Two weeks have passed since Thanksgiving and I have not seen It’s a Wonderful Life advertised even once! That could mean that I haven’t been paying attention, or it could mean that we will be spared this season. What was once considered a box office failure has become, from the 1970s, an annual classic — a movie more widely aired than even the Wizard of Oz. George Bailey’s struggle to make sense of his life and Clarence Odbody’s pursuit of his wings resonate at a deep level with some people. For all of its maudlin sentimentality and Hallmark scenery, the movie does have a message we need to hear, particularly as we struggle to find our way out of the most difficult economic times since the great depression. As George Bailey learns, life can be tough, but there is the possibility of a wonderful life even in the face of struggle.

 William Butler Yeats begins “Sailing to Byzantium” with an often repeated line, “That is no country for old men.” He looks with longing on the young as they pursue love and enjoy sensuous pursuits while he must confront the reality of his declining health and the changing circumstances of his life. He is no longer the man he was, yet he is defiant in his refusal to accept being “An aged man … a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick….” No scarecrow here. Yeats chooses to embrace life, to find its deeper meaning, and ultimately, to find a voice that transcends his own life. George Bailey must learn that his life is measured by his relationships and his contributions to his community. George loves and is loved in return; that is his voice that transcends his own life. In the end George Bailey, like Yeats, chooses to embrace life — and yes, Clarence gets his wings.

 As you can probably tell by now, I don’t like this movie, and I can think of a dozen or so Christmas movies I prefer to watch; however, there is something worth noting in George Bailey’s struggle. It’s our struggle too. Measuring ourselves by externals, whether achievements or acquisitions, can lead to great disappointment. In whatever corner of the planet we inhabit, we do have the potential at every moment to make a difference. That difference defines us. How do you choose to live this season? What will you and others remember about this Christmas? That’s an interesting question, isn’t it?

 Jesus was born in a stable, fled his homeland with his family as a toddler seeking political asylum, worked with his hands as a tradesman, died a brutal death, and changed the world. The first Christmas is only a Hallmark moment after the fact. The reality was neither comfortable nor comforting, but it began a movement that continues to inspire billions. In spite of popular misconceptions, the Christian religion is vibrant and growing throughout the world. It is growing because Jesus speaks to the hearts of the millions upon millions who are yearning for something more. The crèche on the mantel, with its baby Jesus, reminds us of a story in which power and humility combine to show us a God of love who is willing to be one of us — to be one of us in every way, in all of the messiness of human existence. That is the power of this story, and that is its appeal. The God in the manger is the God who redeems our lives, giving them meaning beyond ourselves. And it is this God who points us beyond self to true community. In so doing, he calls us to be like him — the person for others.

 I’m not so self-deceiving as believe that I am that person for others that I believe Jesus is calling me to be — not in this season nor any other — nor do I think I’m going to accomplish anything similar to the child in the manger, no matter how much I try. But I am self-aware enough to know that I like Christmas. I like the lights on the streets, the music in the stores, our own Christmas tree decorated with ornaments collected over a lifetime, and yes, I like opening presents. In short, I buy into the whole Christmas thing. But amidst all the lights and noise, I am reminded, again and again, of the yearning in the hearts of the people I meet.

 We want Christmas to last. The shops begin the celebration earlier each year. Our neighbors keep their lights lit well into January. What we are seeking to prolong is the peace on earth and goodwill to all people that we experience so briefly for a few wintry evenings. Peace and goodwill. That, George finds, is the result of a lifetime lived for others. That is the life lived by the child in the manger — a life we are called to emulate. Maybe the question we should be asking isn’t, what will we remember about this Christmas? Maybe the real question is, what will people remember about me this Christmas?

Have you noticed that nightly stock market reports always include a detailed analysis of what caused the indices to move up or down, even when that movement is only a few points? Newscasters tell us that a 32-point drop in a market hovering at 10,000 is the result of this or that bit of news, as though you could really pin so small a change on a single company’s announcement of missed projections. We are ready to accept the analysis, to believe the reports, because we need explanations; we need to feel in control – no matter how illusory that control really is.

What is certain, however, is that illusion will not hold us forever. Sooner or later we will look behind the curtain and see the Great Oz as he is. Smoke and mirrors and ropes and pulleys make for a great show, but they only hide the truth from us. As in the movie, from small things a giant shadow is often cast. I am reminded of the fox in Kahlil Gibran’s The Madman, “A fox looked at his shadow at sunrise and said, ‘I will have a camel for lunch today.’  And all morning he went about looking for camels. But at noon he saw his shadow again – and he said, ‘A mouse will do.’”

