CATECHUMENATE, A Journal of Christian Initiation
November 2002 Vol. 24, No. 6

An Elegant Sufficiency:

Symbol and Gesture in Christian Initiation

I once knew a priest who derived a certain giddy, puerile pleasure from applying ashes on Ash Wednesday. With his thumb he drew the cross so ridiculously large on the foreheads of innocent sinners that bald men could not risk stopping and chatting outside after Mass for fear of being flattened by an accurate skydiver. I once witnessed a presider at the Easter Vigil who, after jumping into, then slipping and falling in the baptismal font, proceeded to splash the water so ludicrously in all directions under the guise of blessing it that it took the varnish off the front pew and the smiles off the faces of those sitting on it. I know. Mine was one of the faces. My notes for the evaluation of that Triduum have but one word next to the heading, BLESSING OF THE WATER: “Please!”

Despite these two silly exceptions that come immediately to mind, I want to reiterate and encourage the generous (and reverent) use of our sacramental symbols and gestures, especially during the major and minor rites of Christian Initiation climaxing at the Easter Vigil. The beauty of the rites, their power to touch and evoke, are greatly dependent upon the wise and creative use of our worship space, artifacts, gestures, movements, and symbols. Each on it’s own, and all together, have the capacity to unify or isolate the worshiping assembly, to support or sabotage the entire symbolic action.1

Theologian, David Power, refers to the sacraments as “the language of God’s giving.”2 Sacraments are symbolic, ritual celebrations of “how God approaches and gifts creatures, who stand in wonder before the divine and ineffable mystery to which they cannot give a name but from which they receive life, a life which draws them up into the mystery.”3 These ritual actions are not merely static channels through which grace is mediated, but rather divine-human interactions through which the power of God is operative and made present. The Church, therefore, plays a crucial role in whether or not those assembled receive life and are drawn up into mystery.

A family I know of has a nightly custom. Before being excused from the dinner table, each person announces: “I have had an elegant sufficiency. Any more would be superfluous.” Among other important considerations for liturgists, liturgy committees, presiders, and assemblies is the question of how best to let the rites and sacramental actions speak most poignantly God’s self-communication in Christ. When is an elegant sufficiency sufficient? When is superfluousness called for? How do we create and participate in rituals that are elegant responses to the ineffable mystery of God’s giving while also being generous enough in their use of symbol as to be compatible with the excessive nature of God’s wild and lavish love?

In Catholic worship, the attitude of “less is more” is almost always a healthy place to begin liturgical preparations and a prudent idea against which to weigh liturgical decisions. Liturgy is a graced action of beauty and truth requiring a sense of quality and appropriateness.4 Without these demands superfluousness runs the risk of being offensively inelegant. Conversely, there are singular moments and movements, certain sacramental symbols and gestures, and specific liturgical rituals and seasons when an elegant sufficiency is inelegant because it is not enough, when more means especially more, when what the sacramental event calls for is superfluous extravagance.

The modest aim of this article is to cultivate a still greater appreciation for the sacramental nature of our tradition, and to offer practical suggestions for enabling our words, symbols and ritual actions to speak more clearly the language of God’s giving and to evoke full responses to it. I will do this by offering brief reflections on three familiar but frequently taken for granted sacramentals and the ritual actions associated with them. They are touch, water, and oil. The corresponding actions are blessing, baptizing, and anointing. Space limits me to three. I have chosen them because they are noble, central to our faith, most in need of our attention, and hold a fundamental place in the Easter Vigil, the liturgy from which and toward which Christian worship flows.

Touch

Hildegard of Bingen described the incarnation as divinity aimed at humanity.5 More than a doctrine, it defines the intent and trajectory of God’s heart. It signals the deepest dream of God: to connect, touch, become one with humankind and all creation. The incarnation, the embodiment of God’s giving, is the core truth of Christian life and belief. Without it, the paschal mystery is merely mysterious, reduced to abstraction. With it, mystery becomes the secret and hidden wisdom made accessible to us in Jesus. Through the use of such identifiable realities as silence, song, touch, movement, bread, wine, light, darkness, incense, oil, and water, the mystery becomes present and real without ceasing to be mystery. Through them the language of God’s giving speaks louder than words and evokes from us a response that is more than verbal.

