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Last night my wife handed me a Sunday New York Times article on Jon Stewart -- Is this the Most Trusted Man in America? -- telling me that I had to read it. She was right. You should, too. During a time of record-breaking Olympics, a decidedly mixed presidential race, and general social anxiety, Jon Stewart's success on "The Daily Show" holds some key insights for those of us who want to make good on our urge to do good.
 
For me, there are at least three components to Stewart's success:

Now, think about Stewart in relationship to the current presidential race, which increasingly seems to be teetering on the brink of another battle over false realities and empty hope. Recent campaign ads are riddled with half-truths, negativity, and silly efforts to misdirect conversation away from people's genuine concerns. I suppose the upcoming party conventions will be relatively better -- could they be any worse -- but how long that improvement will last before the campaigns again descend into a debate over false realities is anyone's guess. All this from two candidates many of us expected would produce a genuine debate and sense of possibility about our future.

Juxtapose these candidates to another group of high-profile individuals, the current U.S. Olympic men's basketball team: Just four years ago, this team was essentially booed off the international stage, as individuals who had ignored or rejected any notion of what it means to act as a team, play defense, and wear the red, white, and blue. They lived in the false realities of self-centeredness, seeming to celebrate the ugliness of professional basketball here at home. But this year, U.S. co-captain Lebron James, who played on that 2004 team, came together with new teammates and punctured the 2004 reality. If nothing else, they have proven that it is possible take a different path -- if the desire is there. Listen to these guys being interviewed, watch them play, and it's so clear that this is a stand-up group, proud to wear the USA uniform, humble in their pronouncements.

So what does all this mean for you and me? After all, there's only one Jon Stewart and Lebron James. None of us have their platforms, megaphone, or talent. What can we do? Here are some takeaways for you to consider:

• You can puncture false or negative realities when you decide to step forward and genuinely attempt to portray life as it really is. Indeed, it is possible to break through the noise. For you, this breakthrough may come in a particular meeting, or in how you write a brochure, or produce a new Web site; it may come in how you structure a new initiative or program, or in the ways in which you talk about the challenges you seek to take on. But be clear, it is these breakthroughs in how we depict reality that people are yearning for today.
  
  
• In your attempts to puncture false reality and shine a light on real issues, you must not disingenuously straddle the fence. Simply going through the motions will not do; nor will rooting your work in reality only when it is easy or convenient. To do is to become irrelevant. People eventually will turn away. Only look at people's reaction to mainstream news, the current dynamics of the presidential race, or local organizations that give lip service to reality and its real-life implications. People's "BS-meter" is very sensitive; they know when they're being manipulated and toyed with.
  
  
• You must creatively make use of different ways to engage people in discussions about reality and its implications. Simply being "serious" all the time, or projecting "doom and gloom" won't cut it. You will need to engage people based on a clear understanding of your own talents to engage others and the level of credibility you hold with people. So, the U.S. basketball team has gone the route of using honor, humility, and hard work; their efforts are a reflection of keen earnestness and an understated posture. Jon Stewart mixes in humor, satire, and other techniques. In today's world of disbelief, irony, and dissonance, how will you productively engage people and help to meet their deep yearning for authentic hope?

So, the bottom line is this: we face a choice today, which Jon Stewart, the presidential candidates, and the U.S. basketball team only serve to underscore. It is a choice that existed long before they came along, and it will persist in our lives no matter what they do. Will we step forward to do what is necessary to puncture false realities and engage people in real ways; or, will we toy around at the edges, boasting of a new direction, only to stay within the boundaries of the same old game? The second option is safe; but only the first one allows us to make good on our urge to do good.

This week we're sharing some "Voices from the Summit." Throughout the week participants in the 2008 Summit will be blogging about their experience, their work and their thoughts. This reflection comes from Jean Feraca, Host of "Here on Earth."

Ever since I came back from the Summit I've been living in state of grace. It's a little like being born-again.

Imagine having forgotten who you are, what your real name is, why you were sent to earth in the first place, and then being re-awakened. That's what it was like for me. Before I left for the Summit, I had no idea how far I had strayed from my original purpose in creating Here on Earth: Radio Without Borders. Simply stated, it was to show who we are at our best, we humans, and how much we have in common. It was to bring the world a little closer together and to show, over and over again, in as many different ways as possible, that there is only one race on earth, the one we call Human. The best way to do that, of course, is by telling stories, and what better place to tell them than on the radio where "stories make brothers and sisters of us all," as my friend Harold Scheub, who teaches The African Storyteller, has so often stated.

But somewhere along the way, I forgot all that. I began to think that telling stories wasn't important enough. I began to try to be more like other talk show hosts. It was Rich who brought me back to my authentic self.  "When I tell other people about you," he said, "I don't tell them you're a journalist. I tell them you're a poet."  Ah, yes. And then he reminded us that one story connects to another story, and that's how, in the aggregate, altogether we create The Moving Mosaic.   

Jean Feraca, Host of Here on Earth: Radio Without Borders

This week we're sharing some "Voices from the Summit." Throughout the week participants in the 2008 Summit will be blogging about their experience, their work and their thoughts. This reflection comes from Wendy Willis of the Policy Consensus Initiative.

I've often asked friends and colleagues toiling in the civic engagement trenches if there is such a thing as "social capital poisoning."  While many of our fellow citizens are struggling to find meaningful ways to participate in public life, those of us who have turned our passion for engagement  into a vocation can find ourselves meeting and talking and collaborating ourselves straight into exhaustion.  Sometimes, we just want to be left alone. 

It was in that state that I showed up at Skamania Lodge two Fridays ago -- depleted and unenthusiastic about more meetings -- even optimistic ones.  Everything in me wanted to hide out.  But, there I was -- nametag in hand -- so I put on my best introvert armor and headed down to the first set of discussions, determined to protect my zone of privacy.  What happened in that first discussion -- and throughout the weekend  -- was not what I anticipated nor was it what I was prepared to resist.  Yes, the discussions were optimistic and spirited and engaging, and I had to be grateful for being in the company of such creativity and hope.  But, the conversations and the facilitators that led them also asked us to do something more than just bubble over with ideas  -- they asked us to reflect deeply and quietly and to connect our inner lives with the outer realities of the work.  They asked us to think about  -- and then speak from  -- our core values and fondest dreams, and even to admit our darkest fears.

That marriage of reflection and conversation had obvious and immediate consequences -- deeper insights, more honest connections, grittier truths.  But it was also -- for me -- both regenerative and humbling.  It was restorative in that there was space for quiet, even in the face of such palpable creativity and enthusiasm.  But, it also put me right straight in my place.   I had been prepared to let myself off the hook -- to willfully withdraw even in the face of such generosity and warmth.   I was brought face-to-face with my own stinginess and tendency to withhold.  But, the better angels -- and the munificence of the gathering -- won out, and I was left filled with gratitude and not with regret.

Wendy Willis,Director of Business Development and Engagement, Policy Consensus Initiative

This week we're sharing some "Voices from the Summit." Throughout the week participants in the 2008 Summit will be blogging about their experience, their work and their thoughts.

This post was written by Steven A. Smith for his blog "News is a Conversation.  The editor of the Spokesman-Review (Spokane), Steven has worked with the Harwood Institute for more than a decade.  What follows is his post reflecting on the experience of attending his first Harwood Public Innovators Summit:

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I just returned home from the three-day innovators summit in Stevenson, WA.

