“Well, in the Catholic Church,” he said, “we’re going to get very technical here, transubstantiation means it’s the body and blood of Christ…But to me, it’s an acceptance of Christ into your life and you try to do the best that you can ... I’ve never been one who walks around with a stamp that says, 'I am a Catholic, come follow me, join my faith!' That’s not my role in life.”

After the interview he called his friend and my co-moderator of “On Faith”, Newsweek Editor Jon Meacham. “Jeez”, Tim told Meacham. “She was tough. She asked me about transubstantiation and she really got into it.”

Tim and Jon both knew that I had been an atheist most of my life. Over the years, Tim particularly loved sparring about religion with “Miss Sal,” as he called me.

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The outpouring of emotion after Tim’s death June 13 has been extraordinary and even those of us who knew him well and adored him were stunned at the extent of the reaction. I haven't seen anything like it in Washington since John Kennedy’s death. People who never met him have been e-mailing me and coming up to me on the street, crying and hugging me. I’ve been trying to analyze it and what I think is this: Tim was a truly good person. He was authentic. He was kind and generous and thoughtful and caring. He was optimistic and funny. He was deeply religious. He was the most enthusiastic person I have ever known.

The word "enthusiastic" comes from the Greek words “en theos”, meaning “in God.”

The comparison of Tim to John Kennedy is not without justification. John Kennedy was Tim's inspiration. “He was central to my life,” Tim said. "When I was a 10-year-old boy, he was running for President and the idea that an Irish Catholic could be elected president of the United States was so important to us. We thought he was like us….And when he and his brother Robert after that talked about politics being an honorable profession, it was something that was ingrained in us. It was not only an honor and a duty to our church, but to our country. And they were in many ways very similar in the way we approached things; that if you worked hard and laughed often – which was important and still is – and kept your honor, you would be serving both God and your country.”

Tim talked bout Kennedy’s inauguration speech. He said that everyone remembers Kennedy saying: “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” But what struck Tim was when Kennedy said: “Let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking his blessing and his help, but knowing that here on earth God’s work must truly be our own.” It “was so consistent with what I had been taught: that there is a higher meaning, a deeper purpose to life than just getting a job and making money; that there is something much more to our core as a person and a son or daughter of God."

He really meant it, too. I can’t emphasize enough how unusual it is for people in Washington, particularly journalists, to talk about their faith and their belief in God. Talking about religion, especially personal faith -- at least until this year with Barack Obama -- has been perceived as one of those unfortunate things politicians have to do on the campaign trail in order to get elected. They almost never discuss it here socially. Tim was so comfortable talking about his faith. It was who he was, and he wasn’t embarrassed by it nor was anyone else round him when he did discuss it.

Tim was one those rare people who, when he asked you about you are and your family, he really wanted to know.

When our son Quinn was born 26 years ago he had a hole in his heart. He went into heart failure and was hospitalized for three months before doctors felt it was safe to operate. We were told he had a 50-50 chance of survival. I was very upset when the hospital chaplain would come by his room and try to pray with me. What good would that do? I thought. But the day before Quinn had surgery, Tim called. After we talked for awhile, he said, "I am praying for you." I can't explain why but his words really gave me strength and made me feel uplifted. No one was more surprised than I.

Years later, when our son went to a boarding school for dyslexic boys in Buffalo, N.Y., Tim couldn't have been more involved. Not only did he come up and speak to the school, but he established a scholarship there as well.

There is nobody who knew Tim who didn't have a story like that about him. Where did he get the time? We were all asking ourselves that after he died, given how hard he worked and what a devoted father he was to his terrific son Luke. "In terms of joy, becoming a father to me is second to none," he said to me. He named his son Luke after St. Luke whose gospel includes: "To whom much is given much is expected." One of Tim's biggest thrills going to Rome to interview Pope John Paul II and taking his baby son Luke with him.

When I interviewed Tim last year, I asked him if he had ever lost his faith. He said that after the assassinations of John and Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., "You challenge everything and you are wondering, 'What is this all about?' I think that the age-old question, 'How could a good and generous and all-loving God allow all this kind of pain and suffering and difficult to transpire?'"

It was the faith of Tim's parents that got him through, he said. "There was an innate sense of goodness and optimism and they found that their faith helped that and encouraged that and passed it on to us."

Last Wednesday at Tim's funeral mass at Trinity Church in Georgetown (Jack Kennedy's church), communion was offered. I had only taken communion once in my life, at an evangelical church. It was soon after I had started "On Faith" and I wanted to see what it was like. Oddly I had a slightly nauseated sensation after I took it, knowing that in some way it represented the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Last Wednesday I was determined to take it for Tim, transubstantiation notwithstanding. I'm so glad I did. It made me feel closer to him. And it was worth it just to imagine how he would have loved it. After I began "On Faith," Tim started calling me "Sister Sal" instead of "Miss Sal."

When I interviewed him last year I asked him what the divine is to him. He didn't hesitate. "A sense of being a complete human being," he said, "living, caring, understanding, mindful, respectful and appreciative of others for all their strengths and all their faults, including my own."

By now most people know about Tim's rainbow. When we were exiting the memorial service the music being played was from Tim's iPod. The final song was, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." As we went up to the terrace of the Kennedy Center for the reception, there appeared the most spectacular double rainbow I've ever seen. It stretched from the floor of the terrace of the Kennedy Center to the Washington Monument. It was astonishing. Even the atheists were blown away. Certainly everyone was uplifted. And that is exactly what Tim would have hoped for.

On the tiny printed cards that were handed out at the Mass that morning, there was a picture of Tim with his inscription underneath:

"No exercise is better for the human heart than reaching down to lift up another person."

Amen, Brother Tim.