Ritual action that is rooted in a sacramental vision and consciousness calls for the tactile in order to communicate the awesome mystery of the holy God drawing near, dwelling among us, desiring relationship.6 One of the most powerful moments of the Rite of Acceptance and Welcome is the signing of the catechumens and candidates. After responding to the call to receive the sign of their “new way of life” and their “life in Christ” respectively, their bodies are then marked with the sign of the cross. No matter how many times I witness this ritual, it still surprises me how this simple gesture has the power to move people whether they are catechumens, sponsors, or assembly. It is a holy moment. It is made so through the power of touch.

When I advise those who will be signing, I tell them to make their gesture big and graceful and slowly. The rite mentions interjecting an acclamation in between the presider’s directives (RCIA, 56). In order to make this movement elegant, instruct: “When we sing, we sign.” It is important that sponsors sign with their entire hand, not just their thumb. It cannot be puny and it cannot be rushed. Allow the signing to take the duration of the sung refrain, singing and signing complementing one other. We want the candidates to feel reverently attended to and for the assembly to be drawn in visually to the signing. The signing is a prayer in the form of touch. Tell those signing not merely to touch the catechumens prayerfully but to apply significant pressure. This can be done especially on the forehead, ears, shoulders, hands, and feet. After all, we are signing them with the cross. But the pressure is not merely to suggest the power of the cross. Its aim is also to convey God’s constancy and comforting presence the way a squeezed hand reassures when bidding a loved one farewell.

The term “signing of the other senses” (RCIA, 56, 516, 519) is a bit of a misnomer. After all, we sign shoulders and feet as well as eyes and ears. So there is a precedent to sign one other important but neglected part of the body: the womb or the gut. Over the years I have observed many women catechumens and candidates who at the Rite of Acceptance were noticeably pregnant making it equally noticeable when we bypassed the sacred center of their bodies. We move from signing the hands all the way down to the feet. This betrays the Church’s ambivalence toward sexuality, the human body, and its relationship to God, worship, and a living faith. Yet the womb or the gut not only carries human life and the potential for birth, but also symbolizes the birthplace of mercy, compassion, and human sympathy. The word used in the gospels to describe Jesus being moved with compassion comes from the Greek word that denotes the entrails of the body or the gut and is related to the Hebrew word for compassion, which refers to the womb of God. Divine pathos is generated from the womb of God.7This was the seedbed of Jesus’ pathos, the physical place from where Jesus responded with compassionate presence and passionate action to people anguished and pained.

For these reasons I suggest we include the sacred center in our signing. The presider could speak these or similar words:

Receive the sign of the cross over your womb or gut,
that you may give birth to life and mercy and compassion.

 I have found that even among strangers, within the context of this rite, it is important to use touch even when signing the eyes, lips, and heart. Ideally, the same can be done over the midsection of the catechumen as well. This can be done decently, reverently, and prayerfully. However, each case, each person, and each pairing is different. If there is hesitation, the RCIA coordinator along with the team and sponsors can discern if it will enhance or detract from the prayerfulness and power of the ritual. When in doubt, the blessing takes precedence over touch. But do not pass over the sacred center altogether. Instead, make a generous and graceful sign over the abdomen of the catechumen without using touch.

Other than this one possible exception, touch is essential throughout the entire initiation process. It is meaningful during the minor exorcisms, blessings and anointings of the catechumens,8 at the Scrutinies, for the ephphatha, and at Confirmation. More use should be made during the catechumenate of the exorcisms, blessings, and anointings as opportunities to strengthen catechumens and candidates and to communicate the lavish but intimate healing touch of God. On occasion invite sponsors or Initiation Team members to gather around those being prayed for to add tangible, physical support and comfort as the words are being spoken aloud. Touch is also called for during the celebration of the Scrutinies each Lent. The ephphatha rite is another straightforward but powerful opportunity to communicate the love of God through gentle touch. At our parish we celebrate it on Holy Saturday at Morning Prayer. Numerous people have remarked to me that watching the signing of the ears and lips of the different children and adults is one of the most powerful moments of Triduum. As the one with the privilege of signing the elect, I am conscious of trying to pass on to each person, the tender, animating love of God.