I need some time to synthesize what I learned. Suffice it to say for now the innovations most helpful to newspapers probably won't come from our own industry. This conference was a chance to spend time with innovators in a variety of business and non-profit roles. The ideas I will steal from them will help push our own transformational change, I hope.

But today's end-of-conference discussion did have an epiphinous moment worth sharing.

We were discussing the writings of noted social activist Dorothy Day.

This line jumped off the page for me.

"No one has a right to sit down and feel hopeless. There's too much work to do."

Words a weary editor, all weary editors and newspaper people, need to take to heart.

Steven A. Smith, Editor, Spokesman-Review

This week we're sharing some "Voices from the Summit." Throughout the week participants in the 2008 Summit will be blogging about their experience, their work and their thoughts.

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These days, when I ask a friend or colleague how they're doing, I almost always get the same one-word response: "Busy."

I don't just interpret this as a reflection of the pace by which we live our lives; in fact, most of the people I know are busy doing things that either matter deeply to them or to people who depend on them. So it's not necessarily the pace that's the problem; it's the way the word choice reveals what we choose to illuminate and, by extension, value in ourselves and the world around us.

It's almost as if the word "busy" has become a short-hand way to describe what it feels like to live in modern society. Is this an accurate description? Is there a difference between feeling busy and feeling highly engaged? If so, what does the predominance of the one word over the other say about our states of mind?

These questions, for me, illuminate why the Harwood Summit is so valuable. Instead of crafting a busy agenda, Rich and his staff provide a precious opportunity for people to feel engaged. Together, we pause, exhale, reflect on who we are, what we do, and why it matters, and make connections with other committed professionals from a range of professional sectors.

~Sam Chaltain, Executive Director, Five Freedoms Project

This week we're sharing some "Voices from the Summit." Throughout the week participants in the 2008 Summit will be blogging about their experience, their work and their thoughts. This post comes from Farhana Huq, Founder and CEO of C.E.O Women.

I started volunteering with citizen sector organizations when I was 14.  My sense of the sector was myopic in that I was on the front lines most of the time, focused primarily on direct service. 

When I founded C.E.O. Women -- an organization dedicated to helping low-income immigrant and refugee women to become entrepreneurs -- I did so with the goal of helping women.  However, what has evolved for me, over time, is a commitment to addressing the systemic barriers faced by these women. I've come to believe that this requires a very different mindset and tool set. It also requires dialogue.  My thinking is now less about the direct service and more geared towards creating solutions and shifts that will inevitably solve the problems these women face over time. 

Many of the key players in our sector run their organizations from a purely competitive lens.  What was valuable to me about attending the Public Innovators Summit was the focus of discussions around this phenomenon of organization building.  Many of us expressed our skepticism around measuring success based on the old tropes of "We're the biggest.  We're the best organization.  We're the oldest in the field." 

The dialogue with other civic leaders at the Summit confirmed, for me, that the change we all want to see requires a deep sense of humility and a collaborative spirit.  Sometimes I think people forget what they are in the business of doing.  Are they in the business of doing business, or are they in the business of social change?  Regrouping and refocusing ones efforts around their work is critical to keeping you focused and understanding how to achieve change. 

Farhana Huq: Founder and CEO, C.E.O Women

This week we're sharing some "Voices from the Summit." Throughout the week participants in the 2008 Summit will be blogging about their experience, their work and their thoughts.

Summit has always been one of my favorite words. When I reached the summit of Mount Rainier some years ago, we broke through a thick layer of clouds and the sky above was absolutely clear. From the summit, we could see the horizon but not the land or cities below. The "real world" was obscured. It was a reflective moment of beauty and clarity, a time for looking upward and outward.

The Harwood Public Innovators Summit affected me in somewhat the same way. Being there made me look in many different directions and reflect on new possibilities, while leaving the day-to-day world behind for a while.

Everyone there seemed to be in that space and share that spirit.  All seemed willing to be transparent, open and accountable for their work and themselves.

Whatever our sector, whatever our challenges, we asked ourselves: How can my organization best help? On what scale? With what participants? With what resources? What metrics? To what end? And what is my personal role? My motivation? Values? Energy? Legacy?

Those are the kinds of things the Summit made me think about. And finding that many others are asking themselves the same questions was good to know. Sharing our successes and failures, hopes and fears, laughs and tears, dreams and realities, at the Summit was -- at least for me -- truly a peak experience. That's what summits are all about.

John Hamer,  Executive Director,  Washington News Council

The Starbucks juggernaut has flipped its lid in recent months, experiencing a downturn most never expected. Over the years, Starbucks had emerged as a new social icon, a reflection of a brilliant business strategy rooted in a keen knowledge of people's yearnings for connection. But somehow Starbucks got burned when it tried to occupy too much space. Any of us can fall into this trap.

The story is a familiar one: a great idea, terrific execution, rising demand, and then expansion, expansion, expansion! Starbucks coffee can now be seen virtually everywhere. Not only did stores pop up on nearly every corner, they embedded their beans and brand in grocery stores, hotels, even in the air.

Originally, Starbucks was about intimate coffee houses where people could meet, chat, read ... in essence, be in public. Company leaders often talked about carving out "third spaces" in communities -- neither yours nor mine, but "ours." But things started to unravel, and on Valentine's Day 2007, Chairman Howard Shultz sent out a memo entitled, "The Commoditization of the Starbucks Experience." Starbucks had morphed from being an experience to selling a cup of coffee.

To get back to basics, the company plans to shutter 5% of their stores nationwide, with as many as 12,000 much-heralded workers losing their jobs. Ouch!

What happened to "The Starbucks Experience?" This raises a key question I often ask people in their work: What space do you want to occupy? Earlier Starbucks enjoyed clarity on this question, but eventually their success and scale led them to believe they could be ubiquitous. That is, they could occupy virtually any and all spaces available.

My concern is not with their business strategy -- spreadsheets, numbers, coffee beans, and other related matters. That's really not my business.  

Rather, my focus is on how an organization (whether a for-profit or non-profit) positions itself in public life, how it thinks about the very space it chooses to occupy. The Starbucks phenomenon has many of the same markings I see with non-profit groups that get caught up in their own success, when they wish to occupy any and all spaces.  For instance:

• A successful local organization that confuses the fact that people value its role in their lives, with the belief that the organization should take a higher profile in the community. When does the promise of a broader profile take your eye off the real target?


• A national organization that decides to scale up in dozens upon dozens of communities, but loses sight of what it means to create the very conditions in communities that brought about its initial success. When does the lure of expansion undermine our true objectives?


• A civic engagement effort that started with a clear focus, now believes it should go into every nook and cranny of a community to listen to people, even tackle a whole host of issues. Will the numbers add up to anything meaningful?  

I said earlier, the problem I see here is not first and foremost about a group's business or strategic plan. Starbucks, like many organizations, lost its soul, becoming more about coffee than the "experience." For nonprofits, the lure of occupying more and more space can cloud the realities of who you are and what you are truly trying to achieve. It can diminish the opportunity for producing real change, even if in smaller steps. It can blur one's thinking about what sits at the essence of the work you actually do. At issue is, "Are you clear on the space you want to occupy?"

My own hope is that good programs and initiatives will expand and even go to scale. But I also know that those that do must be clear on the space they should occupy. Otherwise, it is too easy to get burned.

It's good to wake up and smell the coffee.

