t, it is still a “sacrament” that was entrusted to them at their baptism. It is redundant to hand it over to them again ritually.
4. It is not a strict requirement that the presentations be celebrated at all. If they are not celebrated, be sure to omit the recitation of the Creed during the Holy Saturday preparation rites (see RCIA 186).
5. If the presentations were not celebrated previously, you can still celebrate the Presentation of the Lord’s Prayer on Holy Saturday (see RCIA 185).

• Should the elect choose a baptismal name?
• A Preparation Rites retreat for the elect on Holy Saturday

“Why can’t we use Year B readings this year for the Scrutinies?”

“We’ve written new scrutiny rites for the Year B readings. Can we use those?”

I hear those questions every year we aren’t in the Year A cycle of the Lectionary. (Recall that the readings we hear every Sunday are structured on a three-year rotation. In Year A we hear primarily from Matthew’s Gospel; in Year B, from Mark; and in Year C, from Luke. John’s Gospel is interspersed throughout each year.)

I can understand why some people have these questions. We’ve come a long way since before Vatican II when the amount of Scripture people heard at Mass over the course of a year was very limited (1% of the Old Testament and 17% of the New Testament) compared to today (14% of the Old Testament and 71% of the New Testament). When the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, 51, of Vatican II said that “[t]he treasures of the bible are to be opened up more lavishly, so that richer fare may be provided for the faithful at the table of God’s word,” the Church took it seriously, and the faithful have come to value more and more a fuller proclamation of the Word in the midst of the assembly.

Yet I think we still have a way to go when it comes to valuing the rites of initiation within the Sunday gathering of the assembly. The best way we can help the assembly—and their parish leaders—to grow in appreciation of these rites of initiation is to do the rites well and fully, consistently year after year.

What does the Rite say?
So, taking a look at the rubrics for the Scrutiny Rites, we read:

The scrutinies should take place within the ritual Masses “Christian Initiation: The Scrutinies,” which are celebrated on the Third, Fourth, and Fifth Sundays of Lent; the readings with their chants are those given for those Sundays in the Lectionary for Mass, Year A….In every case the ritual Masses “Christian Initiation: The Scrutinies” are celebrated and in this sequence: for the first scrutiny the Mass with the gospel of the Samaritan woman; for the second, the Mass with the gospel of the man born blind; for the third, the Mass with the gospel of Lazarus. (146)

Seems clear, yes? Yet perhaps still not compelling enough a reason for those who ask our opening questions. So let’s look at some reasons that may be more convincing.

What does history say?
In the oldest known Book of Gospels, called the Würzberg Evangelary (c. 645), the three passages from John’s Gospel listed in RCIA, 146, are included in the readings for Lent. This Evangelary scheduled John’s Gospel to be read semi-continuously during the last few weeks of Lent. However the stories of the man born blind and the raising of Lazarus were listed out of order, suggesting that they were used for specific rites. By the ninth century and possibly as early as the late seventh century, we have evidence that these three Gospel readings were moved to specific Sundays of Lent in both the Roman rite and the Ambrosian rite, again suggesting that they were used for particular lenten rites. We can trust that for the Church, these Johannine stories have had significant prominence in the preparation for Easter. Let’s examine why this is and why over the years these readings have been associated with the preparation of the elect.

What do the readings say?
Just as the scrutinies themselves are meant to be a series of rites spanning over an extended period of time, so too are these three Gospel readings meant to be “digested” little by little with time in between each set of readings. This is because the readings in their assigned sequence reflect the very purpose of the Scrutiny Rites. That is, little by little, these readings with their prescribed rites uncover what is weak and sinful and strengthen what is good and upright in the elect. Through them, “the elect are instructed gradually about the mystery of sin, from which the whole world and every person longs to be delivered…” (RCIA, 143).

