Despite horizons and mobility limited by cancer, he reflected
insightfully on his thoughts and activities. He seemed eager about
upcoming duties. He radiated zest for living.

I also spent time with a much healthier 30-something whose eyes were
dead, affect flat, and interest in life around her minimal. She radiated
defeat.

I don't know either of them well, and I'm sure their stories, like
all human stories, are complex. But I sensed that one key difference
between them had to do with making a difference.

One seemed to believe that his life made a difference in the world.
He saw purpose to his days and impact from his efforts. The other, by
contrast, seemed to be plodding along, dutifully buying what commerce
wants her to buy, paying her taxes and obeying the laws, but not seeing
her existence as essential to anyone but herself.

Making a difference isn't a matter of fame or wealth. A physically
disabled woman I visited falls short on those two measures, but she
travels widely, thinks and speaks energetically, and believes that her
contributions are valued.

Nor is making a difference a matter of intellect, skills or worldly
success. How one makes a difference might be shaped by one's talents,
but the fact of making a difference originates elsewhere, primarily in
an attitude toward other people.

The key, it seems, is exactly what Jesus said it would be: living
for self or living for others. The life that is lived to itself seems
empty; the life lived for others seems full.

The life lived for self -- self-referential, self-protective,
concerned with comfort and appetite -- is widely encouraged by modern
commerce and government. Such a life makes for abundant shopping, time
devoted to passive entertainment, and compliant citizenship. Recent
political movements grounded in rage, entitlement and religious elitism
declare self as king, self as under assault, and aggression as the
answer.

The life lived for others, however, brings an appreciative
engagement with the world and provides a context where one's impact can
be felt. It opens the door to collaboration and compromise, two
essentials of any healthy community.

The other-oriented life often is discouraged as disruptive and
noncompliant, a danger to an economy driven by greed and
self-improvement, and to a political apparatus that wants to perpetuate
itself through marketing and deceit, not through performance.

Faith is the heart of the other-oriented life. In order not to be
obsessed with looking out for oneself, one must have faith that another
-- namely, God -- is actively caring. Self-denial puts one out of step
with the world but close to God.

My frustration with modern religion goes deeper than disagreement
with the theological and intellectual narrowness of fundamentalism, or
the smugness and intolerance of progressivism. Both can be avenues to
the same result: a life where self is the center, God is champion of
self-improvement, divergent beliefs are a threat to self, and safety
lies in clinging self-protectively to one's kind.

Our way forward, it seems to me, is to help each other to make a
difference. What specifically are we doing to make a difference in this
world? Whom have we helped? Have we trusted in God enough to leave our
cocoons and step off our self-defined pedestals?

In the Lenten spirit of self-examination, we need to ask how our own
lives are being transformed. Making a difference in the world, you see,
makes oneself different.

Tom Ehrich is an Episcopal priest, a writer, consultant and leader of workshops. His
book, "Just Wondering, Jesus: 100 Questions People Want to Ask," was
published by Morehouse Publishing. He lives in
Durham, N.C.