In a few weeks, America will remember the 50th anniversary of the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, otherwise known as JFK, the 35th president of the United States.  Baby boomers around the world remember that day well.  It produced an event that was singularly shocking and improbable:  how could this happen?  But it did, and America would never not be the same.
     Although JFK's name is just a memory today, America's desire to remember it says volumes about the human being.  What we remember is a function of what we desire, really, the fruit of what we, out of the countless experiences that flood through our lives every day, find most formative, striking, and significant.  Some may want to remember the day as a reminder of an era of exploration and challenge now long gone; others may want to remember it because it set them on a new trajectory for their lives.  And on and on.
     If we dig deeper, however, what we see most is the idea that remembering a name remembers a memory, and remembering a memory moves, if it is sufficiently purposeful and important, the farthest reaches of our mind and soul.  It makes us who we are.
     So we remember JFK.  But we also marvel at the fact of memory itself, that we are creatures who recall and remember, that we are beings who long and desire, and who remember that we do.  It's true in politics, and it's true in religion:  we remember what we most desire.  Rightly does the prophet Isaiah say of God, "Your name, even your memory is the desire of our souls."