Whenever Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, stood before newly baptized Christians on Easter week, his task seemed straightforward: to explain the meaning of the initiations they had recently undergone. His explanations, however, were peppered with dialogue, as he thought aloud about the impression these rites had made on the new converts. He recounted the previous days' events in these words: “You went, you washed, you came to the altar, you began to see what you had not seen before.” This promise of novel sights, however, could not dispel the neophytes' lingering doubts. Aloud, he imagined their questions: “Is this that great mystery which the eye has not seen nor the ear heard … ? I see waters which I used to see daily; are these able to cleanse me?” Ambrose wondered if the baptism lacked sufficient majesty, such that a catechumen might ask, “‘Is this all?’” Ambrose already knew what he would reply, “Yes, this is all, truly all.” Baptism, the rite often timed to coincide with Easter, might disappoint as much as it inspired awe.