Sermon for the Diocesan Confirmation Service 19 July 2025 -Bishop Matthias

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Well now - Confirmation. It’s a big moment, isn’t it? A decision day. The sort of day where you have to stand up, possibly with butterflies in your stomach, and say “Yes, I believe,” while everyone else watches to see whether you’ll fall over, faint, or catch fire. (You probably won’t. But if you do, it’ll certainly be memorable.)

It is, of course, quite right to pause before such a moment. Because, contrary to what we’re sometimes told, Christianity is not for the faint-hearted. It’s not about being ‘nice’, or ‘respectable’, or ‘vaguely spiritual in a woolly sort of way’. It’s about handing your whole self - your doubts, your habits, your hopes over to Christ. It’s about saying, “From now on, I walk in your way, not mine.”

And if you’ve had to wrestle with that decision, if you’ve hesitated and asked awkward questions and annoyed the vicar with your scepticism - well then, you’re in good company. Because that’s exactly what Thomas did.

Yes - Thomas. Often called ‘Doubting Thomas’, though I prefer to call him Honest Thomas. Plainspoken, cautious, deeply loyal, but never one to leap before he looked. When the others said, “We’ve seen the Lord!”, he replied, “Unless I see the marks in his hands, and touch his wounds - I will never believe it.”

And when Jesus does appear, what does he say? Not “You faithless fool!” but, “Peace be with you.” And then he says, tenderly and directly, “Here you go, Thomas. Have a look. Touch. See.” And only then does Thomas say the greatest declaration of faith in all the gospels: “My Lord and my God.”

There is something deeply human about Thomas. He reminds us that faith doesn’t mean having all the answers. It means staying in the room long enough for Jesus to arrive. It means trusting that God can handle your questions - and will, in time, turn them into something glorious.

I think of Dada Maria, a woman I once ministered to in Ghana. For most of her life, she turned to a local shrine for help. But then she encountered Christ - personally, unmistakably - when I had to go and bury her shrine, she left all of it behind. No turning back. No fear. No doubt.

Now, you may not have a fetish shrine hidden in your back garden (and if you do, now’s the time to clear it out) - but we all have something we lean on when life gets wobbly. A habit. A shortcut. An idol we think will make us feel safe. Confirmation is the day we say: “Enough of that. I’ve found something better. Someone better. And I will follow Him.”

And following Him won’t always be easy. The world is complex, messy, often cruel. There will be times you wonder whether you’ve made the right decision - whether you’re really cut out to be a Christian. But remember what Jesus said to Thomas: “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe.”

And what a blessing it is. To walk in the light when the world is shadowy. To belong to a story bigger than your own. To be part of a Church that spans time and place and nation and culture—from Portsmouth to Accra, from cathedral choirs to charismatic dancing, from the cautious Thomases to the bold Marias.

Today, in just a few minutes, I’ll lay hands on your head. Not to flatten your hairstyle, though that may happen. But to pray that the Spirit of God will flood you with courage, joy, and power. And I’ll say to you, with the full weight of the Church behind me: Confirm, O Lord, your servant with your Holy Spirit.

And as that moment happens, I invite the rest of you - not just godparents and grandparents, but all of us - to remember our own Confirmation. Remember the vow you made - or that someone made for you - when you said: “I turn to Christ.”

And if that fire’s gone a little cold, well - consider this your wake-up call. It’s not too late. Come back to Him. Stand alongside these brave candidates. Say again, with them: “I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back, no turning back.”

Because He is risen. He is real. And He is ready – always - to show up in the locked rooms of our hearts and say, “Peace be with you.”

Amen.