This morning at church, amidst a crowd of over a hundred people, my eyes kept wandering to the couple sitting right in front of me. They looked to be in their late thirties, quietly sharing stolen glances, soft smiles, and gentle nudges. There was nothing flashy about it—just a calm, unmistakable warmth radiating between them. In a world that often feels rushed and distracted, that simple, honest connection anchored the room.
It unexpectedly pulled me back to September 11th, 2001, when I was staying at the Brown Palace Hotel in Denver. In the wake of unimaginable tragedy, something profound happened inside those walls. For a brief moment, the noise of the world fell away. Total strangers treated each other with extraordinary tenderness, patience, and courtesy. It felt like we had all stepped onto a different planet—one where radical kindness was the baseline, and we were all undeniably on the same team.
Watching that couple today, the two moments merged in my mind.
Why does it take a major crisis or a rare moment of romance to bring out our best? Why can’t we choose to live with that level of care every single day?
At its core, the message of faith—and the heart of humanity—comes down to love. We already know we are capable of reaching across the aisle, lowering our defenses, and treating each other with deep respect. We’ve done it before. The challenge is deciding to bring that spirit into the ordinary rhythm of our everyday lives.
As I walked out of church today, a sober thought hit me: Has it really been nearly a quarter-century since I last saw an entire room of strangers treat each other with that kind of universal grace? If so, maybe it’s time we start actively bringing it back.
