Fonts for Function and Meaning: Some Worthy Examples

Once the theological rationale for the design of the font has been established, artists, architects, and craftspersons face the challenge of shaping a font that reflects those convictions. This article describes three thoughtful examples of recently constructed fonts.

How can baptismal fonts be designed so that they enable ritual fullness and signify sacramental richness? That is, how can fonts be designed for both functions (the immersion of adults and infants) and meaning (baptism as passage with Christ through death into life, as new birth, and as salvific washing)?

The church in the first three centuries did not need fonts; it used natural bodies of water for baptism. In the fourth through the sixth centuries, large baptismal pools were constructed, and the remains of many of them can still be visited in Europe and the Middle East. Today, however, we have inherited the minimalist fonts of the Middle Ages, and these often tiny fonts are neither adequate for the ritual actions of the baptismal liturgy nor appropriate for our renewed appreciation of baptism’s profound meaning.

Fortunately, in the past two decades in the United States, we have witnessed the design and construction of more adequate and ample fonts, and this article will highlight three of the best. These fonts share several very important characteristics. First, each is part of the space, not a furnishing in the space. Second, each is provided with running water in a quantity that enables the immersion of both infants and adults. Third, though the locations vary somewhat, in each case the location is related to the entrance, an important baptismal image. Fourth, each is freestanding, thus providing space for the baptismal party and congregation to gather around the font.

Indianapolis, Indiana

In his 1986 renovation of the Roman Catholic Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul in downtown Indianapolis, architect Edward A. Sovik provided an octagonal above-ground immersion pool, 5 feet 6 inches in diameter, with water approximately 20 inches deep. In overall appearance, the pool resembles the ancient octagonal pools which can still be seen in northern Italy. The Sovik pool is located just inside the main entrance to the cathedral nave; a beautiful and imposing paschal candle stands beside it. The interior of the pool is polished granite, and some sections of marble arcade from the pre-renovation cathedral were used in the exterior sides. City water is used. The water does not recirculate, for reasons which, according to Sovik, are both practical (costs and pump noise) and symbolic (divine grace flows constantly). The water temperature and rate of flow can be controlled, and the pool can be drained for occasional cleaning. A removable stile facilitates entrance into and exit from the pool by adult and youth candidates for baptisms. The surrounding floor is terrazzo, so there is no damage from dripping water when neophytes go to the restrooms in the rear corner of the nave to change (a distance of about 40 feet).

Requested to provide a way to prevent children from climbing into the water, Sovik designed a brass wire “fishnet” that can be hooked into the interior of the pool about an inch below the water surface. It is easily removed when baptism is celebrated. Given the height of the pool, it seems unlikely, if not impossible, that a child could accidentally drown in it, but Sovik’s solution is certainly worthy.

At one side of the pool is an upper granite basin, circular on the inside (to symbolize the infinite, according to Sovik) and square (the finite) on the exterior. This upper basin is for infant baptism and is a source of water for making the sign of the cross when entering the worship space. The interior is 24 inches in diameter and about 5 inches deep. Water flows into the upper basin and then through a brass spout into the lower pool (although the lower pool itself can also be filled directly).

The font has several strengths. Its location is optimal, both liturgically and symbolically. Its appearance is beautiful in itself and in its setting within the renovated cathedral. Its octagonal shape “speaks” the eighth day, the new day of resurrection which we enter through our baptism. It holds a large amount of water—enough water to drown in or bathe in—and thus it is a fitting vessel for holy baptism. Its size accommodates the baptism of people of any age. The only criticism of this font regards the provision of the separate upper basin; it seems unnecessary. The lower pool itself, the top rim of which is 28×1

4 inches high, could easily accommodate baptizing infants by either immersion or affusion (pouring), and the water is easily accessible to hands for blessing oneself upon entrance to the nave. Double-level fonts are becoming common (and, as they go, this one is well designed and visually well connected to the main pool), but in this case, it is not necessary. In a society where theological debate continues about the merits of infant baptism, it would seem better for liturgical churches not to have multilevel fonts which may suggest that infant baptism is different from adult baptism.