Many of us have lived our lives as though we were walking through a perpetual sunrise. We did indeed cast a giant shadow for awhile, at least in our own minds. This past year I have spent hours with people who suddenly found themselves at noonday staring at uncomfortably small versions of themselves. (Try to find your shadow when the sun is directly overhead.) These are the people who overextended themselves with houses, boats, cars, and toys of all kinds, all the while teaching their children the art of conspicuous consumption and undeferred gratification. Unlike the fox in Gibran’s parable, they found camels to swallow. Sooner or later, however, we all have to discover for ourselves that foxes don’t eat camels.

Some years ago I sat at lunch with two physician friends, both in their mid-thirties. Both graduates of prestigious medical schools. Both in their first years of high incomes, high mortgages, and bills that always seem to grow to match whatever they brought home. Knowing that I had walked away from a career as a corporate executive to enter the ministry, they asked me “How much is enough?” My answer was honest but disconcerting. “It’s never enough.” As long as you define yourself by your salary, your house, and your net worth, it will never be enough. It is not as simple as the old cliché, “You can’t buy happiness.” Trust me; you can – at least for awhile. Given the choice between being rich or poor, most of us wouldn’t hesitate to choose the former. So where is the problem?

The problem is simply that life won’t let us alone forever. The illusion that we are in control, that we small foxes can brunch on camels, will ultimately be exposed for what it is – a lie. A recession, a death, a divorce, a serious illness, a family crisis – these are the noondays that expose us. They shrink our mighty shadow to nothing. They force us to rely on inner resources that, sadly, too many of us don’t have. Viktor Frankel, the great Viennese psychotherapist, survived the Nazi concentration camps because he found that life had meaning even in the midst of such great humiliation and death. For Christians the source of this meaning is both external and internal. External because the great Creating God is at work in our lives and our world. Internal because the Holy Spirit is at work to transform us in the depths of our being.  Finding meaning through faith, through religion, is not a guarantee of a trouble-free life, but it is the medicine for a sick and depressed soul.

A life exposed to the light of God’s love no longer has to hunt camels, but neither does it have to settle for a mouse. No, for those who have experienced the joy of God’s presence, who have come to see their own infinite value in that love, a mouse just won’t do. For them life becomes truly a celebration.

Seize life! Eat bread with gusto, drink wine with a robust heart.  Oh yes – God takes pleasure in your pleasure! Dress festively every morning. Don’t skimp on colors and scarves. Relish life with the spouse you love  each and every day of your precarious life. (Eccl. 9:7-10, the MSG)

One of the oldest prayers in Christendom, dating from the time of the desert fathers, is known as the Jesus Prayer. Its classic form is: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” It is often abbreviated to “Lord have mercy” or “Lord Jesus, have mercy.” Although the origin of the prayer is unknown, one of the early church fathers, John Cassian, wrote that this type of prayer leads to inner stillness, and as early as the fourth century, prayers of this type were known as arrow prayers.

Arrow prayers are like short darts shot towards heaven. Short prayers for busy people. We all know that Paul’s admonition to the Thessalonians to pray without ceasing (1 Thess. 5:17) is easier said than done. Perhaps life in a monastery with its daily round of community prayer and its established times for meditation brings people closer to this ideal, but I suspect that even there the world intrudes. How much more difficult is it for us in the office, classroom, or shop? Arrow prayers provide a helpful if not perfect solution.

The Jesus Prayer may be said anywhere and under any circumstances. Either recited aloud or said silently, the prayer connects us momentarily with God. As we repeat the prayer throughout the day, we grow in closeness to God. With this closeness comes the inner stillness and peace to counteract the din of the world. William Law wrote: “He who has learned to pray has learned the greatest secret of a holy and happy life.” Why not try shooting a few arrows God’s way.

