This is the season of stretching—of sleepy old tendons being stretched into action and of young growing muscles being stretched into competition. The fields of America, sprouting eager grass, are ready to be filled with the pounding of feet making their cuts toward goals. The cheers of spring are an invitation to renew the physical—a reminder of the ligamental and the limber; of the energy released by your body in motion.

Pumping blood at cardiac speed can awaken an appreciation of the elegance of fit. The very word is easy to say, and comfortable to imagine. Fit. To fit in. To be fit. It fits. There’s a promise of harmony in fit and, at the same time, an aspiration to what is good.

Imagine the ancient Greeks creating the Olympics as their own tribute to the fitness of their bodies, their temples of the gods. Think about their rituals to greatness, their runs of marathon distances, their goddesses of celebration, trying to rouse sleepy Athens to believe in the physical, to celebrate its beauty. Imagine the audacity of that stretch.

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When I was a child, May was Mary’s month. My mother demanded that we children convene after dinner and say the rosary every night. We complained, cut corners, giggled, and misbehaved. But for the most part, we did it.

How could I have known that 40 years later, I would be saying the same Rosary with my mother as she lays in bed at 86, struggling for health. Some days, speech is difficult for her and walking impossible. Some days, it’s all she can do to raise her head.

But even on those days, the words of the rosary come easily.

“Do you want to lead Mom?”

“Yes. Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee…”

In the traditional language of religion, Mary is her “devotion.” And for her, Mary became not just an object of veneration but also a guide for how to raise children, how to work, and how to live a life of meaning. Mary is my mother’s role model.

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Now that Barack Obama has all but sealed the Democratic nomination for President of the United States, there is great anticipation that he might lead the country toward a world of postracial politics. But the opposite fear has also emerged—that of a divisive and potentially mean-spirited debate that only deepens misunderstandings between ethnic and racial groups. While Obama’s campaign has inspired great hope, it has also revealed deep and persistent wounds.

Of course, the problems run deep. Despite the great legislative victories of the 1950s and 1960s that moved the nation toward social and political justice, the divides remain—in some ways reduced but in other ways stubbornly persistent.

What we don’t need at this time is another “conversation” because our national conversations on race feel like bad marriage counseling sessions. We vent, we point fingers, we name the problem over and over again only to find ourselves getting up off the couch in the exact same state of mind as before we sat down.

Why not put the conversation on hold and try a more active approach? What about challenging Americans to focus less on how to identify the problems of race and more on how to solve them?

It’s time for deeds, not words. The goal is not dialogue, it’s understanding. And understanding requires a lot more than talk.

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On this Memorial Day, we’re reminded to pay tribute to those who paid with their lives in the many wars our nation has fought in defense of our freedom and our beliefs. Memorial Day has its origins in the years after the Civil War as survivors on both sides struggled for ways to pay tribute to the dead—the largest number of fatalities by a long shot in any American conflict at home or abroad.

Sadly, many thousands more have fallen since the 19th Century as war after war has demanded the ultimate sacrifice of our young men and women-- the “last full measure of devotion” as Lincoln termed the bravery of the dead at Gettysburg. We pause today in humility and in sadness to remember, to pray, to pay tribute.

But to pay tribute begs a question: what can we possibly do to honor those who died? How can we, the living, do anything worthy of the bravery of those who fought? Are we really left with nothing more than parades and flag salutes as our role in remembering?

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