On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the world renown violinist, gave a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at the Lincoln Center in New York. Mr. Perlman was stricken with polio as a child, so getting on stage is no small achievement, as he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. He walks across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair.
On this night, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap - it sounded like a gunshot. But instead of getting up and limping his way off stage -- to either find another violin or another string for this one -- he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. Of course, everyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that and you know that, but Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing, re-composing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before. He played with such passion and such power and such purity as had never been heard before. When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then the audience rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium, showing appreciation for what he had done. He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, and said - not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone, "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."

Today we celebrate the greatness of two very different men who received God’s call and God’s grace. Had they not met Jesus, each would have probably continued to live his life as it was. Peter would have probably grown old sailing the Sea of Galilee and hauling in his catches. Had Paul not encountered the risen Christ on the Damascus road, he would have probably continued to serve as a rabbi among his Jewish contemporaries. Aside from their shared faith in Jesus, little else would have paired them to be leaders of our Church. But Peter and Paul did meet Jesus, and did respond to him in faith -- and as a result, their lives were completely redirected. Henry Nouwen states that the church would do well to celebrate the feast of Peter and Paul, to celebrate their perseverance, their spiritual insights, and their strong commitment to bring the Gospel to the whole world. Because of their deep personal relationships with Jesus, this ancient “odd couple” was able to overcome their personal weaknesses; and their ability to overcome their weaknesses, challenges each of us to do the same.

In the gospel, we are invited with Peter to answer the ultimate question asked by Jesus, “Who do people say that I am? Who do you say I am?” Like Peter, we are to affirm: You are Christ, the Messiah, our hope, our model, our way in and our way out, our open door, our mentor, our friend, our life, our brother – you are our God. Like Peter, we are to shake off our chains, whether self-made or imposed by our life circumstances, and walk in the freedom that Jesus has won for us. And, standing beside Paul at the time of his death, we remember that our life should be offered as a sacrifice, as a libation poured out in praise of God. Paul reminds us that Jesus stands by us to give us strength and encouragement through all of life’s ups and downs, through every turn and detour we may meet or may take along the way.

Peter represents the mission to Israel and to the Jews; Paul is representative of the mission to the Gentiles and the free Gospel apart from the law. Peter calls to mind the institutional church; Paul reminds us of the charismatic, evangelical character of the followers of Jesus. So isn’t that what this feast calls us to today: to be both Petrine and Pauline, Catholic and evangelical, institutional and charismatic?

Those challenges are very much in evidence in today’s first reading, which references the death of James and the incarceration of Peter. Herod, in this instance, was Herod Agrippa I, no relation to Herod the Great. Since it was Passover, Herod delayed any punitive action which was forbidden on the holy day. He ordered four squads of soldiers, no fewer than 16 men to guard Peter. This was an exaggerated show of force, but it attests all the more to the wondrousness of Peter’s rescue. His situation seemed untenable, but, as Luke is quick to affirm, there are no odds greater than a Spirit-filled community. They had gathered for prayer on Peter’s behalf and became a force with which even Herod and the Roman guard could not contend. Through it all, Peter slept, attesting to the trust he placed in God. After Peter was awakened by the angel, freed of his chains, and led out through gates that opened of themselves, Peter made his way to the home of Mary, the mother of John Mark, and amazed the crowd that had gathered there to pray for him. And, as Luke would point out yet again, “The word of God continued to spread and grow.”

In today’s second reading, Paul recognizes that his death through martyrdom is imminent and he describes his death using imagery. In the first image, Paul compared the spilling of his blood to a libation. Libations of wine or oil were poured out during certain Jewish sacrifices, and the Greeks and Romans similarly honored their gods by pouring out a cup of wine at the end of their meals. Paul chose to offer himself to God as a willing sacrifice of praise, rather than view himself as a victim of hostile people and circumstances. And his second image is drawn from the athletic world that the Greeks knew well. Paul had finished his race and looked ahead, not to the laurel wreath of the sports champion, but to the crown of righteousness with which God would affirm his faith and service.
Itzhak Perlman is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings, on top of all his other disabilities. And instead of complaining, and feeling piled-on, and giving up, he makes music with three strings -- music that was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that he had ever made before with four strings. So, perhaps our life’s task is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.

What would our answer be if Jesus asked us, “Who do you say I am?” Would our lives witness to our belief that, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God”? So are we more comfortable in the chains that bind us, with the people that stand in our way, with the locked doors that prevent us from going our Christian way – the way of God’s Word? Let us no longer succumb to the so-called braces we choose to wear and the crutches with which we need to walk. Let us not forget that we have this Eucharist to nourish us, this church community to support us, and the witness of Peter and Paul to inspire us. Because the only way that God’s Word can remain chained, is if we fail to speak it, to respond to it, to live it, and to trust in it.