This past week, Randy Pausch, the man who made famous "The Last Lecture" passed away after battling pancreatic cancer. The lecture, intended for his children, moved millions of people -- but why? On the surface, many of his comments were cliche. But he was on to something real, something we all wrestle with, and these are the same reasons why my own work is moving more and more in the direction of answering this question: "How can you make good on your urge to do good?"

Upon learning of his cancer, Dr.  Pausch, a professor at Carnegie Mellon University, decided to give what the Pittsburgh-based school calls the "last lecture." The topic: how to live life. Millions of people have now watched the lecture on YouTube, and tens of thousands have bought his book. Most major news outlets covered his death. Pausch offered simple insights into life, including these highlighted in a USA Today article:

Never underestimate the importance of having fun. I'm dying and I'm having fun. And I'm going to keep having fun every day because there's no other way to play it.

Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted.

No one is pure evil. Find the best in everybody. Wait long enough and people will surprise and impress you.

Brick walls are there for a reason. They are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are these to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. The brick walls are there to stop people who don't want it badly enough.

It is not about achieving your dreams but living your life. If you lead your life the right way, the karma will take care of itself. The dreams will come to you

What's striking about his comments is their utter simplicity and directness. They give people a sense of grounding in  a highly complex, fast-paced, and often convoluted society. His comments are reminders about things what we already know, but often forget. They ask us to act on what we know is the right thing to do.

My own work over the years has focused on how people can create real change and authentic hope in communities.  We've long focused on such questions as, why do some communities move forward and others don't? Or, what does it take to authentically engage people in an era of cynicism and retreat? Or, how can you create the conditions for change in a community; what does it really take to generate an environment in which change can emerge?

Over time I have come to believe that there is a second part to this work, a portion that is as important and vital as the types of strategic concerns I just mentioned. This part addresses each of us as individuals, and seeks to illuminate and answer the question: "How can we make good on our urge to do good?"

To answer this question requires each of us to articulate and examine our own aspirations to make a difference in people's lives. We must gain a genuine understanding of our aspirations, and learn how to stay true to our best instincts and hunches. This is more of a practice than a set of techniques or process. A way of seeing and being rather than a set of instructions.

Cliche though it may be, we are all on a journey, a journey to make good on our urge to do good. As on any journey there are forces and factors that push you off your path for change, disrupt your efforts, and draw your attention away from what is truly important.

The more I do this work, the more I see that what people want most of all are touchstones that ground them when their aspirations and values are questioned, undermined, clouded, tested, even devalued. That's why in the coming months we'll be unveiling new ways for public innovators, leaders, change agents, social entrepreneurs, and civic initiators -- call them what you will -- to discover and pursue their own paths for change while staying true to their aspirations.

What we say and do in life matters. That's the message from Professor Randy Pausch in "The Last Lecture." That's the inherent message in all of our efforts. Stay tuned.

Most of us never intend to turn someone else into the "other," but the exigencies of life have a way of wringing out individual dignity from our work. We can find ourselves running so fast to reach the finish line that we lose sight of why even started to run. We use certain words and phrases as short-hand, only to lose their meaning. We go all out to win vital arguments, only to create needless divisions that fail to reflect people's everyday experiences. How in your own efforts to create change are you making room for individual dignity?

In my own memory, it was around the time of Ronald Reagan that our nation took a sharp detour deep into the land of celebrating the power of the individual and shoving individual dignity to the side. Of course, the "individual" has always played a central role in American history and myth, but since Reagan we have increasingly viewed the individual as the almighty consumer, the all-knowing political force, the free-agent without commitments, the sovereign entity.

In our celebration of the individual, the reference point is me, myself and I -- even if it means turning away from others, or talking about people in ways that keep them at arms' length.

• Thus we talk about "choice" in education, or other reforms, but often do not speak in terms of children and their vulnerabilities and feelings and real needs. The child gets lost in all the political speak and banter, the numbers and charts, the official statements and programs. And yet, we all know what it means to be a kid.

• We talk about long-term health care and trot out hurting people as props in our unfolding public drama, but somehow we do not talk about what a care-giver truly goes through and the mundane supports that they need to make it day-to-day. And yet, it's not too hard to envision yourself in this kind of situation.
  

• Or, we talk about patriotism, as I did on Wisconsin Public Radio yesterday, as if its meaning resides within the confines of an ideological framework, a so-called battle between the right and left. And yet, we fail to see that each of us in everyday life is in search of ways to express our love of country, engage with one another, and get on with the unfinished work before us.

A fellow guest on the public radio program yesterday was Air Force Reserve Major David Frakt who in June made the closing argument in a high-profile Guantanamo Bay case. In reading over his closing argument I was especially moved by these words:

No one is "undeserving" of humane treatment. It is an unmistakable lesson of history that when one group of people starts to see another group of people as "other" or as "different," or an "undeserving" as "inferior," ill-treatment inevitably follows.

"Ill-treatment" can be defined in many ways. The Major was referring to torture. But while torture is an extreme example, everyday there are abridgments of individual dignity. Just this morning I heard a radio ad for listeners to donate funds to help "needy people." Just what would it mean to be part of the "needy people?" Must you show an identification card at the movies, wear only certain brands of clothing, attach a scarlet letter to your arm. How is it that we see other people's lives?

I can't imagine that most people intentionally squeeze out room for individual dignity. But I would say that we have lost a certain consciousness for it. If we talk about individual dignity, we do so only for a moment, before returning to business as usual. Or maybe we see something on television that touches on human indignity and makes us cry, only we quickly dry our eyes and "pull ourselves together." The problem we face is hidden in plain view. Will we see it? What will we do?

My point isn't that we should stop fighting for important causes. We must keep going. But under what conditions, I ask? We can achieve our goals but fail to make a difference in people's lives. We can have a great public or social mission but not work truly in the spirit of people. We can be standing right next to someone, and still not see or hear them.

What flame are you chasing, and through the years what have you learned about yourself and what you need to do to make a difference?  Maybe this is too simple a question to pose, but more and more I find people wrestling to figure out the right answer. This question is at the heart of the new book, Chasing the Flame: Sergio de Vieira De Mello and the Fight to Save the World, by Samantha Power, which I highly recommend to you.

You may be wondering why I am suggesting a book on the United Nations and one of its star officials; what can this story teach us? Bottom line: Sergio Vieira De Mello came face-to-face with many issues that those of us involved in change must ultimately address.

Vieira De Mello led critical UN missions at major flashpoints in recent history, including in Iraq, Bosnia, Lebanon, Cambodia, Rwanda, Kosovo, and East Timor -- each with its own thorny set of issues involving peacekeeping, humanitarian aid, and human rights. He was tragically killed in Baghdad in 2003, at age 55.

A Brazilian who earned a doctorate in philosophy from the Sorbonne, he was an idealist of sorts, like many of us. Over the years, his views on human nature and idealism came into clearer focus. Power reflects on Vieira De Mello's journey throughout the book. Here are four points I want to highlight, hopefully as a way for you to think about your own journey.

Chasing the Flame offers insights into the life and thoughts of someone who faced up to difficult challenges, and seldom had the luxury to stand on the sidelines. He came to these fights with certain principles, and he had to examine their actual meaning as they were repeatedly tested in daily life, and then determine what was most valuable to him.

In many respects, this is the path for change each of us is on.