Lastly, a word about the laying on of hands at Confirmation. A review of the literature reveals a rather multifarious history when it comes to the practice and meaning of the imposition of hands and its relationship to the anointing and signing.9 What we know for sure is that along with the anointing with chrism and signing of the cross, it is one of the three gestures long associated with Confirmation. The rubric for the normative celebration of Confirmation at the Easter Vigil states “the celebrant holds his hands outstretched over the entire group” (RCIA, 234). Cross-referencing this with the “Rites for Particular Circumstances” and “Additional (Combined) Rites” (RCIA, 325, 365, 390, 493, and 590), the determining factor for whether or not there is an individual and physical laying on of hands at Confirmation appears to boil down to numbers. When a large group is inferred, the rubric calls for “hands outstretched.” When an individual or a few persons are mentioned, the instructions are to “lay hands on the person” showing that the gesture is considered significant and meaningful—literally a gesture full of meaning.

I want to urge strongly that special consideration be given to the actual, physical laying on of hands during Confirmation regardless of the size of the group. I cannot imagine the presiding bishop eliminating the actual imposition of hands during an ordination. It is too evocative and elegant an action, powerful in its intimacy and simplicity. Why forego it at Confirmation? Although today, anointing has a preferred place,10 the laying on of hands is an important part of the trinity of gestures that fires the imagination, rouses the heart, and helps convey the reality this sacrament embodies and points toward. Today when we hear the sad details of the tragic effects of inappropriate touch let us not lose sight of the empowering and healing potential of appropriate, public, ritual touch when it comes to the celebration of the sacraments.

Water

By retrieving the ancient tradition of baptism by immersion, The Rite of Christian Initiation recovered water as one of the primal symbols in Christian life. From beginning to end, the divine-human venture is a watery affair. The story of creation and the story of recreation is the same fluid tale along whose waterway the love of God flows. Into this flowing river of God we are immersed at baptism. Baptism means what water signifies. The amniotic fluids of our mother’s wombs are the waters that first cast us ashore in this life. We are born. The same transparent liquid has the force to pull and keep down a frantic girl or a grown man. We are drowned. If not drowned by its mighty presence there is the possibility of being desiccated by its absence. We die of thirst. On a scorching hot day a friend or stranger offers us a drink of water. We are refreshed. After a hard day of work or play we slip into a warm bath, our bodies ‘aahing.’ We are cleansed and soothed. A man is executed on a cross, pierced with a lance for good measure, spilling out blood and water. We are saved. Through it, with it, in it, we are baptized and born again into this world and into the life of God dripping with goodness and grace.

Because water, “the well-spring of all holiness” (RCIA, 222), is central to our faith and identity, parishes should work to insure that they have fonts (preferably permanent) worthy of this sacrament. Water should be a visible symbol throughout the initiation process. A simple glass bowl filled with water and at other times empty can be set on a center table during weekly catechesis as a reminder of the living water for which we long. Whenever possible homilists must be ready to interpret appropriate Sunday readings suggestive of baptism. Sprinkling rites by now should be an anticipated and welcome action during the season of Easter.

Of course, at the Easter Vigil, water holds a privileged place. Along with the Litany of the Saints, the Prayer Over the Water serves as a transition from the Liturgy of the Word to the Celebration of Baptism. This portion of the Vigil is one of the most beautiful. The prelude to something wonderful, it should not be overlooked. Let it be marked by an elegant simplicity and reverence. If the water in the font is not visible to the assembly, make it so during the blessing. What good is a symbol that cannot be seen? Using cupped hands, a large beautiful seashell or pitcher, the presider can gracefully dip then drip or pour water into the font as he sings or recites the blessing of the water. A sung refrain can involve the assembly during this recounting of our God-soaked history.

A font intended for full body immersion (or even baptism by the generous pouring of water over the head and body of the elect) is a relatively recent recovery in our Church. It is a new experience for cradle Catholics let alone for those being welcomed into the Church and the mélange of family members and friends who will accompany them on this night. My experience tells me, “As you catechize, so you baptize.” Especially when it involves youngsters, if the catechesis and rehearsal instructions are filled with too many cute comments or silly references to hot tubs, pool toys, ice cubes, or “holding you down under,” then this holy moment is bound to lose its beauty and power. Likewise, when baptizing, presiders should draw as little attention to themselves as possible, giving heed to the rubric: “Decency and decorum should be observed” (RCIA, 226). Doing so will guard against any conscious or unconscious need to upstage or interfere with the ritual action. Rather than a rigid rule that stifles, this will allow the Holy Spirit to animate the moment, the elect, and the assembly spontaneously and naturally.

