Remembering the Memorial Acclamation
“Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”
It was once a familiar cry. Following the mystery of the Consecration, priest and people would proclaim together:
“Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”
Simple. Direct. Unforgettable.
This acclamation, introduced in the 1973 English translation of the Roman Missal after Vatican II, quickly became the most popular Memorial Acclamation in English-speaking parishes. It was a succinct, powerful proclamation of the Paschal Mystery — Christ’s death, resurrection, and return — woven together in one sweeping sentence. It was doctrine as doxology.
Yet today, this particular formulation is absent from the current Roman Missal.
A Short Liturgical Life
The Memorial Acclamation was first added to the Mass in the post-conciliar 1970 Roman Missal, appearing in the newly structured Eucharistic Prayer as a way for the faithful to actively proclaim the mystery of salvation immediately after the Consecration. The 1973 English translation introduced several options — most famously:
“Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”
It resonated deeply because of its clarity, rhythm, and Scriptural feel. Though technically addressed to others (rather than directly to Christ), its power was unmatched. It became the default option in many parishes.
But in 2011, with the new English translation of the Roman Missal aimed at greater fidelity to the Latin, this acclamation was removed. The reason? It lacked a direct Latin counterpart in the official editio typica and was considered more of a paraphrase than a faithful translation.
The three current options — all addressed directly to Christ — are now:
“We proclaim your Death, O Lord, and profess your Resurrection until you come again.”
“When we eat this Bread and drink this Cup, we proclaim your Death, O Lord, until you come again.”
“Save us, Savior of the world, for by your Cross and Resurrection you have set us free.”
While these are theologically rich and liturgically proper, many mourned the loss of the older acclamation’s poetic force and pastoral accessibility. In some communities, its removal felt like the quiet end of a liturgical instinct — a moment when the faithful used to boldly announce what they believed, now reduced to a more formal, less familiar phrase.
Why Does This Matter?
Because the Memorial Acclamation is not filler.
It is a liturgical hinge — the people’s response to the very heart of the Mass. Immediately after the priest speaks Christ’s words over the bread and wine, making Him present upon the altar, the people cry out:
This is what we believe. This is what we remember. This is what we await.
In liturgical theology, this moment is known as anamnesis — not mere mental recall, but the making present of Christ’s saving work. The Memorial Acclamation is the Church’s voice rising in the face of mystery, time, and eternity.
To remove or rush through it — or to treat it as optional or forgettable — is to diminish our active role in proclaiming the Mystery of Faith.
And perhaps that is what we’ve forgotten.
Three Lines, Three Ages — Time and the Theological Virtues
Let us linger over this sacred proclamation:
Christ has died.
Christ is risen.
Christ will come again.
In just twelve words, the entire arc of salvation history is declared. But more than that — time itself is redeemed. This acclamation doesn’t merely recall a sequence of events. It reorients our lives around the mystery of Christ: past, present, and future.
Christ has died – the Past Redeemed – the Virtue of Love
These are words rooted in history — not mythology, not metaphor. Christianity stands alone among world religions in daring to ground its claims in verifiable historical events. As it’s often said: If you find the bones of Christ, the faith collapses (cf. 1 Cor. 15:14).
But we do not doubt He died. The whole world bears the imprint of that Cross. His death is not simply a fact — it is a gift. A love poured out, once for all. This first line of the acclamation anchors us in the self-emptying love of God:
“No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.” (John 10:18)
The virtue that pulses here is love — not sentimentality, but sacrificial charity. It was not the nails that held Christ to the Cross. It was His love for you.
Christ is risen – the Present Enlightened – the Virtue of Faith
This is the crux of the Gospel — the central proclamation of the apostles and the reason we dare to hope at all:
“He is not here; He is risen!” (Luke 24:6)
This line brings us into the now. The Resurrection is not just an event we recall; it is a reality we live in. Christ’s rising was not the end of His work — it was the beginning of the Church’s life. In every Eucharist, every sacrament, every act of grace, He is risen indeed — and with us always (cf. Matt. 28:20).
The virtue that radiates here is faith. Not a vague optimism, but trust in the Risen One. It is faith grounded in promises fulfilled. Faith that sees with the eyes of the heart. Faith that responds to a living Lord present on our altars today.
Christ will come again – the Future Promised – the Virtue of Hope
And this final line turns our eyes toward the future. This is the line most people skim — but it may be the most needed in our time. In an age that scoffs at promises and lives in fear of tomorrow, we proclaim something astonishing:
He will come again.
This is hope — not mere optimism, but the certainty that history is going somewhere and Someone is coming to meet us there. Hope is the virtue of the not-yet, the anchor that holds firm (Heb. 6:19) even as the storms of time rage. It is the reason Christians do not despair, even when everything else fails.
Christ will return. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically.
Personally. Gloriously. Finally.
Christ in All Time — and All Virtue
In this acclamation, the faithful are not simply remembering what once was or longing for what might be. They are standing within the liturgy, suspended between what has happened, what is happening, and what is to come — all made present on the altar.
Thus the Memorial Acclamation becomes more than a response. It becomes a creed, a cry, and a catechism, proclaiming:
Love crucified,
Faith alive,
Hope awaiting fulfillment.
It’s no wonder so many found consolation in the words:
“Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”
It united the eternal mystery of Christ with the ordinary moments of our lives — and called us to live accordingly: in love, in faith, and in hope.
A Cry Worth Remembering
Even if the phrase no longer appears in the current Missal, the truth it expresses must never be lost.
This cry of the faithful — so simple, yet so profound — gave voice to the people at the most sacred moment of the Mass. It was a shout of belief in an unbelieving world. And it remains a model of what liturgical speech can be: clear, beautiful, doctrinally rich, and unforgettable.
So let us remember the Memorial Acclamation.
And let us remember what it helped us remember.
Christ has died.
Christ is risen.
Christ will come again.