Concord, California

The font at the new St. Francis of Assisi Roman Catholic Church in Concord (east of San Francisco) is a below-ground cruciform pool set within an octagon. Designed by architect Frank Mighetto, the building was completed in late 1986. The pool is approximately 6×12 feet across, with water about 2×12 feet deep. On two opposite sides of the cross are three steps into and out of the water—thus enabling descent into the waters as well as passage through the waters, both principal baptismal images. The interior of the pool is faced with attractive blue porcelain ceramic tile. The slightly raised slate tile octagon on which the pool is placed is symbolic of the eighth day. The paschal candle stand is placed on one side of the raised octagon.

At one side of the pool is a 30-inch raised stone font for infant baptism; it is a 9-inch deep octagonal basin within a square base. Water is pumped into the raised basin and then flows over one edge into the lower pool. The water is heated, recirculated for conservation, and filtered to inhibit algae.

The font is located within a narthex which, because of an ingeniously designed colonnade, creates the appearance of an octagonal baptistery at the main entrance to the nave. Just as the church itself resembles an early Christian basilica, the baptistery/narthex gives the visual hint of an ancient baptistery. Adjacent to the narthex are restrooms which may be used as changing rooms for adult baptism. The narthex floor is slate tile, so splashed or dripped water is no problem.

This is an impressive font, functional and powerful in its visual and symbolic impact. Mighetto has done well combining two principal motifs of baptism—death (cruciform pool) and resurrection (octagonal shape used for base, infant baptism, and baptistery area). Materials and colors are good.

Still, one wonders whether the location of the baptistery separate from the nave is the best idea. True, the entrance motif is clear. And true, the doors between this baptistery and nave are large. But perhaps it would have been better for liturgical reasons to locate the font within the nave itself or in such a way that it is clearly visible from every seat in the nave. A second possible criticism is the provision of a separate basin for infants, although here entrance blessing in the below-ground pool would be difficult (in contrast to Sovik’s raised pool in Indianapolis). Infant baptism in the lower pool would require the priest to enter the water. A third criticism relates to the placement of many plants around the entire perimeter of the pool. Presumably, it is to keep children from climbing into the water, but surely there are better solutions if, in fact, this is a problem (remember Sovik’s solution in Indianapolis). The near-jungle of plants greatly distracts from the font.

New York, New York

Saint Peter’s Lutheran Church in Manhattan, dedicated in 1977, has a large above-ground immersion pool at the entrance to the worship space. The font gives the impression of a square with 9×13-foot sides, although one corner is cut off for the steps down into it. The rim of the pool is 34 inches above the ground, and the water level at the bottom of the steps is 22 inches. The pool is constructed of granite, the same as the floor of the entranceway and nave. The architect was High A. Stubbins, Jr., with interior design by Vignelli Associates.

The water can be heated and recirculated. There is no purification system, and the pool is emptied weekly for cleaning and then refilled with fresh water.

The location of the font at the rear corner of the worship space is excellent both liturgically and symbolically. All persons entering the worship space must pass by the font, and they can easily dip their fingers in the water to trace on themselves the sign of the cross in remembrance of their baptism. Adults being baptized must descend into the water, a good baptismal image. Infants can be baptized by either immersion or affusion without the pastor entering the water.

The shape of the font, however, lacks the symbolic impact of those at Indianapolis and Concord. While it holds abundant water, the shape itself does not teach anything about the meaning of baptism. The other weakness of the space is the failure to provide nearby changing rooms.

Conclusion

While none of these fonts are perfect, they are all worthy examples of attempts to provide fonts that make an adequate statement about baptismal theology and which enable and encourage significant ritual action.

The Font as a Place for Burial, Birth, and Bath

The sacrament of Christian baptism presents a variety of symbolic meanings. In one ritual act, the new Christian is buried with Christ in his death, is birthed to a new life with Christ, and is washed of sin and impurity. This article explains the relationship of these meanings and their implications for the design of baptismal fonts and the practice of baptism today.

Water creates and destroys, brings to life, and drowns. Without water people and animals and plants wither and die. Water extinguishes fires; it cleanses and refreshes. God created water for life and death and bathing. It is God’s instrument for salvation and destruction. As the waters of the flood brought death, so the waters of the Exodus—“swept by a strong east wind”—brought life.