I recently received an email on my iPhone, liberally sprinkled with emoticons. Those emotional icons, also known as emojis and most characteristically represented by smiley faces, convey a depth of feeling not possible in most direct email-prose. The person sending the email had been struggling with a number of issues, and she wanted to share not only her welcome news but also the joy that accompanied it. Not surprisingly, when I opened the same email in Outlook, the smiley faces had all become question marks. So much for compatibility.
     There is an uncomfortable truth here, however. Behind the momentary joy expressed in bright yellow circles lies a thoughtful and deeply spiritual person – a person for whom many questions remain unanswered. Life is both kind and cruel, fair and unfair, rewarding and demanding. I would be much happier without the uncertainties of life, as would she, but I suspect that I would be a much poorer pastor. All of the nagging question marks of life, the unsettling, unanswered “whys?” connect us. They signal our shared humanity, but they may also divide us.
     The fault line lies along the path of acceptance. The Psychoanalyst, Erik Erikson, noted that the chief virtue of old age is wisdom. Individuals struggle to come to terms with what their lives have meant. Am I satisfied or dissatisfied with what I have accomplished, and equally as importantly, with what I have not accomplished? The answer to that question is critical. No one who despairs over the past can ever truly connect with others. It is only the man or woman who has faced and accepted life as it is lived in the real world that is finally wise.
     The Preacher ends his book of wisdom, Ecclesiastes: “The end of the matter, all has been heard. Fear God, and keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of everyone” (Eccl. 12:13, NRSV). This is no idle advice. The Preacher wants us to understand the criteria by which life is to be judged. Judged not only by God, but also by ourselves. This is what it means to be finally wise: to place things in their proper place, with their proper importance. Faith does not require of us that we have all understanding, does not demand great knowledge, does not expect perfection. To the contrary, faith meets us afresh, everyday, with our fears and doubts, and calls us to trust. To trust the God who did not come to judge the world but to save it.
     Such a faith is indeed lived in bright yellow circles. Some with smiles, some with frowns, some with winks, and some just plain perplexed. But underneath the circles, as long as we are in this body, there will be question marks. Those who have eyes to see can behold God in both.

Yesterday, I walked out to the driveway to retrieve the newspaper, and for a moment, I thought there had been a mistake. I was certain that the Post had inadvertently shorted my Sunday paper. Like many loyal Post readers, I am accustomed to a fat roll of newsprint, one stuffed with news, opinion, sports, pop culture, and a healthy does of the curious, even odd happenings in the world, both local and remote — the kind of coverage best described by the neologism “glocal.” That‘s my Washington Post, glocal. This is the stuff not found on the internet without effort.

The paper was not shorted. It was, alas, just “thin.” This was not the first morning that my wife and I have commented about the decline of the Post. For some time, the Post has seemingly become more and more irrelevant. The treatment of stories has often been superficial to the point of being trite. The front-page layout invites laughter. A case in point: a front page story in lead position decrying the failure of women to break through the Federal glass ceiling placed directly under a color photo of Hilary Clinton, taken just after her being sworn-in as Secretary of State, with other powerful women plainly visible in the background. And worse yet, the paper seems committed to fifth-grade English. Whoever said that the American people, especially those who subscribe to major newspapers like the Washington Post, read with grade school comprehension? The Post has become thin indeed, not only in size, but also in journalistic and artistic integrity.

On January 29, 2009, in an article by Howard Kurtz, the Post announced the decision to discontinue publication of its separate book section. To be fair, the Post is following in the footsteps of many newspapers, e.g., The San Francisco Chronicle and the Los Angeles Times. But it is significant that the previous CEO of the Post, the late Katherine Graham, more than once told the book section’s editor, Marie Arana, that although the section was not self-supporting, “[I]t didn’t matter, sales be damned, because the mark of a good newspaper was its book section.” It is also worthy of note that Washington Post editor Rachel Shea is quoted as saying, “It’s nice to have a separate section with big display and a big shout-out to what the most important book is. But it’s not worth gnashing our teeth about too much.” The differing attitudes reveal more than a change of editorial policy.

The point at which the Post began to decline is difficult to pinpoint. Perhaps it was a gentle slide, too gradual to notice. It became apparent during the election, however, that the old Washington Post was merely a thing of history and fond memory. At issue was journalistic integrity. By Election Day, few people that I know were reading the Post, and those that did were limiting themselves to the Style and Sports Sections. The common response to “I read it in this morning’s Washington Post” was “You can’t believe anything that you read in the Post” – this from both Democrats and Republicans. The cause of this perception is not hard to discover. The high state of journalism, both print and broadcast, to which Americans became accustomed in the Post-WWII decades has rapidly eroded in the last generation.