In the story of the woman at the well, the Samaritan woman hears Jesus then goes and tells the villagers what she has heard, causing them to seek him out for themselves. The reading ends with the villagers saying to the woman, “We no longer believe because of your word; for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the savior of the world” (John 4:42). Was this not the starting point of every elect? They heard a word, a word that they discovered over time to be Christ. Upon discovering who was speaking to them, they no longer believed because of hearsay, obligation, or pressure, but because they heard Christ’s voice for themselves.

In the story of the man born blind, the man healed of his blindness gradually grows to see as Christ sees. He regains his sight right at the start of the story. But only because of the interrogation he receives from his neighbors and the Pharisees and his struggle to respond to them faithfully, does he little by little begin to see the identity of who it was who healed him. By the end of the story, the one who healed him was no longer to him just “the man called Jesus” (John 9:11) or simply “a prophet” (John 9:17) or “from God” (John 9:33). He was “Lord” (John 9:38) in whom he believed. For the elect this progression may be familiar. At the start of their catechumenate, their eyes are signed “that [they] may see the glory of God” (Rite of Acceptance, RCIA 56). Through their catechesis over the years and their experience with the community of believers they grow in understanding of what they see—who the man Jesus was, the prophetic words he spoke, his unique relationship with the Father, and finally his true identity as Lord.

Lastly, in the story of the raising of Lazarus, we come to the final days before the elect must stand before the font and profess their faith. In this reading, the miracle happens at the end of the story, but faith is already expressed long before the miracle takes place. Martha makes her profession of faith in Jesus the Messiah even as her brother is lying dead in the tomb. She needed no words and no miraculous deeds to believe in him; she only needed to believe. Period.

In this final story, we see what those who have been entrusted to continue Jesus’ work have hopefully been doing in order to prepare the elect to make their profession of faith. They have been preparing them, like Jesus prepared Martha and Mary, to understand the paschal mystery they would witness in the resurrection—that out of death comes new life in Christ. Only after Lazarus is revived and Jesus is raised from the dead will Martha truly understand the words of faith she professed. It is her belief in and love for Jesus that allow her to be ready for whatever he will do despite her human logic that death is death, for “Martha believes not in what she understands but in the one who has the words of eternal life” (Sandra Schneiders, Written That You May Believe, Crossroad Publishing Company, p. 158).

When the three scrutiny readings are examined in this way, we begin to understand what the RCIA means when it says that Lent “is intended as well to enlighten the minds and hearts of the elect with a deeper knowledge of Christ the Savior” (139). The Gospels assigned to the scrutinies are there to ask the elect:

• Could he possibly be the Messiah?
• Do you believe in the Son of Man?
• Do you believe this?

The things that keep the elect from saying “yes!” are the things that must be scrutinized and exorcized, for in a few short weeks, they must respond “yes, I believe” as they stand at the edge of death at the font. The place where the elect learn to answer “yes!” is in the parish community. The assignment and order of the scrutiny Gospels from John reflect the community’s progressive and communal catechesis for the elect in order that they may hear and believe (Samaritan woman), see and believe (man born blind), and finally believe without proof (Martha and Lazarus).

Why B and C don’t work
Though well-intentioned and creative, when we create new scrutiny texts to match the readings from Year B or C, we have severed ourselves and our elect from the rich history and wisdom of the Church who over the centuries have understood the unique power of the three Johannine Gospel readings. Some will argue that the Year B readings are particularly apt for those preparing for baptism because each Sunday reading includes reference to some symbol from the baptismal rite: water in Noah and the flood; white garments in the Transfiguration; resurrection of the destroyed temple; Jesus teaching Nicodemus about the light; and death of the grain of wheat. Although this may be true, these readings cannot compare to the dramatic power of the three assigned Scrutiny readings. Furthermore, as RCIA 143 noted, Lent is a time for the elect to gradually learn about sin; the period after their baptism is the time for them to reflect on the baptismal symbols and their experience of initiation through mystagogical catechesis.

