“If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?” (Hillel, Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers), 1:14).

Over these past weeks, I have been reflecting on the Biblical words: “The LORD God formed the man from the dust of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life: the man became a living being.” (Genesis 2:7).

Some people are more aware of the Divine breath of life than others. That spirit motivates them to perceive a higher purpose in their lives. They face difficulties, pain, and suffering, and they know their bodies are finite. But in their lifespan, the time given them, they define life in how they relate to others, through their love for God and humanity. Martin Buber defined love as a responsibility. “He who loves brings God and the World together.”  

In Memoriam: The Earth Angel

Anyone who has been on the backroads of the Appalachian Mountains or hill country discovers a different culture. Life is more valued, moving at a slower pace. Traditions are passed down from one generation to the next. People sit on the front porch with family and neighbors. They greet and converse at the post office and grocery market. The church is a communal gathering hall for fellowship. People step forward to lend a hand. There is an earthiness about people that speaks to being practical in all things, including the spiritual. This isn’t an ideal world, human nature being what it is. In many places, the land is scarred by good times past that vanished like wind-blown dust. The hard times tend to shape the worldview. Ambition for more motivates young people to leave. Dolly Parton was one of those people.

Dolly reminded those who were paying attention that “…we’re all here to mend these broken hearts.” As she climbed out of poverty in the hill country, she never hesitated to reach back. She pulled others up with her friendship, music, the characters she portrayed as an actor, and her philanthropy. Dolly’s Christian faith shaped her generosity—she understood stewardship. Love for God and of our neighbor (Deuteronomy 6:4-5; Leviticus 19:18; Mark 12: 29-31). Dolly once said, “I really do ask God every single day to let me do something, say something, be something that matters to somebody else. To make somebody feel good. To let people see a spark of love. God is love; that’s the Scripture.”

Faith doesn’t have to be worn on the sleeve. Acts of kindness and love often go disguised. Dolly didn’t entertain us with doctrinal perfection and an air of moral superiority. What she gave came from the heart—compassion—wrapped in humility, forgiveness, and expressed in service. When she contributed to Covid-19 research, supported HIV/AIDS related charities, working class communities, and education, she did so without fanfare. Instead of pointing to herself, she pointed to those in need.

I was surprised to learn that my grandchildren were receiving a book each month from Dolly’s literacy program, Imagination Library. When I thought about it, I realized that Robert “Lee” Parton’s illiteracy was being transformed into a gift that enriched children’s lives around the world. Dolly said, “It makes me happy to think that I’m giving them a gift that matters to them, and it makes me happy to know that I’ve made them feel special.”

Dolly Parton made all of us, many of whom, including myself, were strangers to her, feel special. She was an earth angel reminding us that though we are dust, and regardless of our circumstances, “we’re all here to mend the broken hearts” in a world in need of healing.

In Memoriam: The Servant-Hearted Man

I was in Philadelphia attending a conference when I briefly encountered Mother Teresa of Calcutta. She was walking between four men, built like NFL linebackers. Abruptly, she stopped to look directly into my eyes; smiling, she offered namaste. I returned the gesture, recognizing the Divine spark within her. Neither of us spoke. She continued walking, then hesitated and stopped to look back at me. Again, our gazes directly met. Two words come to mind when I think of her in those brief moments—humility and compassion.

Thomas Merton writes, “Humility is the surest sign of strength” (New Seeds of Contemplation”, 190) Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel observes, “A religious man is a person who holds God and man in one thought at one time, at all times, who suffers in himself harm done to others, whose greatest passion is compassion, whose greatest strength is love and defiance of despair” (“What Ecumenism Is,” Moral Grandeur And Spiritual Audacity, 289).

Francis Daniel Tardiff, who died on 22 August, was physically small, like Mother Teresa. Humility and love were his strengths. Unlike other members of his family, I am unable to say that I truly knew him. Terri, my wife, and I were nomadic and often moved, which limited our time together. I was uncomfortable calling him “Dad,” a word I apply only when speaking of my father who died when I was young. I was equally uncomfortable being hugged, which he gave in abundance to family. I was raised in a family of non-huggers. We recognized that our worlds were different. Dan, though he preferred Francis in his later years, was a production engineer in the auto industry. That is a foreign language to me. My world deals more in abstractions. Despite the differences, we tried to find common ground.

When I think back and read what other family members have written and what my wife has said about him, I am struck by the depth of his gratitude. That, as his granddaughter Angie writes, was his continual mindset. His deepest gratitude was for his family. I am unable to recall a time when we were together that he failed to mention gratitude for family or even the simplest things.

Gratitude doesn’t come naturally to us. Our nature inclines us toward caution. However, as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes, “The word Modeh, “I give thanks,” comes from the same root as Yehudi, meaning “Jew.’” We acquired this name from Jacob’s fourth son, named by his mother Leah who, at his birth said, “This time I will thank God” (Gen. 29:35). Jewishness is thankfulness: not the most obvious definition of Jewish identity, but by far the most life-enhancing.”

Christianity is also thankfulness. Francis embodied gratitude. His Christian faith allowed him to see the world with all its blessings. This was even true when his wife Rosemary was dying. He cared for her with compassion and looked at her with deep love and gratitude for their years together and for every moment she was still with him.

Faith was fundamental to his life. He was a man of prayer. While he lived with us, I felt as if our home had become a Roman Catholic chapel. He was always in prayer. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he prayed in his sleep. He prayed for his family, for others he knew, and those he didn’t.

The name Francis suited Terri’s father. He held “God and man in one thought at one time.” I think the Prayer of Francis of Assisi summarizes what Francis Daniel Tardiff stood for, the example he set for us to follow regardless of our faith.

“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace; Where there is hatred, let me bring love; Where there is injury, let me bring pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; And where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; for it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”

May we have the courage to move beyond our fear, anger, and division. Dolly and Dan are two examples of how to be fully human—of the earth and the breath of God.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Note: Dolly Parton died on the day of my father-in-law’s funeral service, 25 August 2026. He enjoyed singing in the church choir and appreciated Dolly’s music. I imagine they are in the choir together.