H.L. Mencken credited the high state of journalism prevalent in the major city newspapers in the post-WWI years to their prosperity, a prosperity born of the decline of yellow journalism and the consolidation of city papers with a consequent reduction in competition. The result was a higher standard of reporting. Newspapers were characterized by an editorial policy that “can not be intimidated. They try to report the news as they understand it, and to promote the truth as they see it.” The presentation of truth is precisely the issue in today’s media. The “yellows,” as Mencken referred to them, did not altogether disappear. “The more decorous and decent newspapers, in striving for more civilized manners, have dragged the yellows with them.” But Mencken goes on to note that “[T]he cleaning up has not altogether pleased the public. On the lower levels it longs with a great longing for the old circus-poster headlines, the old scares and hoaxes, the old sentimentalities and imbecilities. It wants thrills, not news; pictures, not text.” Perhaps, here is the answer. Perhaps we are in the midst of another of life’s enduring cycles. Journalism, printed and televised, is caught in the grip of a strangling competition. The result is a decline in quality to the lowest common denominator. Instead of a half-hour of news, we get three minutes on the hour. Instead of Walter Cronkite and David Brinkley, we get Chris Matthews and Nancy Grace. Instead of thoughtful questions and answers, we get James Carville and Andrea Mitchell shouting over one another. The yellows have reasserted themselves, and they have dragged the whole lot down with them. But journalists beware, the “old circus-poster headlines, the old scares and hoaxes, the old sentimentalities and imbecilities” eventually led to the death of the newspapers that relied upon them. We are indeed in a cycle, but who will emerge at the other end? If history is any guide, beware of being numbered among the yellows. The Washington Post is thin, but more worrisome is its deeply yellow cast. Readership and viewership of the majors continues to decline. Perhaps the answer is not to become more like the tabloids. Perhaps becoming a tabloid is the problem.

I must confess. I have joined the legion of Wi-Fi slugs. I sit in Panara or Starbucks, sometimes for hours, one hand grasping a mug of coffee, the other two-finger tapping at my keyboard. I have learned to tune out Frank Sinatra and Perry Como (Yes! Perry Como!), singing Christmas carols from the 50’s. If it gets too bad, I can always put my earphones in and let my iphone shield me from the outside world. Such is the wonder of modern technology.

I am not alone. Almost everyone sitting in Panara in mid-afternoon is “connected” in some way. There is a regular group of retired investors who I always seem to wind up sitting near. In the past few months they have grown increasingly grim faced as they peck away at their keyboards, making online trades, giving each other tips and advice, talking of sums of money made and lost that seem stunning to me, even for one who works in one of the wealthiest counties in America. I want to feel sorry for them, but I find it hard to relate.

Yesterday I had a different experience. I sat near a late middle-aged man, about my age. He was wearing an ear bud, and he was systematically working his way through a computer contact file. He was oblivious to the rest of us as he told and retold his story to technical directors and personnel managers. He had gone through his severance, and he was nearing the end of his savings. His only option was to begin drawing on his 401K. He didn’t say this to all of his contacts, of course. But to those he had known for a long, time, those with whom he had a deeper relationship, he was clearly calling out for help. I felt badly. I knew of nowhere to refer him. It has been too many years since I was in the world of high-tech commerce.

Most of us know someone like this man. We add them to our prayer lists. We offer them what help we can. As a church we help with the basic necessities of life – food, lodging, and clothing. We do what we can for them. In this season, we can do something else for ourselves. We can, and we must, remind ourselves that we are loved deeply by the one who most matters. The birth of the baby Jesus in a lowly manger does remind us that God can come to us in the most humble circumstances, and through that act redeems all of life’s situations. It is a cliché, to be sure. But it is a cliché that has stirred the hearts of millions and given hope to generations for two millennia.

Lighting Advent candles symbolizes Christ chasing the darkness away. With each additional candle, the sanctuary brightens and the winter recedes. There are “seasons of distress and grief” as an old favorite hymn reminds us, but we are reminded that it is in prayer that we find relief. In prayer, because prayer connects us to the one who can truly make a difference. It is time this Christmas season to put aside our worries, if just for awhile, and to “come together for Christmas,” to come together as a  family of faith, and rejoicing together,  reclaim the hope and promise that is Christmas, as Christ chases the darkness away..