Christian baptism is also water for life and death and bathing. Wherever abundant water flows, there is a setting for baptism: Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River (Mark 3:9–11), and Paul baptized Lydia in a river near Philippi (Acts 16:13–15). Rivers, lakes, and the sea continued to be the usual sites for baptism for two or three centuries. In the second century, however, because Christians were still under persecution, baptism may sometimes have occurred in the bathing rooms and courtyard fountains of private homes and in small public baths.

Early Baptisteries

In the third and fourth centuries, particularly after the emperor Constantine ended the persecutions in 313, special places for baptism were constructed or adapted. Baptisteries were buildings, or sometimes separate areas within buildings, which contained baptismal pools known as fonts. At that period in church history, adult baptism was the norm, and baptism generally occurred during the Easter vigil. To accommodate all the candidates for baptism and to provide privacy, the baptisteries in the West were usually detached or only loosely attached to churches.

Examples of such early baptisteries still exist in Italy in such places as Ravenna, Grado, Lomello, and Rome (San Giovanni in Laterano) and in Fréjus, France. In addition, excavations have revealed other important paleo-Christian baptisteries in Italy: San Tecla in Milan (the Ambrosian baptistery), Castel Seprio, Torcello, Concordia Sagitarria, Aquileia, and San Marcello in Rome. The form of these early baptisteries and their fonts varied by geographic area and related to the architectural origin, the sacramental mode, and the theological meaning of baptism.

The baptisteries seem to have at least two architectural antecedents. First, they have been influenced architecturally by martyria and mausolea, which were often quadrilateral, circular or octagonal. The fourth-century baptistery of San Giovanni alle Fonti at San Tecla in Milan, for example, was modeled after Maximian’s mausoleum at San Vittore. Moreover, its plan bears a striking resemblance to the extant chapel of San Aquilino, attached to San Lorenzo in Milan, which was originally built as a mausoleum and was also modeled after the San Vittore mausoleum. Also remarkable is the eleventh-century trefoil baptistery at Concordia Sagittaria, Italy, which exactly reproduced the nearby fourth-century trefoil martyrium; the martyrium itself, in fact, may have been transformed into a baptistery for a period of time.

A second architectural antecedent of baptisteries seems to have been the frigidarium, the cold section of Roman baths which was usually octagonal, circular, or quadrilateral. The baptistery of San Giovanni in Laterano in Rome is one example of a baptistery built over a preexistent bath. In the Constantinian era, its plan was very similar to two frigidaria in Pompeii.

Interpreting the Font

Fonts, more than the baptisteries in which they were located, deserve our particular attention since it now appears that separate or detached baptisteries would contradict an emerging ecumenical consensus regarding baptismal theology and practice. According to this consensus, baptism is a part of corporate worship, to be celebrated in the congregation’s presence and with their involvement.

The oldest font known to us dates from the early third century. Found in a house church in Dura-Europos (in what is now Syria), this font had the rectangular shape of a coffin. In Italy from the fourth century on, hexagonal and octagonal fonts became common. Round fonts were also found in many areas in the early church including the earliest font at the Lateral baptistery in Rome. Cruciform fonts (square, like the Greek cross) existed in Greece, Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt.

The shapes of fonts have been interpreted according to differing theological emphases, especially burial, birth, and bathing. Paul stressed the paschal nature of baptism in his letter to the Romans:

Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. (Rom. 6:3–4, RSV)

This paschal motif was central in the baptismal theology of Ambrose, Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom, and Theodore of Mopsuestia (Hugh M. Riley, Christian Initiation: A Comparative Study of the Interpretation of the Baptismal Liturgy in the Mystagogical Writings of Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and Ambrose of Milan [Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1974]), and it is a common theme in patristic writings about baptismal fonts. In the late third century, Origen referred to the font as a sepulcher (In Romanos 5:8). A century later Chrysostom wrote that “it is as in a tomb that we immerse our heads in the water” (In Joannem 25:2) Ambrose of Milan, also in the late fourth century, described the font as being like a grave and a tomb (De sacramentis 2:20 and 3:1).

