In these troubling times, many of us sit down and weep when we remember America—how it once was but is no longer. We remember how we once aspired to be a city on a hill, a model of democracy, freedom, equality, justice, hospitality.

That city has fallen.

That light is gone.

We are in exile.

We live in tragic times.

How can we sing “America the Beautiful” in this strange land?

I can’t. I’m deflated.

But just when I’m ready to sit down and feel hopeless, I remember the veteran peace activist Dorothy Day. She said, No one has the right to sit down and feel hopeless. There’s too much good work to be done.

And that gets me off my butt, back on my feet and back in the arena ready to do good work. Better yet, I shall do GREAT THINGS!

And then I remember Mother Teresa. She said, There are no great things to be done. Only small things with great love.

So I go see my ailing friend.

We once rode bikes together over long and winding roads. He’s now in a wheelchair, facing his final days.

How are you doing with all that’s going on with you? I ask.

He smiles and says, It is what it is.

There’s no miracle to expect. There’s nothing profound to say. We just talk about this and that and other things. And then it’s time for his nap.

To have a friend, to have time, that’s miracle enough.

A friend recently sent me an excerpt from The Fellowship of the Ring, written, as you know, by J. R. R. Tolkien. What you might not know is that Tolkien served in World War I. He fought in the trenches and witnessed the unspeakable horrors of the Battle of the Somme.

Hell on earth. Mordor. Tragic times.

I wish it need not have happened in my time, said Frodo.

So do I, said Gandalf, and so do all who live to see such times as these. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.

Time is given.

It’s a gift.

Tragic at times.

But still a gift.

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