When we worry that the faithful are missing out on the readings of Year B or C on the Sundays of the scrutinies, we are forgetting that the faithful’s role in these rites is to pray fervently for the elect. All their focus should be upon the elect for it is in them that God is working most clearly. It is in the elect that the Word of Christ is evangelizing whole communities; it is in them that the world is beginning to see Christ present on earth; it is in them that we will witness new life spring forth from death. These elect will be elect only once in their lives. This will be the only time they will ever hear these three Gospel readings from John as elect, surrounded by the prayers of the community and overshadowed by the power of the Spirit. We, the baptized, have a responsibility to them at these critical moments of their lenten preparation to use the best our Church tradition has to offer. The best will be the assigned Year A readings.

Perhaps as preparation for taking on our assigned role in these Scrutiny Rites, we, the already-baptized, might read the assigned readings for Year B or Year C during the weeks leading up to the Scrutiny Rites, that these readings might open our ears, eyes, and hearts to hear the Year A readings anew with strengthened faith in Christ already at work in the elect.

The initiation rites of the third, fourth, and fifth Sundays of Lent don’t have the most comforting of names. On these days we engage the elect in rites and prayers called scrutinies and exorcisms. The first connotes probing and critical examination of one’s life, and the second—well, let’s just say many of us have had nightmares because of what Hollywood thinks exorcisms look like.

Yet if we understand the history of these initiation rites, we’ll see that they are both more pastoral and comforting than we may think.

To call the current rite with the elect “scrutiny” is a bit of a misnomer. Paul Turner gives a good overview of how we got where we are today in terms of the scrutinies.

Two related actions
In the earliest ritual books of the church, exorcisms and scrutinies seemed to be separate events celebrated sometimes on a daily basis. One of these early documents, called the Apostolic Tradition, notes that the catechumens’ conduct was examined at a time just before their baptism. After this examination, the bishop laid hands daily on the catechumens and led prayers of exorcism over them until their baptism. The scrutinizing of the catechumens’ lives was meant to prepare them for baptism, while the exorcisms served to prove that the scrutinies were working. The two rites were distinct yet related and were both loving acts of the church for the elect.

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As fewer adults were being initiated and the number of infant baptisms increased, these two rites were condensed into one liturgy, like we have today. Yet, no longer were these rites seen as preparation for baptism. Rather they became somewhat perfunctory rites done just before baptism as part of the tradition. By the 12th century, the elect participated only in an exorcism on Saturday morning right before the baptismal liturgy. By the 17th century, even this was moved to the beginning of the baptismal rite itself—we still do this in today’s Rite of Baptism of infants. Perhaps it was this diminishing, not only in time but also in meaning, that spurred on some of our more negative connotations of these two rituals.

Paul Turner summarizes the history of scrutinies best in this way:

They consistently served as a way of ritually assessing one’s readiness for baptism, but what they investigated changed from one generation to the next. They scrutinized spiritual development, moral behavior, intellectual understanding, and even the intelligence of godparents….By the time of the reforms of the Second Vatican Council the scrutinies had been transformed into a series of exorcisms invoked within the baptismal liturgy, in Latin, where no real scrutinizing was expected.

Renewing the purpose
In the renewal of the initiation rites, the scrutiny is meant not simply to critique and assess one’s readiness—remember that readiness was established at the Rite of Election with the godparents’ testimony and the bishop’s acceptance of the catechumens’ names. The purpose of each of the scrutinies is “to uncover, then heal all that is weak, defective, or sinful in the hearts of the elect” and “to bring out, then strengthen all that is upright, strong, and good” (RCIA, 141). The true pastoral sense of this two-fold act of uncovering and strengthening is emphasized in the next sentence of 141: “For the scrutinies are celebrated in order to deliver the elect from the power of sin and Satan, to protect them against temptation, and to give them strength in Christ….” At its core, the scrutinies are not about the sinfulness of the elect but about the overwhelming grace of God in Christ. The exorcisms are not fear-laden bouts with Satan but are grace-filled encounters with the healing power of the Spirit.