It is not surprising that baptism was usually celebrated at the Easter vigil, or that many early fonts were interpreted as symbolizing this understanding of baptism as death and resurrection with Christ. Octagonal fonts, which probably originated in the Ambrosian baptistery in Milan and can still be seen in excavations there, symbolized the eighth day, the day of resurrection, the eschatological dawning of the new age. The fifth-century Lateran font, which can no longer be seen, was also octagonal.

Hexagonal fonts suggested the sixth day as the day of Christ’s death. Such paschal symbolism was particularly powerful when a hexagonal font was in an octagonal baptistery—an arrangement which can still be seen in Italy in Aquileia, Grado, and Lomello—because when the candidate for baptism “entered the hexagonal font, he knew he was to die with Christ, but as he left the font and stood once more in the eight-sided room he also knew that he was to walk in newness of life” (J. G. Davies, The Architectural Setting of Baptism [London: Barrier and Rockliff, 1962], 21). Another shape, the cruciform font, symbolized the victory of Christ’s resurrection.

A second major theological emphasis connects baptism with birth as in this text from the fourth gospel: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.” (John 3:3–5; RSV)

Theologically, the font was seen as a womb or a mother. Clement of Alexandria wrote in the early third century that God “begot us from the womb of the water” (Stromata 4:25). Almost two centuries later, Augustine described the font as “the womb of the church” (Sermones 56, De oratione dominica ad competentes). The fifth-century Latin inscription which can still be seen on the architraves in the Lateral baptistery includes many phrases interpreting baptism as birth. Leo the Great, who may have composed the Lateral inscription, also preached about the parallelism between baptismal water and the womb. Round fonts have also been interpreted as suggesting this birth imagery.

A third theological understanding is of baptism as a bath for cleansing us from sin. Paul wrote to the Corinthians: “You were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God” (1 Cor. 6:11; rsv). In the second century, Justin Martyr described baptism as a washing. In the next century, Cyprian of Carthage wrote frequently of baptism as washing and cleansing. It is interesting that some early baptisteries were located near or constructed over Roman baths; whether this was done for symbolic reasons or simply to connect Christians to a source of water is a matter of debate.

Despite their varying shapes, early fonts—literally pools—were always large and held abundant water. The Lateran baptismal pool was twenty-eight feet in diameter—easily accommodating the two most common modes of baptism. Immersion involved dipping the candidate’s head in the water; affusion involved pouring the water over the candidate’s head. In both cases, however, the candidates were standing in the water when they were baptized. Affusion, as well as immersion, suggested burial; water was poured over the candidate just as the earth was cast on a corpse. Submersion (completely plunging the candidate underwater) does not seem to have been practiced in most places in the early church because the fonts were relatively shallow.

From the sixth to the eighth centuries, adult baptisms declined in number—probably due to the high infant mortality rate and parental fears resulting from Augustine’s doctrine of original sin. When fonts no longer needed to be large enough for the immersion of adults or to be located in detached baptisteries to ensure privacy, they were placed inside churches, usually near the main entrance. They were still relatively large—to accommodate the immersion of infants—and traditional in shape, either octagonal (suggesting resurrection), hexagonal (death with Christ), rectangular (tomb), or round (birth).

The Loss of Primary Symbols

From the Middle Ages until the present time, baptismal space has deteriorated both functionally and symbolically. As affusion (pouring) and aspersion (sprinkling) became widespread, the fonts became smaller and smaller. What was originally a river and then a pool eventually became a shallow “birdbath” and finally a small bowl. In addition, in the thirteenth century, when people began stealing the consecrated water in the font to use for witchcraft, locked covers were placed over the fonts. The covers soon became elaborate and decorative, and eventually the covers—not the water itself—became the primary visual symbol, until it was no longer possible to interpret the font with its water as either womb or tomb or even as a bathtub.

As a result, today’s popular understanding of baptism is often trivial. Baptism is seen as a nice little ceremony, rather than as a consequential event of death and life. Few of us perceive baptism as the profound event that Cyril of Jerusalem described in a sermon to newly-baptized Christians in the fourth century: “You died and were born at the same time. The water of salvation became for you both a tomb and a mother” (Mystagogical Catecheses 2:4). Indeed, so little water is commonly used for baptism today that even the washing or cleansing motif is impossible to perceive.