Yesterday’s defeat of a massive funding bill designed to restore liquidity to the nation’s financial markets has sparked a vigorous debate about who is to blame and which of the political candidates will benefit.  A critical fact has been ignored in all of the name calling and finger pointing. The American people hated this bill. News outlets across the spectrum reported that congress has been besieged with emails, letters, and phone calls expressing outrage at the prospect of a trillion dollars of taxpayer money being used in yet another bailout scheme. Two separate cable news channels reported that public opinion, as measured by congressional correspondence to both Republicans and Democreats, showed clearly the failure of the political leadership to convince the public that this bill was a good idea.

The news media responded with endless analyses of the American public’s failure to understand the gravity of the situation and our failure to understand just how badly in need of immediate rescue we are. Rubbbish. The American people are not uninformed nor are they ignorant of how business works. We are asking a very serious question, however. Simply put: Why this bill and this bill only? It may be the best solution, but no one is debating alternatives. When Americans are asked to fork over control of their collective checkbooks to the tune of a trillion dollars, they have a right to know that all options were on the table and that the best one was selected. As a people, we do not tolerate being told by the government to shut up  while they take care of us.

There has been a huge leadership failure, and there is enough blame to be shared by all. The biggest failure was the attempt to force an enormous spending bill, with the most sweeping powers ever granted to the Secretary of the Treasury, through congress without public debate. Hearings may have taken time, but in the end, a week’s worth of hearings and debate might have taken no more time than will have been wasted due to the rancor caused by this process.

In the end, it boils down to this. Ninety-five Dmocrats voted ”no” on this bill for the same reason over a hundred Republicans did so. Their constituents told them that if they voted for this bill, “Don’t bother to come home.” Americans know that action needs to be taken. They want a say in what that that action is to be. People don’t want to be “saved” by their government if that means their government acts precipitously, against their expressed wishes.  Urging representatives to ignore their constituents is fundamentally at odds with the basic principles of American government. I seem to recall that the American system prides itself on being government by the people. Listen to them.

The God of the Bible does not promise us untroubled, economic security. Prosperity gospels are comforting, but sooner or later we are faced with the facts of life. God has not made me rich. What God has done is to see me through the hard times, to provide for me in times of need, to care for me and my family. This is the promise of the very first Psalm. I don’t believe it is an accident that the compilers chose for the first entry one that begins with the words, “Blessed is the man.” One that proclaims that those who love God will be like a tree planted by streams of water, a tree whose leaves do not wither. God has promised to be with us, even in the “valley of deep darkness.” And Jesus asks us why we are so anxious when God knows our every need before we ask it.

Anxiety is part and parcel of the human condition, but we are called to exercise faith in the midst of life’s difficulties. Faith does not grant us immediate relief, nor does it guarantee fulfillment of our every wish. It does, however, provide us with needed security, with hope that things will get better, that we will get through this. We will overcome because God is with us. Yes, we will still have to look for the best prices, defer spending, even on things we may need, but ultimately, in all things that matter, we trust in God to fulfill his promises to us, to look after us.

This does not relieve us of our responsibility as citizens of his kingdom nor does it relieve us of our responsibility to exercise our rights and duties as citizens of whatever country to which claim allegiance. It is one thing to acknowledge that many of the things we face daily are beyond our control; it is quite another to absolve ourselves of responsibility for our neighbors. I may not be able to change the economy, but I can reach out to those in need. I can act with kindness and compassion. I can share in the suffering of my neighbor and do whatever lies within my means to alleviate that suffering. I have been priveleged to travel the world and see at close hand the effects of poverty, war, and ill-conceived revolutions. It has taught me this: I am my brothers and sisters keeper. Cynicism may be a plague of our time, but it provides no answers. It solves no problems. The world changes by degrees. Want has a human face. It is the face of the one who stands before me. I may marvel at the rising cost of groceries, but I can still buy groceries, and I can still help others, and in that small, seemingly inconsequential act of kindness, I can make a statement for the common humanity of us all. This is message of the biblical book of James. Clothe the poor, feed the hungry, comfort the weary. This is the heart of Gospel as it is to be lived in our daily lives, and this is the hope of the Gospel. For that, thanks be to God.

I am preparing to spend a few days in the West Virginia panhandle, mending a broken leg. Our house along the Cacapon River is always a quiet sanctuary, settled deep in a valley without television or radio reception. This weekend should be particularly quiet. Not many weekenders brave January and February in the mountains. The early morning temperatures will dip into the twenties, and the forest floor will be covered with a fine coat of frost. The last of the perennials will have blackened in the deep cold. Winter has come.