In the current rite, it is difficult to name what is the “scrutinizing” event. I would argue that the proclamation of Scripture, especially the gospel, serves to scrutinize the elect, for it is in the word proclaimed that we encounter Christ. As Rita Ferrone, one of our TeamRCIA writers, says, “A scrutiny is…very different from submitting one’s conduct to the judgment of the church. Better to say that Jesus is the one who scrutinizes the elect, whom he loves and has called to himself” (“Lazarus, Come Out! The Story and Ritual of the Third Scrutiny” in Catechumenate: A Journal of Christian Initiation, Liturgy Training Publications, January 1992, p. 3.) Further, “next to the proclamation of the word, the intercessions are the crucial element within the ritual, for within them the cutting edge of the word is concretely focused on the human heart” (Michael Marchal, “Scrutinies: Words That Cut” in Catechumenate: A Journal of Christian Initiation, January 1993, p. 21).

What does this mean for us then? I think this brief look at the history and purpose of the scrutinies gives us three points to remember:

• The scrutinies and their accompanying exorcisms are a series of rites that cannot be condensed in time; they need time “to work.” Nor should we diminish their ritual symbols of silence, posture, litany, and handlaying.
 
• The scrutinies focus as much on the grace of God as on the sin of humanity. We can’t truly call a scrutiny a Christian rite of initiation unless our self-searching leads to acknowledgment and praise of Christ who saves us.
 
• The scrutinies are for the elect, not for the baptized, for we believe that baptism matters. That is, when one is baptized, one is freed from the power of sin. The baptized are no longer enslaved by Satan. Those who have not yet entered the waters of the font are still vulnerable; they have not yet been clothed with Christ; they have not yet been reborn as new creations. That is why those who have already been released from the devil’s grip are able to pray these scrutinies and exorcisms for the elect.

Many have interpreted the signing of the Book of the Elect to be a sign of commitment and discipleship. This is certainly true, and when seen in this light, it would seem appropriate for both catechumens (the unbaptized) and candidates (the already-baptized) to sign the Book of the Elect. However, the commitment and discipleship that is signified by the act of putting one’s name on the line goes deeper than just one’s own choice to serve God.

Roll call

For those of us who are baptized, we can recall that it is God who first chose us, and we responded by professing our faith and entering into the waters of baptism. In the same way, it is God who first called and chose the catechumens. Their signature, then, is not just a sign of their commitment to be faithful to the God who chose them; it is a sign that God has placed their names onto the roll of those who will put their lives on the line, first by dying in the waters of baptism, then by sacrificing themselves and living as resurrected people every day after. The inscribing of names then is less like a sign-up sheet and more like God taking roll call of those who will do God’s work in the world until Christ comes again.

When seen this way, it is only appropriate that catechumens alone sign the Book of the Elect, since we would hope that candidates are already doing God’s work because of their baptism when they had first put their lives on the line.

Who signs, and who doesn’t

Further, according to the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults, in the combined rite for sending catechumens and candidates (530-546), it is clear that only catechumens sign the Book of the Elect even when candidates participate in this combined rite of sending. However, the catechumens’ godparents may also write their names into the book (123). Their signing is in no way similar to the signing by the catechumen, but is rather a commitment by the godparent to be responsible for his or her catechumen. This allowance for godparents to sign should not be transferred to candidates who exercise a completely different role in the church than godparents.

Lastly, many have the expectation that the bishop would “ratify” the catechumens’ signatures through his own signature in the Book of the Elect. This is not part of the Rite of Election nor had it been a practice of the early church. It has been a custom developed recently, especially after the mass-production of books of the elect by liturgical publishers who add a line for the bishop’s name onto each page of their books.

Ritually, on behalf of the church, the bishop announces his acceptance of the godparents’ testimony, receives the names of the catechumens, then, at the climax of the rite, declares the catechumens to be the elect of God, chosen for baptism. This declaration serves as “the bishop’s signature.” However, because the Book of the Elect can also serve as a record-keeping book for the parish, it would be appropriate to write the name of the presiding bishop into the book at a later time.

