November 22, 1963

On November 22, 1963, my childhood vanished.  Although I was a freshman in high school, I would never see the world in quite the same way I had seen it prior to hearing the news that President Kennedy had been shot while riding in a parade in Dallas, Texas.

John F. Kennedy was in 1961 the youngest man ever elected to the Office of the President of the United States of America.  In a tumultuous time, so much hope rested on the shoulders of this young man--probably far too much hope.  Our elected leaders never can produce all they promised or all we hoped they would produce, but there were signs that good things were in store.  New voices were being heard.

Then across the nation a shot was heard, and a nation wept.

In many ways, President Kennedy's death united the country, at least for a few days, as nothing else could have done.  We grieved as a people--grieved for a young widow and her children and grieved for ourselves as we were forced to remember that being a free people did not mean we were free from violence and death.

On this 48th anniversary of President Kennedy's death, I grieve again--for us.  We have not learned.  We have not learned that freedom involves risk, including the risk of violence.  We have not learned that our hope rest in One greater than any or all elected leaders.  We have not learned to engage our elected leaders and DEMAND that they put the well-being of our nation and its people, including it's poorest people, ahead of their own--that they become the public servants they were elected to be.  I grieve . . .

. . . but I hope.  I hold to the hope that we shall rise to a higher way of life . . . that we will both demand better from those we elect to office and that we will live better that our calls to them might be heard.