We often see in sports what we wish could be true in everyday life. This weekend's epic Wimbledon men's final was the best example I've seen in years, when Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal exhibited in the heat of battle a sense of grace that each us can only hope to embrace. There are lessons here for each of us and for public life.

Much has been written about the superior play in the Wimbledon final, but for me the most magical moment came when play ended. As Federer and Nadal approached the net for the customary handshake and perfunctory passing comments, something remarkable happened. The two men stood there grasping the other, their deep sense of affection for each other on clear display for all to see. In their on-court, post-match interviews, both spoke more about his opponent than about himself; each sung the praise of the other; neither sulked nor gloated.

Put yourself in their shoes: is this what we expect of them or ourselves?

Their display of grace went far beyond what anyone at NBC Sports or even the folks at Disney could have scripted. For in that moment when the match ends, with millions of people watching, glee or sadness takes over and drives one's behavior and spirit. We have all witnessed the miserable or dejected player at the end of a competition. One only needs to visit the nearest Little League field to know what I mean. What is remarkable is that these two individuals found a different path to take.

Each of us encounters situations daily when we face a choice about whether to usher in a sense of grace. Think about your own work situations, your own life, and consider these questions:
I have long believed that we must fight, and fight hard, to bring about the change we want in public life -- for instance, to ensure that all kids can get a good public school education. But what choices do we make as we take on that fight? What do each of us ultimately say and do?

My hope is that we engage with a sense of grace -- for our own sake, and for the health of public life.

Maybe it's no accident that Senators Obama and McCain are knee-deep in a war of words over the meaning of patriotism as July 4th approaches. But when our two presidential candidates spend their days in a war of words over patriotism, the queasiness from my post 9/11 patriotism hangover comes racing back. Unfortunately, the after-taste is strong and the symptoms are all-too-familiar.

The recent war of words began in earnest when retired Army General Wesley K. Clark went after McCain on Sunday's "Face the Nation". "I don't think getting in a fighter plane and getting shot down is a qualification to become president," he said. Of course, the McCain camp fired back and even questioned Obama's rebuke of Clark.

Then on Monday Obama gave a defining speech on "patriotism" at the Truman Memorial Building in Independence, MO. The speech had been planned before the war of words, all part of a week-long effort on patriotism to shore up his standing among Americans.

The week before TIME magazine put the "meaning of patriotism" on its front cover, saying that "what we need going forward is a third-way patriotism, a new patriotism that blends the faith of our fathers with, as Lincoln said, the unfinished work remaining before us." The article suggested that both McCain and Obama are caught in a polarized debate and need to discover this so-called "third way."

Finding any way forward on patriotism is tough these days. After 9/11, we Americans felt deeply about our country. Many of us flew flags outside our homes (as did I), placed decals on our cars, and wore lapel pins. It wasn't that these expressions weren't real, but after time they had the quality of feeling shallow. Many of us wondered what we should do next. With whom were we to engage in this spirit of patriotism? Was going shopping enough, as the president suggested?

In Hope Unraveled, Americans told me that they could hear the window of opportunity to do something positive in the country slam shut, saying that we had lost the chance to tap into the sense of patriotism that so many people had expressed post 9/11. Today, I would argue an uneasy feeling exists among many Americans: how do we balance wanting to express heart-felt beliefs about love of nation, while wondering if our expressions are hollow or simplistic.

But the more McCain and Obama fight, the more our own sense of patriotism gets pushed aside, minimized, even trivialized. And yet, in 2008, I wonder how each of us would define the meaning of patriotism and its place in our daily lives? This is what I wish the candidates would find the courage to engage us on.

Thus in the coming days I want the two candidates to address us, not simply bark at each other. This current debate is unfolding as if we're all passive bystanders simply looking on. But nothing could be farther from the truth.

July 4th is about us -- we the people, and this our beloved nation. The two candidates should engage us in a conversation about the meaning of patriotism post 9/11. I want them to raise the stakes by asking us to think about and act on a definition of patriotism that speaks to our aspirations here and now. I want them to challenge us to step forward. I want them to help us gain clarity on the essence of patriotism in this new, changing world of ours.

This is an opportunity for each of the candidates to turn from themselves and toward us. And it is an opportunity for each of us to turn toward one another. Now is our time.

On Friday, New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg stood before some 200 people at the Jewish Federation of South Palm Beach County to set straight a nasty rumor about Senator Barack Obama, intended to strike fear into the hearts of Jews. The rumor holds that Obama is really a Muslim, who will not support Israeli or even American interests. Bloomberg went to South Florida to tell Jews the real story, and his actions lead to this question: Will each of us stand up when our turn comes?

Over the years Bloomberg has not made it a habit to talk publicly about his Jewish faith or ties to the Jewish community. Nor is he an Obama supporter. He even tested the waters for his own presidential run this year, and he is known to be close to Senator John McCain. But according to The New York Times, Bloomberg told the Palm Beach crowd that the rumors about Obama represent "wedge politics at its worse, and we have to reject it - loudly, clearly and unequivocally."

In Make Hope Real, I dedicated Chapter 3 to what I call, "A New Breed of Leaders," and included Bloomberg among individuals who are exhibiting a new, promising kind of leadership.

"The new leaders are people who have highly pragmatic approaches to policy, who seek to find ways to make public life and politics work rather than to disparage it, who vigilantly look for opportunities to engage people in the ongoing process of governing and improving their lives, who try to avoid hyperbolic and heated rhetoric." (pg 26)

But there was another point in that chapter that I have come to believe is just as important. Over and over again, people in communities have asked me, "How communities can get the leaders they need to make public life and communities work?" My response: We must stand by our good leaders when they come under fire, even when we do not agree with their positions or political party when, to vouch for their principles and values.

That's what Bloomberg did last Friday for Obama. Instead of standing on the sidelines watching people take pot shots at Obama, he stepped forward. He did so because he knew that he held special credibility on this issue with fellow Jews; and he knew that many of the people now living in South Florida once lived in his beloved New York City.

The Times quoted Elizabeth Sadwith of Delray Beach as saying, "There was no other evidence, so I believed the [rumor-filled] e-mails." There are many people across America who might make the same statement; indeed, perhaps my 103-year old grandmother from Brooklyn, who now lives in North Miami, has entertained such thoughts.

Whether or not people end up supporting Obama is their personal business. But whisper campaigns to make people fearful must be fought head-on. Bloomberg has done that, and I gratefully and enthusiastically applaud his actions.

Now, the question for each of is: When a good leader comes under fire, will we stand next to them and vouch for their integrity and good will, even if we do not agree with a particular position or their party?

If we want to change public life and politics, then more of us will need to follow Mayor Bloomberg's lead.

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While channel surfing last night, I stumbled upon Al Gore's endorsement of Barack Obama. At first I wanted to listen to Obama's response to Gore, but then I found myself enveloped by the power of Gore's comments and his stature. Be clear, I'm not writing to underscore Gore's endorsement; rather I want to take notice of Gore himself and to heed what his journey potentially means for each of us.

For one of the first times in this campaign season, I heard a public figure stand up before an audience and articulate a clear and compelling view of the challenges we face and the need for a different approach to address them. His comments were not wrapped in poetic words or raw partisan appeals or a litany of policy proposals. Instead, Gore outlined his cogent view of the challenges before us in the 21st century - from climate change to international affairs to energy to the economy.

I found myself drawn in by a man who still cannot deliver soaring rhetoric or move people to their feet in rabid applause; but he has something different, something potentially more powerful, and something that is proving to be more enduring. Al Gore has his integrity and a clear sense of mission.

