Entrance Rite

FROM THE RECTOR

Have you ever noticed the little holy water vessels, often called stoups, that many churches—usually Roman Catholic—put in the back of a church near the doors that lead into the nave? When people walk into the worship space, whether for public worship or private prayer, they are invited to invoke their baptism by dipping their fingers into the blessed water and crossing themselves. Similarly, some people place the domestic equivalent by their front door or in their bedroom so that they can reconnect with their baptismal identity whenever they enter or leave or whenever they lie down or get up. Although that feels a little too formal for me, I like the idea of beginning and ending each day with an expression of gratitude for my baptism and of intention to pursue the baptized life.

Holy Water isn’t magic, of course, and splashing a tiny amount on my forehead won’t make me a holier person, but the symbolic connection with the spiritual regeneration conveyed in the sacrament of Baptism can be powerful. If I allow it, the act of crossing myself with holy water can fashion a mental bridge that stretches all the way back through my life to my infancy, when my parents and godparents presented me for my own baptism. Many of you, like me, were too young to remember your own baptism, and our recollections, therefore, must be by association and extension. How do you consciously recall your own baptism? How is your baptism more than a story told by others or a certificate kept in a family Bible? How does your baptism become real in your own life?

One way is through the reaffirmation of baptismal vows that we make whenever we baptize a new member into the Christian community. As we bring a new child of God into the Body of Christ, we all proclaim the life of faith we share through the Apostles’ Creed and the five affirmations that follow it. But is five or six times a year often enough to recall a part of your identity that should shape your daily life? I suppose that any of us could read through the Baptismal Covenant on our own at any time, but doing so apart from the community of faith seems to miss something important. Maybe you think of your own baptism every time you say the Apostles’ Creed at Morning or Evening Prayer, but I confess that, for me, the connection between the Daily Office and my baptism isn’t particularly strong.

For many of us, the covering up of the baptismal font during the pandemic has been a real loss. Many have lamented the inability to dip their fingers into it on our way forward for Communion not only out of habit but as a way to reconnect with the deepest parts of their faith—their spiritual origins and continued place in the Body of Christ. Starting this Sunday, we plan to uncover the font and put holy water back into it so that those who want to can dip their fingers into it. Keep in mind that, although sacred, the font is not necessarily sanitary. We will change out the water regularly, but you may want to allow a visual engagement to take the place of physical contact for now.

Also, you may have noticed that we have moved the font from up by the chancel to the back, near the main door of the church, where I plan to keep it for now. Baptism is our entrance into the Body of Christ, and placing the font in its traditional location, near the entrance to the church, allows us to connect with our own baptism as we enter and leave. It allows us to remember our baptism as we come into the community and take that identity with us back into the world. The cruciform cutout in the pews will allow families to gather by the font for baptisms, and, during the baptismal liturgy, we will process from the front of the church to the font as we sing the familiar baptismal hymn Engelberg. At first, it may feel a little strange for those in the front pews to turn around and face the back of the church for a baptism, but I anticipate that over time the symbolic connection between entrance and new birth will open up in new and stronger ways.

Yours Faithfully,

Evan