Lumen Christi! Deo Gratias!

by Dr Raymond Perrier · April 7, 2026

By Dr Raymond Perrier – One of the advantages of not being a member of the clergy is that I get to sit in the pews and experience Mass the same way as the majority of people do.

It is a shame that more priests and bishops cannot do that. If they did, they would gain a much better insight into whether or not the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was promoting “full and active participation by all the people”. After all, the Second Vatican Council in its document on the liturgy said that this should be “the aim to be considered before all else”.

I am not talking about fancy theological questions — these ones are really basic.

Can I hear what is being said? Perhaps the speakers are too loud or too soft, the reader does not know how to articulate into the microphone, or the person’s accent is so strong they are barely comprehensible.

Can I see what is happening? Perhaps the altar is too low down, or the celebrant’s chair is too far away, or the reader is too short, or the altar servers have created a human screen that blocks everything.

Can I join in what is happening? Perhaps I cannot see the words on the screen (if my church has one) because they are too small or reproduced against a fancy background which makes them hard to read.

If you manage to see this column before your Sacred Triduum, then please at least try to address some of these basic questions. And if you want more detailed thoughts about the Holy Week liturgy, see my column from April 2025.

Priest in silhouette

I was thinking once again about this theme as I stood in a striking, modern church recently and realised that I could barely see most of what was happening in the sanctuary. That was because, immediately behind the priest, was a big, beautiful picture window. And, because it was a bright day, everything in front of it was thrown into silhouette.

Of course, the people in the sanctuary would not have realised this since, from their perspective, with the sun behind their backs, the pews would have been bathed in light. But from my point of view, everything was dark as if I was watching a shadow puppet show.

There is an easy solution to this — lighting that balances the sunlight and is targeted on the key places that need to be seen: the altar, the faces of the clergy, the readers at the ambo and lectern, the crucifix. But in this church, the lighting was generic cheap-as-chips strip lighting. It bathed everything near the ceiling in the same cold white glare, and everything further down in a poor penumbra.

Why is it that so few churches in this country are properly lit in a way that focuses on the areas that should be highlighted? Non-Catholics often comment, admiringly, that our churches are like beautifully designed theatre sets. And yet none of the expertise of theatre lighting is ever applied to bring out the best in the art or the architecture — let alone guide the eye towards the most sacred spaces or help people actually see what is happening.

We are the light

But this column is not here for architectural or technical advice: my mandate is to reflect on faith and society. But the problem of how we use light in our churches struck me as a metaphor for how we use Light as a Church. In John 8:12, Jesus tells us “I am the Light of the World”.

Interestingly, this is the only one of the seven “I am” sayings which is also applied to us as well, because in Matthew 5:14 Jesus also says: “You are the light of the world.” The image of being the “light of the world” was so important to the Evangelists that it is extended from the person of Christ to the person of each of us as a follower of Christ.

But what is the impact of being the light of the world? It is clear that there is very little impact if we are already surrounded by light.

At the Easter vigil the paschal candle is carried into our darkened churches and we see clearly how much impact just one candle can make in the blackness. When we all light our candles, we have the thrill of the light of Christ being shared.

But once all the candles are lit, my candle does not make such a difference. I could blow it out and no one would care, and perhaps that is how we let ourselves off the hook. So we need to take a lesson from St Francis, as we will be doing throughout this year: “Where there is darkness, let me bring light.”

A friend shared with me her lovely experience of attending an Easter vigil on a Greek island. She walked out of the church at night with her lit candle, and then had to use it to guide her steps back home. I am not convinced that driving along the streets of Johannesburg using a candle for illumination on Holy Saturday is a wise option — but you get the metaphor!

Light on the shadows

Christ’s light can guide us in the darkness and, in turn, we can use it to guide others. At the Denis Hurley Centre in Durban, we have used Christ’s light recently to make visible some horrendous acts of violence against the homeless — with Facebook turning our metaphor into reality. You can see the shocking video at https://t.ly/zQ14F.

What the light showed was truly horrific — but that is why it was important to use light and courage to make people aware of it. And, we hope that we have inspired at least one very senior faith-filled politician to realise that he too has a chance to shine light in the darkness rather than resort to the cover-up that is all too typical.

As a Church in South Africa, we have some good history of shining light in the darkness. The author Alan Paton coined a nickname for Archbishop Denis Hurley: “The Guardian of the Light”.

But when we do shine light in the darkness, we have to accept that light will also be shone on parts of our own behaviour that we would rather keep hidden. Our ability to shine light on corruption is compromised when we cover up corruption among our clergy. Our willingness to shine light on racism and xenophobia is reduced when we tolerate racism and xenophobia in our pews. Our institutional shining of light on gender-based violence or economic inequality lacks credibility when we pretend there is no GBV or inequality in our own institutions.

So this Easter, and every day, let the light of Christ be ignited in your heart. And carry it out of the vigil into those places in your world — your family, your workplace, your friendship group and even your parish — where there are shadows and darkness. Then you will be allowing Christ’s light to burn away injustice and set the world on fire.