Like Gore, not all our dreams work out, and sometimes our paths take us in unexpected or even unwanted directions. In June 2006, I wrote a blog called "The Al Gore fable," in which I talked about his redemption from the 2000 presidential campaign debacle through his efforts on global climate change, Hurricane Katrina, and his launch of a new cable TV station and other private sector ventures.

So, last night, I found myself again thinking about his journey, and about our respective journeys.

• While Al Gore has regained a significant public profile, he is no longer the central character in national politics or even within his party. So, in our own work and lives, what is the difference between having to be in the lead and being a good leader?

• While Al Gore sought to be "leader of the free world," he has found other outlets for his energy and work. So, for each of us, what are the different ways in which we could exert leverage for the kind of change we seek - and where do we need to stand to achieve that change, especially if our initial dreams are dashed?

• While Al Gore seemed to lose his bearings and voice during the 2000 presidential race, he has rediscovered them over the past eight years. So, for you and me, what does it mean to rediscover our own sense of mission and purpose, especially at those times when we feel rudderless, or out of control, or even lost?

In looking back, one cannot underestimate Al Gore's fall from glory. He was the sitting vice president with the world seemingly at his fingertips, but who seemed during his race for the presidency utterly confused about his priorities, who was openly belittled for reportedly saying such things as he "invented the Internet," and who changed clothing-styles so often during the campaign that he appeared to be going through a mid-life crisis before our very eyes.

For me, Gore's words last night were powerful and moving because I had some understanding of where they came from - of the journey Gore has made, the ideas he has sought to fulfill, the humiliation he's endured, the commitment to public life he has maintained as his own life has evolved. For these and other reasons, his words had a ring of truth and conviction that seemed to rise only from the depths of his life experience. As his voice filled the arena, he was speaking not only to voters, but to each of each of us who dare to step forward to create hope and change. Each of us is on a journey that we need to understand and engage.

Download a free copy of Rich's latest essay Make Hope Real and begin to step forward to create hope and change

In December of 2007 I asked: Who do you want to be in a year? Today, six months later, I return today to that question.  Who do you want to be?  What choices will you have to make to get there? What support do you need to create and accelerate the kind of change you want for your community?

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Two weeks ago the United Way of America unveiled its new national branding campaign "Live United," along with a bold strategy for making an impact on education, income and family stability, and health care. I like the phrase "Live United." It's forward-looking, energetic, and reflects people's aspirations. But beyond a damn good slogan, what would these two words mean in daily life for those of us seeking to create hope and change? Here are 10 keys to living united in America.

1. We must help people in our communities to see and hear those individuals who are different from themselves, or who live in other parts of the community. At the heart of living united is the ability to see beyond ourselves so that we can begin to understand and work on common challenges, or support others who face challenges different from our own.

2.  We must root our work in the public knowledge of our community - for instance, in how people see and define their concerns, the values they wrestle with, the aspirations they hold for themselves, their neighbors, and their community. This public knowledge then must be used to inform the ways in which we do our work internally and the how we shape our programs and initiatives.

3.   We must act as boundary spanners in our communities, working to bring people and organizations together across real and imagined dividing lines. Too many efforts these days are fragmented, isolated, or even redundant. We must find ways to work across boundaries and leverage one another's efforts.

4.  We must focus on undertaking "galvanizing projects" - efforts that by their very nature bring people together and demonstrate that we can step forward and work collectively. In these efforts, impact is less important than galvanizing people's sense of connection and momentum. We need early wins and they must visible to everyone.

5.  We must orient ourselves toward the "public good," which in practice means seeing people as citizens not "consumers." Too often our volunteer programs become more focused on the "volunteer experience" rather than creating positive impact for communities.

6.  We must be incredibly hard-nosed about selecting the right partners to work with. Well-meaning partnerships and coalitions often die from too much talk, too little action, and overblown promises. Stay focused on who you can run with.

7.  We must not confuse our desire to imagine a better world with the need to root our work in the daily realities in which people live. False starts or false promises made because of our own hubris or fantasies will only bring about more cynicism and lead to further retreat from public life. For us to live more united demands our willingness to face up to the hard truths of reality.

8. We must tap the energy and enthusiasm of young Americans, who bring into public life a sense of tolerance, can-do spirit, and a practical bent. Thus, our challenge is to redefine "public service" for this new generation, rather than trotting out warmed-over ideas from the past.

9. We must learn to tell stories of hope and change - what might be called civic parables - so that people can see themselves in public life. But this requires us to reject the usual hype and glossed-over public relations, and instead turn to authentic reflections of people's journeys around change, including why they started out where they did, how they progressed, what went wrong along the way, and what worked. Then maybe more people will step forward.

10. We must be willing to take on enemies of the public good - enemies like inertia, cynicism, mechanized responses to human problems, false hope, distorted reality, and superficial efforts to take on real challenges. Bringing about hope and change was never easy, and there is absolutely no reason to believe that our current time will be any different.

It would be easy to translate the phrase "Live United" to mean that we all simply want to get along, that we envision a world in which disagreements and tensions do not exist. But such a vision would be naive and deny the realities of public life. For me, "Live United" is not rooted in a utopian vision. Rather, it is a call for each of us to step forward to engage with one another and to do our best to repair breaches in our lives and society. It is an entreaty to turn toward one another and make hope real.

Click here for a quick quiz to see how you stack up on the 10 Ways to "Live United"

As we work to create change we face any number of difficult choices and barriers. One of the most common is the dilemma of activity vs. action. If you're really honest with yourself is your work generating more activity, more tasks or are you working to take action that creates impact?
Learn more about the difference between activity and action -- download a free copy of Rich's essay Make Hope Real

What if the more attention we paid to issues of equity and race, the more supporters and funders of "community causes" dried up? That's the question I posed at two events last week. For me, the issue is whether we are prepared to lose precious support by seeking to see and hear all people in our communities, or will we take the path of least resistance and follow the money?

First, some important context: The ease with which we can actively turn away from those we don't wish to see or hear makes it increasingly difficult to address issues of equity and race. For instance, we can pick and choose our own news on the Internet, screening out unwanted or undesirable stories. Meanwhile, many of us have retreated into close-knit circles of families and friends, essentially turning away from public life and those who are not like us. According to The Big Sort, a new book by Bill Bishop and Robert G. Cushing, more of us are moving into increasingly homogeneous areas. And many people report feeling "fatigued" by pictures and news from one tragic disaster and horrific war after another.

Against this backdrop I found myself face-to-face with these concerns last week. First, in a small conference room over delivered pizza, I met with a handful of incredible school and community change-agents in Baltimore. We talked about their efforts to re-engage parents, neighborhood leaders, businesspeople, and others in support of community-based schools. These change agents believe their current efforts give them a real chance to move beyond lip service in seeking to achieve their goals; but they know that if they are successful, they might just upend the ill-fated status quo in the city and the web of relationships that support it.

Traveling just a handful of blocks to the imposing Baltimore Convention Center, which for me was like entering a parallel universe, I moderated a discussion in a gigantic ballroom filled with nearly 2,000 attendees at the United Way of America Community Leadership Conference. The topic: "Advancing the Common Good."