Appropriateness is not a liturgical guideline that refers only to propriety. It calls for what is fitting, right, or true at a given time. A story goes about Teresa of Avila. Some prim and proper young nuns unexpectedly discovered her in the kitchen chowing down on a partridge, licking her fingers, smacking her lips, even more so in her comic wisdom and for their naïve benefit. Stopping suddenly, she looked up, stared straight at the jaw-dropped novices and said, “When it’s time to pray, pray. When it’s time to partridge, partridge.” It is both the solemnity and the superfluousness of the rite that evokes our “Alleluias!” The key is to know when to pray and when to partridge.

A wise presider and assembly know that it is the ritual action itself that signals and enables us to do each when appropriate. The celebration of baptism mingles elegance and lavishness. Whether by pouring or by immersion (which is preferred), the rite calls for an abundance of water. If the baptism is by immersion and if the font is large enough, the presider should consider getting in the font to baptize the elect. This allows the presider to receive each elect, conveys a sense of solidarity, and most importantly makes it easier to immerse completely three times the person being baptized. Standing outside the font, leaning over with a hand on the head or back of the elect, often looks as awkward as it is for the presider to do. Worse yet, it may appear as though the elect are responsible for baptizing themselves. In addition, those being baptized, especially children and youth, must be instructed to “let go” and not physically resist the minister of baptism. This prevents baptisms from resembling a backyard pool fight. Catechists can use the physical metaphor of letting go, with its spiritual evocativeness, for catechetical reflection and rich conversation.

Oil

If the imposition of hands at Confirmation expresses the “redemptive intimacy” of the Spirit of God, then the anointing with the oil of chrism confirms the superfluousness of God’s empowering and validating love. But here again, as with so many of our symbols and sacramental actions, the rite seems to suffer from a rather puny, minimalist approach. The rite says:

The minister of the sacrament dips his right thumb in the chrism and makes the sign of the cross on the forehead of the one to be confirmed (RCIA, 235).

But does the gesture say enough? I don’t think so. Let the signing of the forehead with chrism be the elegant culmination of Confirmation. Certainly it conveys sealing. But we are also talking about sharing “in the outpouring of the Holy Spirit” (RCIA 233). This action alone is simply too small and anemic to bear the weight of the mystery which we claim the sacrament manifests and makes happen. A little-dab-will-do-ya” just won’t do. It fails to symbolize the strengthening, courage-bestowing, royal-making, Christ-ening, extravagant pouring out of God.

Some years ago, I worked in a home for abused children. In one of the cottages, Mr. Wilson, a grandfatherly houseparent, was the overnight staff person. Each evening before they went to bed, Mr. Wilson convened the ragamuffins in his charge and performed a simple but sacred ceremony. It was remarkable how the tiny tatterdemalions, normally rambunctious and unruly, quickly settled down, anxious and ready to receive the nightly unction they had been deprived of thus far in their lives. One by one, Mr. Wilson called the children forward by name. Sitting in a straight back chair and with the child standing close and face to face with him, Mr. Wilson poured Johnson & Johnson Baby Oil into his hand. Then he tenderly, amply, lovingly rubbed it into each child’s head of hair, smearing the leftover oil affectionately on the child’s forehead and face. Oh, how even the angriest, bitter, foul-mouthed, damaged waif did glisten and shine.

This modest ritual said more and taught more about the sacraments, about who God is, and about who those children really were than any religious education class or catechism ever could. It said something to those bruised and broken children about the nature of God’s love: that it is generous beyond measure, prodigal, personal, unearned, pure gift. It said something to each child regardless of race, creed, or color, despite the day’s misdemeanors and demerits, about their own dignity and sacred worth. And wherever they might be today, whether in heaven or on earth, if anything saved those children, salvaged their fragile lives, it was not the daily dose of meds, counseling sessions, art therapy, or group activities. It was the intimate elegance and indulgent superfluousness of this nightly anointing with Johnson & Johnson Baby Oil.

Aidan Kavanaugh contends that a sacrament is intelligible to the extent that “one who engages in it is able to relate it to elements in his or her own human experience.”11 The problem is that our use of symbols and our ritual actions are so pro forma and phlegmatic that they are incapable of breaking open the sacramentality that is hidden in common, everyday occurrences. When celebrated well, the sacraments have the power to evoke and enliven the holy that is present in the most quotidian of mysteries: in greeting, embracing, giving birth, bathing, bathing others, putting on perfume or lotion, hurting others, saying ‘sorry,’ forgiving, sharing meals, laughing and crying with friends, falling in love, kissing, making love, giving and getting back rubs, saying goodbye, suffering loss, dying, grieving, and continuing on in hope. Kavanaugh continues: “A few drops of water, extended hands which do not touch, and a dab of odorless oil are not strong enough to trigger many further associations, especially when these pallid acts are overwhelmed by talk as they are done.”12 Suddenly less is not more. Less is simply easier, speedier, more expedient, and not as messy.