Baptismal Space Today

The trivialization of fonts through the centuries resulted largely from deteriorating baptismal practices. Now, these practices are changing for the better. New and revised baptismal rites across the ecumenical spectrum have attempted to let the rite itself—its texts and actions and setting—demonstrate its profound meanings. Because we learn the meaning of the sacraments from what we do and what we see, the poor baptismal practices of centuries have taught us a poor baptismal theology.

One of the most important changes in baptismal practice today is the growing ecumenical awareness of the sign value of water, and thus the use of more abundant water in the rite. The Roman Catholic Bishops’ Committee on the Liturgy has written: “To speak of symbols and of sacramental signification is to indicate that immersion is the fuller and more appropriate symbolic action in baptism” (Environment and Art in Catholic Worship [Washington, D.C.: United States Catholic Conference, 1978], 39). The remarkable ecumenical document, Baptism, Eucharist, and Ministry, agrees: In the celebration of baptism the symbolic dimension of water should be taken seriously and not minimalized. The act of immersion can vividly express the reality that in baptism the Christian participates in the death, burial and resurrection of Christ. (Faith and Order Paper 111:Baptism V 18 [Geneva: World Council of Churches])

Four centuries ago, in 1519, Martin Luther also affirmed the practice of immersion. He wrote that it is demanded by the significance of baptism itself. For baptism … signifies that the old man and the sinful birth of flesh and blood are to be wholly drowned by the grace of God. We should therefore do justice to its meaning and make baptism a true and complete sign of the thing it signifies. (“The Holy and Blessed Sacrament of Baptism,” Luther’s Works, ed. E. Theodore Bachman, vol. 35 [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1960], 29)

Immersion and even affusion—if the pouring is done with an abundant amount of water—more fully convey the meaning of baptism than mere sprinkling. The point is not how much water is necessary for baptism to be efficacious, but rather how much water it takes for us to realize the radical nature of baptism. A few drops cannot communicate the rich biblical meanings of baptism.

Renewing Our Baptismal Spaces

Baptismal space in a church building will encourage or inhibit a congregation’s development of mature baptismal practices and understandings. An insignificant font kept in a corner for occasional use does not signify the permanent baptismal foundation for the Christian life. A font in any location, if it holds only a minimal amount of water, does not teach us to understand baptism as burial or birth or bath. A small bowl of water placed on the altar for baptism does not reflect the centrality of baptism in the life of the church.

Form follows function and meaning. If baptismal practices are to be renewed to make clear the meaning of baptism, then our baptismal spaces must also be renewed to enable those practices and that meaning. Water is the central symbol of baptism:

All the things suggested by water—washing, life sustenance, refreshment, drowning, birth, creation, flood, Exodus, Jordan—support and enrich the proclamation of incorporation. The first five of these meanings connect with people’s experience of water outside of liturgy, and they communicate in a supraconceptual way. For example, one cannot really explain the refreshment a shower brings after a strenuous game. The latter four meanings are conditioned or learned, and they depend upon one’s knowledge of biblical history. It is water signaling on all these levels which gives depth and breadth to what is proclaimed about incorporation into Christ. Baptism is not solely a verbal event; it is a total experience. (Eugene L. Brand and S. Anita Stauffer, By Water and the Spirit: Pastor’s Guide [Philadelphia: Parish Life Press, 1979], 25)

The most important factor about the font is the amount of water it can hold. The Lutheran Book of Worship (1978) suggested in its rubrics that “a font of ample proportions for the Sacrament of Holy Baptism should be part of the furnishings of the church” (Minister’s Edition, p. 30). In the same year, Environment and Art in Catholic Worship advocated the same principle. A font should be large enough to accommodate at least the immersion of an infant, or ideally, the immersion of an adult. (A good example of the former is the font at St. John the Evangelist Roman Catholic Church in Hopkins, Minnesota; and of the latter, at St. Peter’s Lutheran Church in Manhattan.) Even if immersion is not now practiced in a parish, the profusion of water will help people recognize the biblical water images used in the baptismal liturgy.