At the conference, Brian Gallagher, the visionary head of United Way of America, unveiled their new campaign and tagline: LIVE UNITED. It's a terrific approach (a topic I'll leave for another day). But my point is this: to "live united" means seeing and hearing one another; it means that the poor, minorities, people living in particular neighborhoods, would not be pushed aside and be made invisible; that the voices of such people would be heard and heeded; that people's concerns would be on the public agenda and actively addressed. If we were to live in a community united, people would not be seen as victims or wards of the state, somehow incapable of managing their own lives - but as individuals with crucial knowledge and passion and agency.

In both sessions I asked, if funders and donors supporting groups like local United Ways, community foundations, public broadcasting, local education and community groups would continue their support as we aggressively sought to live united - that is, as we worked to see and hear everyone in communities. More to the point will funders and supporters see their discomfort increase as they confront issues and situations that are not easily solved, that are not amendable to simply to giving hand-outs, that require genuine change - even change in relationships and power? Will they balk and backtrack when they realize that to have true impact may mean shifting funding from their "favorite" groups to others whom they do not know and may have dismissed in the past? 

If we are serious about seeing and hearing all people - if we wish to act on issues of equity and race - then we must be prepared for some funders and supporters to say, "No, thank you." We must be ready to see some of our money and support pulled. We must know that our very operations must become more ruthlessly focused, and that we may lose support in some quarters before we can marshal new support in others.

Of course, none of this is easy, it is riddled with uncertainty and ambiguity. There are no guarantees that new money and support will follow, even as we pursue a path we know will make our communities stronger and healthier. And we know that in tackling issues of equity and race, progress can be slow, and supporters can become impatient.  

But there is a silver lining here. My good friend Paul Light, a thought-leader on high-performing non-profits, says his research shows that Americans will support groups that do good work and produce real impact. To produce impact means that we must turn toward to our communities to understand and work with them; and we must develop new pathways for making progress. When we do, I believe, we will find new supporters and donors - individuals who know we can do better in our society and who themselves yearn to have an impact. But that may require us to let go of the money now in our own grasp to reap the potential benefits of a clear-headed decision.

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To explore other key questions facing those working in public life, read Rich's latest essay: Make Hope Real. You can download a free copy from our website.

It's a simple enough question, isn't it? What do you want when it comes to your work in public life? I feel rather stupid asking this question because its answer often seems so damn obvious. All that's required is a basic, straightforward response. And yet, truth be told, I find so many of us struggle with what we want, and even more with whether we are really getting to where we want to be. Something is in our way, but what?

Most people I know seeking to bring about change in public life are working mighty hard, for relatively modest pay, and over long hours. Let's face it: there are easier ways to make a living. But you and I and many others do not consider this work simply to be a "career." It is a calling; we have an urge within us to do good, to right wrongs, to repair breaches, to give voice to the weakest among us.

But today I am not writing about the reasons that get us out of bed every morning, but rather what stands in the way of our fulfillment. In talking with people, I often find that at the heart of this matter is some combination of three different barriers that I describe below, and which I ask you to consider for yourself.

Option #1: I find that many of us are running so fast simply to get through our daily task list, that we may not be pointed in the right direction to create change. We focus too much on the success of our own organization, the implementation of a rigid strategic plan, or meeting metrics someone else has set to evaluate our effectiveness. It's all more than enough to lose sight of why you got into this work in the first place. It's not that our hearts aren't in the right place; instead, it is that we are not properly oriented to the very communities we seek to improve. We don't truly understand and work with people's concerns; we do not deeply know how to create the conditions for change; we are not in synch with the kind of change people seek.

Of course, each of us believes that we are oriented outward toward our communities. But the reality is that many of us operate apart from the very communities we wish to improve and strengthen. While we may talk about "community" from time to time, we are focused like a laser on our own programs and goals. This isn't easy to admit, but for many of us, it is true.

Option #2: I find that many of us turn to a collection of processes and approaches we have been told will offer us insights and answers to the most vexing challenges. Indeed, this second option is rooted in the adoption of strategic planning, branding, best practices, competitive analyses, evidence-based decision-making, customer service, and other techniques that promise us a good outcome. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of these or other similar approaches. The problem arises when we become lost in them - naming and renaming strategies, moving organizational boxes around, cranking through more and more data, and yet never seeing the essence of the public challenges we face and their effects on people's lives; or seeing communities as living, organic systems to be engaged not controlled; or facing up to the fact that the real dilemma may be the absence of public will, not the adoption of more jargon.

I know these techniques can be useful; I use them myself. But I also hear people tell me that instead of their group or organization having real conversations, or engaging deeply (and even honestly) in their work, they go through more exercises. My concern is that we can get lost, even hide behind, these methods, and lose our sense of mission and what matters most.

Option #3:  I find that many of us are blocked by conditions beyond us: negative and divisive politics, economic changes, the physical development of communities, other people's lack of will and discipline. It is true that these and other maladies exist in our communities and organizations. And they can be powerful forces. Go to many communities and you will see how these forces have disrupted people's lives and undermined their futures.

I do not debate the validity of these points. But what I do ask is this: must we remain victims of these maladies; must we accept them as they are; must we lie down before them and give in? If the answer is no, then what are we doing?

There may be other barriers and other factors but take a good hard look at what sits beneath each of them. What makes it difficult to move beyond them? Perhaps at the core is that we that we can become stymied by fear - the fear to engage with those who may be different from ourselves; the fear of being critiqued by others;  the fear of coming up short or being proven wrong; the fear of being unsuccessful and losing hope or faith; the fear of rejection.

In my experience, people typically do not mention "fear" right off the bat; it often takes a bit of a conversation for such feelings to be uncovered, or at least articulated. But fear is insidious. It has a way of grabbing hold of us and distorting our best dreams, of slowing us down, of knocking us off course.

So, what about it: what do you want, really?

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My fear all along has been that "hope" would become a casualty of this campaign - that its very meaning and currency would be diminished through overuse and sloganeering.  Now, on the day of the Indiana and North Carolina Democratic Primaries, I wanted to return to this topic to make an urgent case for a particular meaning of hope in politics and public life. For not all hope is created equal.

Tonight the pundits and spin-meisters will talk about hope as if it is on trial. Some will say that if Hillary Clinton wins it is proof that talking about hope is a reflection of a naive view of politics. If Barack Obama wins, there will be those who will declare that the audacity of hope remains a brilliant strategy. But no matter what results emerge from tonight, I believe we must see hope differently if we wish to make it real. We must distinguish between authentic and false hope. Here are some basic tenets to guide us:

Hope is an orientation, not a platform - let's be clear: hope is not a platform; there are no "policies" that the "hope camp" can claim. Instead, hope is about offering people a new perspective on moving forward, helping them to discover opportunities that are not obvious, or which are latent within us.  A distinguishing feature of hope is whether one seeks to build things up, or tear them down; and whether one's efforts are an attempt to address reality, or serve merely as window dressing or half-hearted ploys to placate and persuade.

Hope is neither about "being nice" nor "going negative"- to make hope real, we must pursue a different option, one that calls for a tough-minded, dogged approach in which we are ready to openly juxtapose our own views with those of others. There must be a willingness to step forward and strongly argue points of substance, to disagree, even to be critical, but with respect and without name calling. It means not backing down from a fight, but rather placing a stake in the ground to assert one's position. Favoring hope demands that we speak out with clarity and conviction.

