I missed most of the live coverage of Harry and Meghan’s wedding because at the time I was trailing around local charity shops, trying to put together a child’s Anglo-Saxon costume for a school dressing-up day. I wasn’t too disappointed: I’ve never exactly been a ardent royalist. However, as I get older I find myself more inclined to stick with this seemingly anachronistic method of choosing our head of state. Firstly, once you start unpicking one part of the way that the state works the whole thing may end up unraveling: imagine Brexit, but magnified to untangling centuries of constitutional evolution. Secondly, I don’t much fancy any of the alternatives. Let’s face it, electing your head of state doesn’t always end well.

It didn’t take long, however, for me to notice that Bishop Michael Curry’s address had become something of a talking-point. A week later, therefore, I decided to watch it. By that time, I had already read a transcript of the address. In print, I couldn’t quite see what the fuss was about. Don’t get me wrong: I loved the content. It’s just that hearing it in my head in the sort of steady English delivery I’m used to hearing sermons or homilies delivered in, it seemed like something I could have heard at any church service I’ve ever attended. Watching it in full, however, delivered in a style not only at odds with the formality of the surroundings and occasion but also my own expectations of preaching, rendered it many times more powerful. And yet, the passion displayed by Bishop Curry – the effervescent wonder, joy and excitement – are not alien to my experience of faith. They are what I feel deep inside me when I read God’s word and when I hear a preacher bring to life some new aspect of the gospel that I have never considered before. It’s just that, being very English, I don’t show it on the surface. I’m all too careful to be very measured when I speak or, indeed, when I write. It shouldn’t be a surprise if people reacted awkwardly. The style of delivery made it difficult for people to avoid engaging with what was being said and the gospel should always be a challenge to the rich and powerful. But all of us face times in our lives when we have power over others or have to decide how to use our riches, if not financial then perhaps riches of talents or of compassion.

Although I had only put on the Royal Wedding footage to watch Bishop Curry, in the end I found myself viewing the whole service and was much more enchanted by it than I expected. In particular, as the couple exchanged their marriage vows I reflected on my own marriage vows. Although we had prepared for marriage and so the vows weren’t something I made lightly, I found myself thinking about how much better I understand those vows for having lived them for over twenty years. With their emphasis on total commitment, marriage vows provide a welcome antidote to a world that likes to tell us that by asserting individual rights over everything we can predict and control the future. The total commitment of marriage gives us strength to face the future in the knowledge that we do not know whether it will bring sickness or health, riches or poverty. Such commitment is an act of faith, made in the hope that, although we can’t be certain what the future holds, we can be certain that it will be easier if we face it together. That’s something that is worth pooling our individual rights for. It occurs to me that perhaps the point of monarchy is reflected in all this: a mutual commitment made for life to face the uncertainty of the future together. Perhaps this is, after all, better than choosing someone who we can’t completely trust, who offers us a post-truth certainty, with a get out clause that allows us to throw in the towel after four or five years when the going gets tough. That’s no commitment at all.