To communicate central baptismal imagery, a font should contain enough water that one could bathe or even drown in it. If possible, the water should be running and heated. Also, in our era when good stewardship of the earth certainly involves water conservation, the water in a font should probably be recirculated.

What, then, should be the shape of a font? The ancient octagonal and hexagonal shapes still have much to commend them. With good pastoral teaching, the shape of the font can help convey the meaning of baptism as burial and resurrection with Christ. Such emphasis seems especially important in our culture in which the denial of death is pervasive and the scandal of the cross less appealing than cheap grace.

Round, cruciform, quadrilateral, and other shapes of fonts are also possible; a remarkable new cruciform font for the immersion of adults has been constructed at St. Charles Church in London. Care should be taken, however, to avoid “cute” shapes such as shells.

Before determining the shape for a new font, a careful study of symbolism should be undertaken by the planning committee—to be followed by a program of thorough and ongoing catechesis with the entire congregation and prospective members when the new font is completed. The shape of the font is less important than its size, however, and this, too, is a matter for good catechesis.

It is not necessary for the font to be adorned with symbols. The water it holds is the central symbol, and the font itself—its size, shape, and location—is also a symbol. Other symbols on the font may detract. This is not to disparage art, but only to suggest that symbols on symbols are not necessary. Likewise, it is no longer meaningful to put covers on fonts. In our culture, baptismal water is not considered supernatural (though it is used for a holy purpose) or magical, and there is no need to prevent people from stealing it as they did in medieval times. It is far better to let the water be visible and tangible.

The location of the font is a matter of symbolism and of good liturgy. First, the Word of God, the Eucharist, and baptism are three separate ecclesial acts. As there are three worship acts, so there should be three worship spaces, the pulpit, the altar, and the font. Placing the font in the chancel obscures this distinction. In addition, as it minimizes the amount of movement in the liturgy, it reduces everyone’s participation in passive roles.

Second, what is symbolized and enabled by the location of the font? The most appropriate location seems to be inside the main entrance to the worship space, with adequate space around it. Such a location symbolizes baptism as entrance into the family of God, the church. It is good for the font to be located so that the people must walk around it as they enter the nave, and thus be reminded each Sunday of their baptism. When baptism is celebrated, the baptismal party (and perhaps others in the congregation, especially children) gather around the font; the rest of the congregation turns to face it (even as it turns to face a bride when she enters for a wedding).

The area around the font is known as the baptistery. The paschal candle may be placed near the font (except during the weeks of Easter, when it is located near the altar) as a reminder of the primary connection between baptism and Easter. A small shelf or table is also useful in the baptistery, to hold items needed for baptisms, such as oil for anointing, a towel, the baptismal garment, and the small baptismal candle.

Proclaiming the Profound

Baptism is a profound and radical act—profound because it draws us deeply into Christ and the paschal mystery, and radical because it grafts us onto the very roots of the Christian faith and into the body of Christ. Baptism is a cosmic and individual act because it makes each of us a part of salvation history. It is also a profoundly personal act with radical corporate consequences because it makes each of us a child of God and simultaneously incorporates us into the communion of saints.

Baptism is an act of termination and a new beginning, a time of transitus—the most important passage of our lives. The words of Ash Wednesday remind us abruptly of the reality of life on earth: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” All too soon we, too, will be but skeletons disintegrating into dust, like the remains that stare out at us from the burial niches of the catacombs. Born from the wombs of our mothers, we move inexorably toward tombs in the earth.

But there is another reality of life in Christ: reborn in the font, the direction we move in is reversed, for the font is both a watery womb and a life-giving tomb. In baptism, we move from death to new birth, from burial to resurrection, from darkness to light, from the stain of sin to the cleansing power of grace, from ourselves into the family of God. We are never the same again because the chaos and self-centeredness of our lives are washed away, and we are joined to Jesus Christ. The waters that drown us are also the waters that give us life.

Baptism is a profound and radical act of burial, of birth, and bath. The sacrament is not a trivial event, but it is trivialized by insignificant fonts and small amounts of water. Baptism is not time for minimalism; it is, rather, a time for signs and actions consistent with its radical and profound meaning. Only large fonts holding abundant water can proclaim and enable baptism’s wonderful consequences: death and life and salvific cleansing.