Hope is not naive - some belittle those who promote hope by saying that it is soft or squishy, and that there is little room in politics and public life for such silliness. But they're wrong. Hope is an essential human emotion people need if they are to believe that change is possible; hope enables people to step forward and risk failure; hope allows people to come face-to-face with others, especially those who may seem different from themselves. Through hope, people are able to believe that tomorrow can be different from today, even when the odds seem stacked against them. What is naive is the belief that politics and public life can flourish without hope.

Hope must reside in your house, not simply The White House - as I travel to communities across the nation, it is clear to me that many of the issues and challenges people talk about can only be solved in their local communities. Thus, while messages of hope can and should come from the White House, hope must reside first and foremost in each of our own homes.  For hope to be real, it must live within and among us, and in our neighborhoods and communities.

Hope must be grown, not only promised - yes, there is something remarkable about the "promise" of hope - the sense of possibility that can arise from a well-crafted speech or sermon. Those who say otherwise are merely playing games or have not encountered hope themselves. But, over time, hope emerges and is sustained because it rests on something real; it is a manifestation of that which is promised. Thus, to make hope real requires moving beyond exhortations, conversations, speeches, to the creation of pockets of change that demonstrate to people what is possible.

When "hope" comes under fire many people feel compelled to either defend it at all costs or simply to say that it's a nifty campaign slogan and not much more. I fear both stands; each neglects the sense of purpose and intentionality required to bring about authentic hope. Each fails to account for the choices we must make in daily life. Each misses a fundamental truth about hope:

The pursuit of authentic hope is a function of what we say and do over time.

The role of hope in this presidential campaign is certainly important, but we must each keep these ideas front and center in the work we do. For only then can hope be real.

Download a free copy of Rich's latest essay - Make Hope Real and begin your pursuit of authentic hope today.

I’ve had this dream for years now: A major funder gives me big money to design an initiative that intentionally fails in full public view. I find myself sharing this dream with people when I visit their communities and talk with them about creating change and authentic hope. While in Binghamton, N.Y last week, I found myself talking about the dream again. For most my “dream” would be a nightmare; me, I want to make it happen.

What I call the “$100,000 Flop” is based on an actual experience I had years ago working in a community that was down and out. Jobs were scarce, trust was fleeting, and there was lots of finger-pointing and placing of blame. Many people in the community felt so beaten up they were afraid to step forward and take any action. Like many of us, they were afraid they might fail.

At the time a major foundation was funding various change efforts in the community, including the Institute’s work. But progress was slow. No matter how much the foundation funded, fear persisted. People didn’t want to come out from their homes and leaders wouldn’t work with one another. Simply giving out grants didn’t seem to be the answer; money cannot easily erase something as insidious as fear. So I went to the foundation and asked for funding for an initiative that would intentionally fail in full public view. That’s right, I wanted to fail.

After failing, my plan was to call a meeting in the center of town for people to talk about what had happened, and why the initiative had failed. I simply wanted people to see that we could talk openly, in public, about our failures, and that nothing would happen to us. We’d all come through the experience intact, no matter how hard or excruciating the conversation was. I wanted people to see that we could dissect the initiative and together could produce insights that would help all of us; that the conversation need not end in more finger-pointing and acrimony. I wanted to create an opportunity for people to see themselves in my failure; and really believe they would be okay.

Fear of failure is rampant in our lives. I see this fear rear its ugly head in so many communities, where it can have a crippling effect on people’s work and psyche. Sometimes we don’t even realize the fear is within us, only to find ourselves stymied or stuck. The upshot is that we hide from taking risk, and the status quo wins out. So, just for moment, think about your fears and those of the people around you.

·         Where do you see a fear a failure?

·         Why do you think it exists?

·         What’s holding people back?

Many of us choose not to step forward because we fear coming up short in our work or personal lives. We are afraid that others will judge us as less than competent, or less than able, or less than willing. There is often the sense that we must wait for someone else to give us permission to take action. Sound familiar?

But consider what happens when these dynamics are at play. Since none of us want to appear to be inactive or disinterested, we generate lists of activities in order to look busy, or we push hard at the edges of a challenge so as to seem engaged. We get entangled in various narratives that tell us that change is not possible, which we allow to close off opportunities to produce change and hope.

After all these years, I still haven’t given up on my dream. In fact, my own hope now is that people in communities far and wide will try out my dream for themselves. My hope is that you will identify an initiative where you or others have failed, and will gather people around to talk openly about it. Stare straight at the failure so that you do not fear its power over you; wrestle with its implications so that you know there are choices to be made.

When I go to communities, people often want me to talk about success stories. I always try to tell a few. But as important as success stories are, our ability to recognize and overcome our fear of failure is just as critical. My dream these days is that in our efforts to move ahead, we will actually take on what is holding us back.

Click here to download a free copy of Rich's lastest essay: Make Hope Real

The Pope’s recent visit to the U.S. offers us a glimpse into what our society so desperately needs at this moment, and which is so glaringly absent from the current Pennsylvania primary campaign. If only the presidential candidates would address the so-called “regular people” of Pennsylvania with the same forthrightness that Pope Benedict chose to handle the Catholic Church’s child abuse scandal during his recent visit.

From the outset of his visit, the Pope answered the call to address the explosive issue of child abuse which came at the hands of Catholic priests. Now, I know many people believe the Pope’s visit was a triumph of public relations and spin over truth. They argue that the Pope sought to masterfully manipulate public opinion to blot out a stain on the Catholic Church. They rightfully point out that he was merely here for a handful of days, and that many skilled public figures could manage the maladies he had to confront. Time will tell.

But I see a leader who never ducked this issue; rather, he chose to speak out. He started this process before he touched down on U.S. soil, with a press conference aboard his plane after take-off from Rome. His actions came as the Pennsylvania Primary heated up, and turned increasingly nasty and sadly irrelevant. Here’s how Pope Benedict approached his challenge:

•    The Pope spoke out on a taboo issue we all know exists.

•    He talked about the issue directly from his heart to our hearts. He spoke in human (and deeply personal) terms about shame and regret, rejecting the safety of putting forth convoluted proposals intended to make us think he was “taking action.”

•    His words were relatively few. He didn’t drone on with long speeches, seemingly written by someone with little or no relationship to the topic. In this case, fewer words translated into deeper meaning, because we were able to actually see and hear the Pope.

•    He talked directly to whomever he was with, instead of talking to cameras or some intended audience. This was not about doing yet another event; or about being cajoled into showing up (like a politician who holds a press conference after getting caught in a compromised position); or about winning converts; or about using people as props. The Pope sought to be with others. This seldom happens with leaders in public life.

•    He spoke out over the course of his entire visit, even if it was only for a handful of days. His comments were less a smattering of one-off speeches or events, and more of an unfolding of a “public conversation” that took on increasingly deeper meaning as it evolved.

•    Lastly, the Pope met with the aggrieved, in private, and with purpose. Yes, he did not meet with a large group of victims. But he did reach out, and by all accounts the event was genuinely about love and healing, not persuasion or photo ops. For me, the meeting turned into an example of what can become – of how other Catholic leaders and victims can come together.

Think, then, of the Pennsylvania primary, where people are being clumsily categorized into clusters of “rural,” “urban” and “suburban” voters, and little more; where there is a fight over how “bitter” people are and various stereotypes; where issues such as “race” and “closed factories” and “poor schools” are raised one day, only to be forgotten the next; where the personal stories of candidates and their mistakes overshadow the stories of Pennsylvanians and their concerns; where candidates talk incessantly about policies, as if having a “position” is the same as speaking directly to someone’s hurt and aspirations.

