Pronounced "you-er," the origins of this term in its present form are lost in the garbled antiquity of the Anglo-Norman languages through which it passed.

We do know, however, its original Latin term "aquaria" meaning "of water."   Not surprisingly, this gargantuan cousin of the cruet functions as its Latin roots suggest; it is the sacred vessel used to hold vast quantities of water.

"How vast are they" the inquiring mind might ask?   Well (no pun intended,) that depends on the size of the font to be filled; for ewers are now used almost exclusively for pouring water into the baptismal font.

In the ancient church, at Pontifical masses, (i.e. those celebrations where the Bishop was present), ewers were also used to wash the Bishop's hands during the Eucharist.

The thoughtful reader will wonder why such a massive vessel was required just to wash the Bishop's hands.   After all, when we celebrate the Eucharist here at Trinity, a modest cruet suffices to wash the presider's hands, and even the most generous server pours little more than an ounce or two over the priest's eager fingers.

The reason for the aforementioned episcopal excess was because the Bishop wore gloves and the liturgy at the time was such that he was continually taking them on and off during the celebration - thus necessitating the need for an almost obsessive-compulsive number of washings.   However, even the wrinkled hands of the Bishop paled in comparison to the soaking the Baptisand (the person to be baptised) had to endure.

For in the first few centuries of the church, baptism was performed with full immersion of the candidate(s) - a practice that is regaining popularity as the church has come to, rightly, acknowledge the importance of our initiation, through baptism, to the priesthood of all believers.   Though we have not opted to build a swimming-pool sized font in our sacred space, we nonetheless try to give baptisms the big-splash of symbolic significance it deserves.

You will have noticed that the ewer is filled to the brim, and poured into our own modest font from a great height.   This is done, not just to satisfy the presider's deep desire for drama, but to convey the sense that water, the abundant symbol by which we die to Christ and are raised to new life in him, is a symbol that should be as lavishly rained upon those who have come to commit their lives to Christ as the overflowing grace of God with which we are continuously drenched.