When I was first a monk at Pluscarden Abbey, the abbot there seriously disliked having to preach. And to justify this, he’d use the phrase: “the Liturgy preaches its own sermon”. In the end the bishop of the time told him, No, on Sundays and feasts, you should preach. Being an obedient man, he did.
But that phrase, “the Liturgy preaches its own sermon” really is true tonight. Everything tonight is a sermon. The Paschal Candle preaches a sermon. It’s the risen Christ leading us out of the dark into the light, kindling the candle we are and lighting the light of faith in us so we can pass it on. The seven Old Testament readings preach too, the Law (the first three) and the Prophets (the following four). Creation, the blessing of Israel, the exodus from Egypt find their final meaning in the Cross and Resurrection of the Lord, and the prophets look forward the birth and growth of the Church. Then St Paul explains how it is by baptism we share in the death, burial and resurrection, and the Gospel recounts the discovery of the empty tomb and the Lord’s first appearance. So a candle preaches. Then Scripture preaches. The Alleluia preaches, even when sung off note by the bishop. And in a moment come the Sacraments of the Church: baptism, confirmation and the holy Eucharist. They preach too, resoundingly. So tonight, in the darkness, many voices – of things, of words, of actions – speak up. And all say the same thing: he is risen, he is truly risen and with him all else. Even the wind and rain battering the roof and the peace and joy within – there’s a homily there!
A Spanish priest told a good story. One Easter Sunday in his parish he had had – exceptionally – to celebrate the Easter Mass five times. At the end of the day, he was happy, we presume, but exhausted. And the presbytery doorbell rang. We might imagine his reaction. He opened the door. There were two keen, evangelistic young men. “We want to give you some special news”, they said, “Christ is risen. He quietly replied, “Thank you. I have already told my people that 5 times today.” The risen Christ of the Mass!
Speaking of the Cross, St John Henry Newman once said: “[I]n the Cross, and Him who hung upon it, all things meet; all things subserve it, all things need it. It is their centre and their interpretation. For He was lifted up upon it, that He might draw all [human beings] and all things to Him.” And the Cross cannot be separated from the Resurrection.
Yes, this night, even restrictedly in the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, in St Peter’s, Rome, with the Holy Father, in cathedrals and churches and chapels and houses and huts, how many are converging on Christ: some wandering in by chance or brought by friends, those already baptised, those – like our 12 frontrunners here tonight – coming to complete their baptism by confirmation or complete their Christian faith in Catholic fulness, or here to be baptised like our fearless four.
“The liturgy preaches its own sermon.”
Yes, and let’s not stop there. In the end, the liturgy is a passing thing. In fact, very literally so. Its signs and symbols, its words and actions are all meant to pass – into us. It is we with the wax of our flesh and the wick of our souls who are to cry Lumen Christi. It is we, in our whole lives, who are to be inspired words of God, living Scriptures. It is we who are called to be, thanks to the sacramental energies of the Church, sacraments ourselves. It’s we in the end who are the sermon.
For tonight, we focus on baptism. I like the old English word for it: christening. “Christing”. Every sacrament “christs” us, but baptism is the first and the foundation and needed for the reception of the others. So it deserves this name. Almost all of us here, I imagine, have been “christed” – as our four friends will be soon. When we are baptised the Holy Spirit makes us sons and daughters of the Father, sons in the Son as we say. The Father sees his Son in us. The Father bends over us and says: “this is my beloved son (daughter) in whom I am well pleased.” The one Christ, as it were, pours his molten self into us and takes shape there. In faith and frailty, we are Christ. We are Christ crucified and risen. So, as the poet said, “Christ plays in ten thousand places, lovely in eyes, lovely in limbs not his, to the Father through the features of men’s faces.”. The grace of the liturgy – christening, “christing” – passes into us, and we become what the Sacrament imparts.
Yes, “the liturgy preaches its own sermon.” It’s true, and in the end that sermon isn’t signs and symbols, readings and rites – precious and needed as they are by us pilgrims: it’s us. And what we become tonight, we’ll be forever.
I must quote what one of our baptizandi said in a letter to me: “[Until recently] my entire life has felt incomplete.” I’ve heard women say that when they become mothers. I’ve heard priests say that when they’re ordained. Let all of us say that tonight, remembering when faith and baptism came to us, when Christ came and greeted us as he greeted the women that early dawn. Tonight we are complete and new life breaks from the tomb.
“The liturgy preaches its own sermon” and now that sermon is us. “Do not be afraid”.
St Mary’s Cathedral, Aberdeen, 3 / 4 April 2026
