St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL

John 20:19-31

---

---

---

Friends,
last week we celebrated the Resurrection
in grand style,retelling once again the old, wild story 
of how Jesus destroyed death once and for all 
and brought life and immortality to light.

And today, the story continues.

Today, we find ourselves back in the locked upper room—
the place where the disciples were hiding,
full of fear, full of questions,
wondering what would happen next.

And Thomas—
dear, sweet Thomas—
was not there the first time the resurrected Jesus showed up.
He missed it.
And when the rest of the guys told him about it 
he couldn’t even wrap his head around it.

“Unless I see it,” he said, 
“unless I touch it,
unless I know it for myself,
I cannot believe.”

History has long given Thomas a hard time for this, 
labeling him “Doubting Thomas” for all time,  
but you know, I have to say 
I don’t think the issue was doubt . . . 
at least not in the usual sense.

Instead, I think it was longing.
I think what Thomas was experiencing 
was a desperate hope
that maybe, just maybe,
the impossible might be true.

And so what does Jesus do?
Jesus—our gracious Jesus—
comes back,
just for Thomas.

Jesus steps back into that room again,
bearing the wounds of love,
and says,
“Peace be with you.
Here.
Touch.
See.
Believe.”

And Thomas—
seeing, touching, finally knowing—
is the first one among any of them 
who utters the first full confession 
of the risen Lord:

“My Lord and my God.”

* * *

So I want you to imagine something with me.

What if the Church—
the whole Church, 
but especially our church here at St. John’s—
what if the Church 
is meant to be that upper room?

What if we are the ones
who hold the space open: 
a place where the wounded Christ is known,
where longing hearts are welcomed,
where doubters and seekers
and skeptics and strugglers
can all come in and find life?

Because y’all, here is the truth:
there are Thomases all around us.

Not doubters in the dismissive sense,
but hungry souls,
longing hearts,
aching spirits . . . 
people who do not even always know
what it is they are looking for,
but somehow sense
that there has to be more.

More love.
More hope.
More belonging.
More grace.

And friends,
that is where we come in.

You know from your own lived experience 
that we—St. John’s—
are not just a Sunday morning club.
We are not just a beautiful building.
We are not just an old, dusty memorial society. 
We are the living, breathing Body of Christ
in the very heart of Tallahassee, Florida. 

We are the ones
who now get to fling wide the doors 
and say to every Thomas, every seeker:

“Come in.
See for yourself.
Touch the mercy of God.
Find your belonging here.
Find your peace here.”

* * *

That is why—
over a year ago—
we began a particular journey together.

Some of you may remember:
at our Parish Meeting last year, 
we heard the call of the prophet Habakkuk:
“Write the vision,” he said. 
“Write the vision. 
Make it plain, so that even a runner may read it.”
And I told you it was time for St. John’s 
to write our vision 
and to stake our claim 
on who we are 
and who God is calling us to be.

We knew that what we needed
was not a list of projects,
not another capital campaign,
not a plan to manage busyness.

No, what we needed to name 
is who we are,
who we long to become,
and what kind of world
we believe God is calling us to help build 
as we look toward a bright and glorious future. 

And so, about six months ago, 
we held our parish wide 
Visioning Sunday.

We talked. 
We listened. 
We prayed.
We dreamed together.

You poured out your hearts . . . 
in conversations,
in scribbled notes and sticky pads,
in laughter, in hopes, in tears.

We gathered it all—
hundreds of voices and thousands of words—
and handed it over to a Visioning Discernment Committee 
who built word clouds, icebergs, and careful reflections.

On your behalf, 
they wrestled and prayed and sifted.

We even turned to new tools, 
feeding ALL the words you gave us—
not just the ones on the big sticky pads, 
but also the words you each left us 
on your individual papers—
through a specialized AI program 
to help us spot hidden patterns,
the holy tensions, 
the beautiful surprises,
the through-lines,
that only the Spirit could weave.