Just at the time when the Pope vigilantly sought to address the inescapable realities of a very tough issue, the candidates in the Pennsylvania Primary seem to be spinning beyond any reality we recognize.

I know some people will wonder if I have amnesia, that somehow I have forgotten the history of the Catholic Church, and its slow dealings with the child abuse scandal. I see the shortcomings and failures, but I am not blind to the ways in which this Pope has chosen to step forward at this time.

In the Keystone State, votes will be counted tonight and someone will be declared the winner and another the loser. Then the candidates will hop on their chartered jets and leave for some other town, in some other state, looking for some other voters. And yet, it is not another speech or policy position that I seek from these candidates. I wish for them to engage us in real ways about our individual and collective lives.

In the face of people’s real lives, Senators Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton's escalating war of words about “bitterness” seems to be an utterly silly, even a potentially destructive distraction. As this battle is fought on 24 hour news networks, I can’t help but think about my waitress this past weekend at a Denny’s Restaurant in rural central Pennsylvania.

I walked into Denny’s at 6AM last Saturday morning. I was in town taking my daughter to an accepted student's day at a local liberal arts college, while most the other people in the restaurant were readying for a day fishing or hunting. One of only two waitresses on duty, my waitress scrambled between 10 tables and the kitchen, all the while calling me “honey” each time she stopped by to refill my coffee. As I went to pay my bill, she told me that she had been at the restaurant since 6AM the previous day, and that she was to work until 2PM that afternoon.

As I quickly totaled the number of hours she would working that day, I couldn’t help but think of Senator Obama’s comments about how people in small towns across Pennsylvania and Indiana feel “bitter” these days, seemingly left behind in a world changing around them; nor could I forget Senator Clinton’s rapid response to his comments, arguing that Obama’s words demonstrated that he was “out of touch,” an “elitist,” someone akin to the wind-surfing Senator John F Kerry.

This most recent spat between the two campaigns took place as the candidates participated on Sunday evening at the “Compassion Forum,” held at Messiah College outside Harrisburg, PA – a quick drive from that Denny's. I listened carefully as each spoke of their personal perspectives on faith, and the connection they see between their faith and goals of fighting poverty. Both these individuals said that such a fight is a moral imperative.

But what does such a moral imperative mean when it comes to the Denny’s waitress? I keep thinking about her as I wonder about this recent war of words. I don’t buy that Obama is out of touch, though I do believe that he must translate his message of hope by speaking more directly and plainly to people in need. And while I do believe that Clinton would fight hard for those in need, I wish she would not lower herself by playing with words in ways that taint her own credibility and seek to cripple her opponent.

The very war over the nature of the word “bitter” makes empty the notion of a moral imperative to fight poverty and lift up all people. It is a digression from the real issues. No, let me put a finer point on that: it is a transgression of a public trust not to play with people’s realities.  Indeed, while we may hold different meanings for “bitterness,” we do share a common knowledge that people are in search of an alternative way forward – of a politics and public life that reflect our better instincts. If there are disagreements about the candidates’ ideas, so be it. But that is not really the debate right now, is it?

Perhaps the irony of this debate should not go unnoticed here: two candidates who profess to offer a new direction for the nation are caught up in a duel of words over the meaning of bitterness, when what we all know with certainty is that people are truly bitter (and angry) about the inability of their political leaders to address their genuine concerns.

Here’s my prescription for our current malady. I would ask both candidates to take five minutes to reflect on their words of faith during the recent Compassion Forum. Then I'd ask them to share two sentences about what their notion of faith calls them to say to my waitress from Denny’s. What would they say to her about her life and future as she finishes one of her 32 hour shifts. What words would reflect a sense of meaning in her life, and what word would offer her a sense of possibility about what tomorrow could bring.

These are the words I wish to hear.

As a Washington Capitals season ticket holder I've come to cherish the moment at each game when fans are asked to salute guest soldiers, many of whom are being treated at nearby Walter Reed Army Hospital. To a person, everyone rises to their feet and gives our guests an extended standing ovation. It's an amazing feeling to be among 15,000 people expressing such love and respect. But when the applause gives way to life's daily drudgeries, I wonder what happens to those brave soldiers, especially those in need of mental health support? Are we asked to stand up then?

This weekend, The New York Times ran two articles on the mental health of our troops serving in Iraq. One, "Army Is Worried by Rising Stress of Return Tours," detailed how each tour of duty significantly raises the odds that a soldier will return home with "anxiety, depression or acute stress." The second piece, "After War, Love Can Be a Battlefield," told of 19 couples who attended a weekend retreat called "Strong Bonds," to learn how to deal with the enormous stress placed on marriages and families when soldiers return home.

What is our bond to our troops when the applause dies down, when men and women in uniform find themselves sitting alone in their dark living room or around an empty kitchen table, when the demons of trauma will not relent, when there seems to be no one they can talk with? After we ship someone overseas for a tour of duty, what does it mean for us to have "strong bonds" with them when they come home?

Mental health is still a taboo subject in our society, though our ability to talk about it openly has improved dramatically in my lifetime. I remember as a kid, watching my mom help to create "Hammond House," a halfway home for mental health patients who had been "de-institutionalized" by New York State during the 1970s. Hammond House was located just a handful of blocks from my own home. What my mom and others did was pretty remarkable.

I also remember seeing the slim white envelopes among the mail on our dining room table, with the austere black lettering in the upper left-hand corner: "Saratoga County Mental Health Committee." Among his many commitments, my dad served on this committee at a time when mental health issues were often considered shameful to talk about in public.

I still recall vividly the college psychiatrist at Skidmore College, Dr. Mastrianni, approaching me after a speech I'd given, to ask if I would consider working at the county's Mental Health Crisis Center. I quickly said yes, and it was an experience that would help direct my life. My role was to help patients during the many hours when no doctor was to be seen. I remember going home after 12-hour shifts and sitting on the floor in my room hoping to decompress and sort out what I had seen and experienced. I was only 19 or 20 years old. I remember once having to help tie down to her bed a struggling patient; she was someone I had walked to elementary school with, someone I had known for years.

What I came to know from my time at the crisis center was how close to the edge so many people live; how someone can seem to be doing relatively okay one day, and then the next they are pushed too far, beyond what they can handle at the moment. Together with other experiences, my time at the Crisis Center left an indelible mark upon my heart: we must be our brother's keeper.

A visiting rabbi at my temple recently asked some of us when we had felt God's presence, or at least some semblance of genuine spirituality. I've felt it many times, but one is when we Caps fans stand-up together in a show of support of our troops. In my row alone, I suspect there are widely divergent views on the war; but in that single moment, when we all stand, there is something incredibly beautiful that occurs, something that seems larger than any of us. We are together.

I keep thinking of the people I met at the Crisis Center, people who desperately wanted to get back up on their feet; I think as well about the people my parents sought to support in my home town, and how they were willing to stand up for them. Now, when our troops return from a war many people do not want, what will we do? I wish we could find a way to stand up for our troops – not merely by giving out medals, or through recognition at sporting events, or with periodic retreats about how to save one's marriage. We need to stand with individuals who need our ongoing support so that they can get back up on their feet.

Like many people, I'm excited to see how people are stepping forward to engage in this year's presidential race. Indeed, as I travel the country there's a growing contagion of giddiness spreading throughout the land. But, lurking beneath the surface of our national "feel-good" is a warning we