The Appalachian Mountains have gone to sleep. The bear that troubles our trash cans won’t return until spring. I’ll miss the pileated woodpeckers that bore holes in my deck railing. Even the deer and geese are less active. This world is at peace.

The news in Washington is much the same. The dollar is falling, forcing oil prices higher. Investors are jittery. The war is going badly or victory is in sight — depending upon whom you listen to. I marvel at the number of people who tell me that one presidential candidate or another is the savior of the world. One woman in her 80s tells me that if a Republican wins she will be forced to flee back to Chile.

I have become too cynical, too old, or both to believe that any one party or individual holds the key to some future utopia. Looking to a Huckabee, a Romney, a Clinton, or an Obama for the answers to the world’s problems seems to me to be childish. Certainly, we baby-boomers ought to have seen enough by now to be skeptical, to be more discerning when we hear the promises made by candidates. History has taught us that the world is just too complex for the populist platitudes and simple solutions we are fed in campaign speeches.

What is also clearer as I age is the degree to which we each contribute to our national problems. Chinese quality is certainly troublesome, but as long as you and I demand $9.99 coffee makers from Walmart, we won’t see quality American goods in a box store. The sub-prime fiasco has undermined our faith in the economy, but thousands upon thousands of people have lost their homes to foreclosure because the financial institutions that could have helped these people abandoned them rather than helped them to refinance. They did so to protect their standing with investors — that is, by the way, you and me and our pension funds. We helped put these people on the streets. We don’t want immigrants in our country, but we we want cheap labor to build our houses, clean our office buildings, and blow the leaves out of our yards. We have forgotten that our ancestors, people like my grandparents, didn’t speak English in their homes and on their neighborhood streets, either.

I am reminded by this season of Epiphany that Jesus came to us as one of the poor, that he fled his home, in the arms of his parents, as a migrant fleeing political oppression (the government did want to kill him, after all), and that he grew up not in a privileged middle-class suburb but in a working class neighborhood. He was what we call blue-collar.

We don’t need a savior of the world. That job is already taken.  Jesus has taught us that the really important changes are within us. Until we understand that, until we take loving our neighbor as ourselves seriously(not to mention loving God), it doesn’t really matter what structural changes we make to our government or our economy. The world will just go on the same, only the names in the newspaper change.

As we approach Lent, why not consider a really big Lenten discipline. How about trying to live the Sermon on the Mount for just 40 days? Since Sundays technically aren’t Lent, y ou get one day a week off.

We need to pay careful attention the coming election. Certainly we need to participate in our democratic government. While we are at it, though, why not make the changes we can in our own backyards? Then we might have a better idea of what to do on a national level.

I think I’ll just leave it all for a while. Its time to build a fire.

I shall be telling this with a sigh,Somewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.   Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken” 

A few years ago, I stood with an elderly woman in what until recently been her dining room. Her husband lay dying in front of us in a newly delivered hospital bed. As we talked, she softly recounted stories of all those she had nursed over the past half century, some to health, others not. Relatives, friends, and neighbors had always looked to her for support, and it seemed that it had never occurred to her not to give it. I asked her why. What made her so willing to respond, to give of herself to so many people – people who often never bothered to offer a simple thank you in return? She answered matter-of-factly, “I never look down on anyone unless I am picking him up.”

That simple saying is printed on the side of a building on North Capital Street, in Washington, D.C. I was to hear it often through the ensuing years, most often from the poorest and most marginalized among the African Americans and Hispanics, most often in the most blighted neighborhoods. It is an honest appraisal of the state of many in America today, and at the same time, a refusal to accept that state. It was the defiant challenge to poverty, addiction, and violence that overwhelms whole segments of our society. It was the bold statement of people who chose to reach out in love for no other reason than they were compelled to by their unshakable belief in the dignity and worth of every person.

What a contrast between her simple statement and Nietzsche’s aphorism, “He who does not wish to see the height of a man looks all the more sharply at what is low in him, and in the foreground – and thereby betrays himself.” (Beyond Good and Evil, 275) Nietzsche draws us with quick, deft strokes, but this is no caricature. It is a bold, even if uncomfortable, truth. Far too many of us have learned to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to those around us. Often it is because we too look more sharply at what is low in the person before us.

Two roads diverged. The first road is less traveled, but I suspect very much more satisfying. To walk through life seeing the good in others and doing the good in ourselves is to live life at its deepest and fullest level. The choice is ours, and our choice will make all the difference.