For one thing, I don’t like being harangued and preached at. For another, I am wary of politicians who showboat their beliefs in the public sphere; it seems like the ultimate cynical act, a profession of faith in exchange for votes.

Finally, I am Jewish and the National Prayer Breakfast is an assembly of mostly Christians, with the express purpose of giving people “understanding, confidence and hope for the future through a deepening relationship with Jesus.” While I believe Jesus existed, and I think the New Testament contains as much wisdom, magic and philosophy as any book in the world, I am not entirely comfortable in an environment where a majority feels that my beliefs are inferior to theirs, especially when their beliefs top the agenda.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I found myself moved nearly to tears, not once or twice but several times during the breakfast. The event, an annual Washington tradition for 55 years, is a bipartisan convocation of government leaders and their friends, with the goal of bridging differences through Christ. Members of Congress are there, as well as Cabinet members and the President himself. To keep it legal, it is funded and organized by a nonprofit group called the Fellowship Foundation and is held in a neutral zone; this year, the ballroom of the Washington Hilton.

The sheer number of attendees (3,400), not to mention the security checks and Secret Service personnel, gave it an atmosphere of a political convention, not a sacred event. But the speakers were, almost to a person, genuine and full of grace. The master of ceremonies, Rep. Emanuel Cleaver II (D., Mo.), had a dry wit and in his remarks gently and in a veiled way pushed the Bush Administration to reconsider its position on Iraq. “We reap what we sow,” he said. “I think God is pleased when we, as citizens of the world and people of faith, sow courtesy, civility and kindness with each other and raise up a harvest of grace and peace.”

Rep. Allyson Schwartz (D., Penn.) talked about being five years old and seeing her father for the first time after he returned home Korea and not recognizing him. Then she read a prayer for our troops from the Torah.

The oddball highlight of the morning, though, was offered by Dr. Francis Collins, director of the Human Genome Project, believer in Christ and world-famous geneticist. In his keynote speech, Collins gave a passionate defense of the intertwining of faith and science, insisting that one point of view does not automatically negate the other. Then, as punctuation, the scientist pulled out an acoustic guitar, and like a wacky nursery school teacher, sang a hymn that glorified human wisdom and knowledge.

No one but a geek, as he called himself, could have pulled off such a stunt without drawing the derision of the crowd. But Collins is a geek and soon all 3,400 guests – from the Ukraine, Senegal, Belize, Texas, Virginia, and Brooklyn – were singing along. In that moment I saw what I wish the people trapped on both sides of the culture wars could see: That there is a time and place for talking about God in an earnest, personal, heartfelt way; that such talk is not, in itself, threatening or loaded; and that, if done honestly, with intelligence, humor and humility, can inspire people to feel the miracle—and the responsibilities—of human existence.

Unfortunately, the President wasn’t up to the task. It’s hard to imagine a more sympathetic crowd, or a more natural outlet for a man whose Christian faith is so fully part of his public identity. Yet even in these near-perfect circumstances, Bush came across as defensive, shut-down and dug-in. “Our troops must understand that every day—every day—millions of our citizens lift them up in prayer,” he said, as if he were chiding them. “We pray for their safety; we pray for their families they have left at home; we pray for those who have been wounded for their comfort and recovery.”

On a day when some of the nation’s most gifted and powerful men and women took time out to reflect on their own weaknesses and on the grace their faith provides in times of trouble, the President missed a crucial opportunity.