From the Pulpit:

 
 "Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire."
 

I am not the first clergy person to invoke St. Catherine of Sienna this week, though I wonder how many people were paying attention to the homily of the Bishop of London on Friday morning. Well, how could you be expected to when there was Princess Beatrice’s fascinator to ogle and the three-year-old bridesmaids and Prince Harry looking like he might pull the prank of the century at any moment, and then there were the vows and the dress and the carriages and a sea of celebrities, not to mention the convenience store owner and the proprietor of the pub come to town from Bucklebury. It was a grand and glorious day, one we will all remember, but what we were watching was more than a royal spectacle. It was a worship service.

Whenever I preach at a wedding, I always remind the bride and the groom and the congregation that our purpose for gathering is to thank God for the love that is embodied in the couple who have deliberately dressed up to make promises to God and each other and all the people they love to witness to God’s love for creation by their visible faithfulness and mutual care. We are there to worship God. I remind them that even though the state of Texas considers that I am doing some sort of hocus pocus -- and I will sign a document that supports the illusion that I have married them to each other -- in fact they have been the ministers of the liturgy whose purpose is to bless and celebrate what God has already done in the marriage of their two hearts. That marriage had darned well better have already happened before they come to talk to me about officiating at a wedding though I doubt any couple can ever name the exact moment.

It is sort of like when we invoke the Holy Spirit to come down and transform the bread and wine in the Eucharist. We don’t know at which moment it happens, but when we all say AMEN together, we declare our conviction that it has happened. And in that glorious worship service on Friday, the Bishop of London reminded Wills and Kate and all of us, if we were listening, that we have the power to set the world on fire if only we will be who God means us to be.

Every single year we read the story of Thomas on the Sunday after Easter, and I probably preach on it every year because I think this story reaches out to us like few others. Here’s what I want to say about it. One: it is not about Thomas. Two: it is not about doubt.

Yes, Thomas is the main character. He was out running an errand when Jesus came to the disciples and showed them the scars where the nails had been. He was heaven only knows where when the disciples experienced for themselves the risen Christ. Can you imagine walking back from the HEB and putting the bread and milk on the kitchen table and your friends saying that Jesus – Jesus who was dead – that Jesus stopped by while you were out. Yeah, right. Actually, all Thomas says is that when he sees what they saw he’ll believe what they believe. All he wants is the same experience they had. So Jesus gives it to him, and of all the people ever mentioned in the Gospel, Thomas is the only one who recognizes Jesus as God. He is the only person who understands not only resurrection but incarnation. Ladies and gentlemen, that is not doubt.

But who is the story about? Who is the story for? It is about us and for us. The punch line, the whole point of the story is when Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." To the best of my knowledge not a single person here today has had Jesus walk into a locked room and show us his hands or lift his shirt to show the wound in his side, and yet we believe.

What does it look like to believe? It looks like a life shaped by the promises of our baptismal covenant. A life committed to sharing this story through our actions as well as our words. It looks like kindness and convictions, like compassion and courage and the willingness to stand up to the lies of the world. Oddly, it hinges to a huge degree on what we choose to do with what we have been given.

I want to tell you a story, and I’ll try to make it succinct. Several years ago the great violinist Itzak Perlman gave a performance at Avery Fisher Hall, which is a very big deal. If you’ve ever seen Perlman perform you know that it is painful to watch him make his way to the center of the stage with his crutches and braces, which are necessary because he was severely crippled by polio when he was a child. He sits, lays down the crutches on the floor beside his chair and unfastens the braces so he can position his feet. He tucks his violin under his chin, nods to the conductor, and for a few moments the audience is transported by incredibly beautiful music.But then there is a sound that shocks them as the string of his violin snaps. It sounded like a gunshot ricocheting across the auditorium. People waited in agony as they expected him to refasten the braces on his legs to leave the stage to find another string or another violin. Or to shout out to someone to come fix it.

But he is silent. The orchestra waits. He closes his eyes and lifts the violin to his chin and nods to the conductor again, and the music resumes as if nothing had happened. The reporter from the Houston Chronicle says he played with more passion and power and purity than he had ever played before. But here’s the thing: it is impossible to play a symphonic work on a violin with only three strings. He had to retune every string in order to play; he had to recompose the entire piece to play it. When he finished there was stunned silence in the audience before they rose to their feet roaring with applause. He raised his hand to hush them. He wiped his brow, which was dripping sweat, and said in his sweet, soft voice,  “You know, sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you’ve got left.”

Jesus is speaking to us, the audience, in our gospel reading, and John comes out from behind the curtain to make sure we understand: Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

John makes it clear that he is only telling some of the stories of Jesus, and he is telling them not only so that we know who Jesus is but so that we know who we are. We are his beloved. We are his heirs. We are his disciples and have been entrusted with his work. And Jesus tells us himself that we are blessed even more richly blessed than those who did see. And if we will only take on the mantle of our identity, if we will only claim our authenticity, if we will only shine to the world with the gifts we have been given, we will set the world on fire.

Amen.