Pastors and bishops confirm hundreds and thousands of people respectively. But a confirmandi is confirmed only once. Priests for whom these ritual gestures have become old hat must recover a fresh-eyed awareness of their power. It is more than a sad irony when the experience is unsatisfying for those being confirmed because it was administered without passion, presence, or plenty. For the Confirmandi who have traveled this arduous journey with great excitement and expectation, the ritual action is not a formality, trivial, or passe. Especially for the candidates for full communion who do not participate as adults in the drama of baptism by immersion, Confirmation, in addition to First Communion, is the special event. Along with the elect, their lives have been altered by conversion to Christ. They too have awakened to the gratuitousness of God’s love. Therefore, a general imposition or an assembly line-like laying on of hands that lasts a second and an anointing that takes a second and a half to apply a bead of oil is, at best, a disappointment, and at worst, an affront to the Confirmandi. Why send them away muttering, “That was it?” when we could send them forth with hair and faces glistening, the women’s countenances radiant and bold as Judith’s, the men’s beard’s like Aaron’s running down with precious oil, dripping perfumed grace on their robes. We could send them out into the workplace on Monday morning exuding the sweet fragrance of Christ, convinced they are empowered by the Divine Breath, and overcome with the sense of the profuseness of God’s love.

Conclusion

The sacraments of initiation, like all sacraments, are the language of God’s giving. They allude to and make accessible this divine profuseness. Christian initiation is nothing if it is not the expanding awareness of this awesome mystery and the deepening desire and faith to respond to this lavish love. There isn’t “anywhere, in any language a word billowing enough”13 to describe this wild love and our unearned pleasure to receive and participate in it. So human humility and ingenuity make use of the language of ritual. Through symbols, gestures, and sacramental actions we dare to say something about God and the things of God and the things of our heart. Because God’s giving is a beauty unspeakable our sacramental celebrations must be elegant, marked with simplicity and reverence. Because God’s giving is an extravagance ineffable our rites must be superfluous, marked by spontaneity and prayerful imperfections. Only ritual language of this kind, at once graceful and passionate, will be sufficient to convey the elegant superfluousness of God’s giving while revealing our own full pleasure and commitment to live in response to it.■

DANIEL J. MILLER, Ph.D. (Th.M., M. Div.)

ENDNOTES
1 Environment and Art in Catholic Worship, no. 56, 1978.
2 Power, David I., Sacrament: The Language of God’s Giving. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1999.
Power, 275.
3 Environment and Art in Catholic Worship, nos. 19-23, 1978.
4 As found in Matthew Fox, Original Blessing: A Primer in Creation Spirituality, Santa Fe, New Mexico: Bear & Company, 1983: 179.
5 RCIA nos. 33.3 and 54 wisely remind us to be aware of persons from certain cultures where touch may not seem proper. This being the rare exception, my experience is that even people who are normally not comfortable with touch find the signing, when done respectfully and prayerfully, to be deeply moving and non invasive.
6 See Michael H. Marchal, “Minor Blessings and Dismissals,” in Catechumenate (January 2002)
7 See for example, Gerard Austin, Anointing with the Spirit. The Rite of Confirmation: The Use of Oil and Chrism , New York: Pueblo Publishing Company, 1985, Donald L. Gelpi, Committed Worship: A Sacramental Theology for
8 Converting Christians, Volume 1: Adult Conversion and Initiation, Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1993, Aidan Kavanaugh, Confirmation: Origins and Reform, New York: Pueblo Publishing Company, 1988,
9 Edward Yarnold, The Awe-Inspiring Rites of Initiation: The Origins of the R.C.I.A., Collegeville, Minnesota: 10 The Liturgical Press, 1971, 1994.
11 Paul Turner, The Meaning and Practice of Confirmation: Perspectives from a Sixteenth-Century Controversy, New York: Peter Lang, 1987: 329.
12 Kavanaugh, 103.
13 Kavanaugh, 104.
14 Mary Oliver, “The Sun,” New and Selected Poems, Boston: Beacon Press, 1992, p. 50.