And somewhere along the way—
after months of prayer 
and conversation 
and wonder and work 
and boiling it down 
and boiling it down 
to its very essence—
the Spirit showed up
and everything clicked. 

“Oh my gosh,” we said.
“This is it.
This is us.
This is what God was drawing out of us.”

And so finally today,
as we “write the vision,”
we are not unveiling a strategic plan.
We are not launching a special campaign.

What we are doing today 
is naming a heartbeat: 
a heartbeat that was already there,
waiting to be heard . . . 
a heartbeat that beats boldly and joyfully 
in the life of St. John’s.

And today, I get to tell you what it is.

Our Vision:

Deep Roots.
True Belonging.
Abundant Grace.

Six simple, maybe even deceptive little words, 
that say something profound 
about the church we are 
and the church we will become.

Deep Roots—because our life togetheris not shallow,
not tossed about by every whimsy and passing fad. 
We’ve been here for two centuries, 
a branch of the larger Church 
that has existed for two millennia. 
We are rooted deep
in Scripture,
in sacrament,
in tradition,
in community,
in faith.
And while our roots are deep,
they are not dead. 
They are alive and well, 
keeping us anchored, 
but letting us grow forth 
learn new things 
and spread new branches. 

True Belonging—
because every person
longs to be seen,
to be known,
to be loved.

And here,
they can be.

Here,
you don’t have to have it all figured out.
Here, you do not have to pretend.
Here, you are welcome 
wherever you are on your spiritual journey
because you are you.

And Abundant Grace—
because grace is not something
we hoard for ourselves.

It is something that spills over—
messy, 
generous, 
unstoppable—
into the streets of our city,
into the broken places of the world,
into the hearts of every Thomas
still searching for hope. 

* * * 

And honestly, that’s where we thought 
our work for now would end, 
but the Spirit had other ideas.

I knew that after we crafted a short Vision Statement, 
we would need a Mission Statement . . . 
a statement about our way of life together. 
But I figured that would be 
another committee, 
another process, 
another year.

But from all these words and prayers, 
an aha moment came. 

And so, a Mission Statement emerged,
a rhythm for how we will live the Vision every day:

St. John’s nurtures a welcoming spiritual community, rooted in tradition yet relevant and responsive to our changing world. Grounded in the mystery of God’s love  revealed through the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, we seek to put our faith into action, equipping each other to be ambassadors of God’s grace.

* * *

This Vision and this Mission—
prayerfully discerned and officially adopted by your Vestry—
may seem on the surface 
to be a bunch of unnecessary words 
merely for the top of a website 
or the bottom of a letterhead, 
but they are so much more.

They are ours to live. 
They are our identity,
our calling, 
our invitation.

And now, they are our touchstones.

In the months and years ahead,
this Vision and Mission will help us 
shape decisions,
spark ministries,
deepen our sense of community,
and call us toward God’s future for us.

When a new idea comes up, 
they will be our plumb line,
the measure we return to again and again,
asking not, “Is this popular?” 
or “Is this efficient?”
but, “Is this faithful?
Does this fit with 
the deep roots, 
the true belonging, 
the abundant grace 
with which God has charged us?”

This Vision and Mission 
are not bound to the powers of this world.
They are not based on politics or passing trends.
They are anchored in God—
in who we are,
in who we are called to become,
and in the world Jesus is calling us to build 
against all odds.

The world around us will change.
But our charge will remain:
To dream of the world God dreams of, 
and to live out that dream 
in real time, 
in real ways, 
here and now.

This is not a strategic plan.
It is the soil we will grow in.
It is the heart we will beat with.
It is the song we will sing 
for at least the next decade to come.

* * *

And so today, my friends, 
with that song in our heart—
with hope in our eyes 
and with that beat in our chest—
we do what Thomas did.

We stand in this room
with the risen Christ right here in our midst,
and we say with boldness and joy:

“My Lord and my God!”

He is alive.
He is calling.
He is leading.

And now,
so are we.

Deep Roots.
True Belonging.
Abundant Grace.

Let it be so, 
and amen.