I’m off to help distribute ashes at Mass later today. I’ve done this a few times in my life, and it’s always a humbling experience. Yes, the ashes remind us of our mortality and dependence on God, but that’s not mostly why I feel humbled. It’s humbling for me because I get to see so many different people, with different stories and backgrounds, all coming to get smudged with dirt for different reasons. In their faces I see glimpses of piety and holiness, fear and trepidation, giggly discomfort in some of the adolescents and stoic disinterest in some of the teens. Some  people aren’t sure if they’re supposed to say anything in response (you’re not), and some don’t quite know if they’re allowed to wipe off any ash that falls on their nose (you can). But in every case, they come, young and old, those barely able to walk and babies in mothers’ arms. And God, in whatever way is needed, touches each of them through this simple act of penance. We may not understand the ritual, we might do it just out of habit. But it’s our doing of the ritual, our turning back to God, even for just a moment, that gives God the perfect opportunity to quietly, even unknowingly, draw us ever closer to him.

Happy Lent to you, to your catechumens, and to your soon-to-be-elect. Here’s an article I wrote a few years ago on some frequently-asked questions about Ash Wednesday, originally titled, “Ashes to Ashes: How Our Symbols Speak.”

“Remember, man, you are dust and to dust you will return” (Gn 3:19). This reminder is given to those who are signed with ashes at the beginning of the Lenten season. This ancient action of wearing ashes has traditionally signified lamentation and repentance (see 2 Sam 13:19, Esth 4:1, Job 42:6, 1 Macc 3:47, 4:39, Lam 2:10, Mt 11:21). Still today, this symbol speaks dramatically of both the morbid reality of being human and the joyful promise made to all God’s own.

Why do we wear ashes?
Ashes symbolize sorrow and penitence. The early church ritualized this for those who had committed a serious or “capital” sin. These “penitents” would wear a penitential garment and have ashes sprinkled on them. Then they would be excluded from celebrating the Eucharist until the Easter Vigil. (Note that a person could be a penitent only once in a lifetime.) Although the order of penitents had declined, by 1091 all the faithful were encouraged to take on the practice of wearing ashes at the beginning of lent. Today we continue this practice as an expression of “our human condition as affected by sin” (Ceremonial of Bishops, 253). We mourn for “our sin and ignorance” (Responsory for Ash Wednesday) that has kept us from keeping faithful to our baptismal promises. We are marked with ashes as a sign of our commitment to “turn away from sin and be faithful to the gospel” (Mk 1:15).

Where do the ashes come from?
The rubrics for Ash Wednesday say that “the ashes used today come from the branches blessed the preceding year for Passion Sunday.” Though there is no special rite for burning palm branches, many communities have made a tradition of preparing their own ashes during the weeks before Lent.

How long do I have to wear these ashes?
There is no rubric that states that ashes need to be worn outside of the Ash Wednesday liturgy, though you’ll see many smudged foreheads at work and on the streets on that day. The wearing of ashes is meant to be a sign of our inward conversion, and, as the Gospel of the day warns, not a way to gain applause. However, this could be a way to quietly evangelize our places of work and to find support from unknown fellow Catholics.

Is it a sin to not get ashes on Ash Wednesday?
Some people believe that it is a sin to miss receiving ashes on this day. Some even believe that one would not go to heaven if he or she were not marked with blessed ashes. Neither is true. (Ash Wednesday is not even a holy day of obligation!) This of course does not mean that we shouldn’t participate in this liturgy, nor does it mean that the symbol isn’t important. Wearing ashes must reflect our desire to act from our baptismal promises. Saying “we believe” requires us to live dead to sin. Wearing ashes demands that we live alive for Christ.

This article by Diana Macalintal first appeared in Eucharistic Ministries 227, February 2003.