If you're a Baby Boomer, you remember.  Sixty years ago tomorrow, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States, was killed, gunned down by an assassin in Dallas, Texas.  For those of us who lived through this day, we will never forget it.  Although a number of presidents had been assassinated previously, JFK's occurred in our lifetime, in our time, in our day.  We didn't read about it in history books; we experienced it, experienced it directly and personally, in a profoundly visceral way.  Our world would never be the same.

    We live in a frighteningly capricious and unpredictable world.  Though we build our lives on concrete particulars, we construct our life meaning on universals, on hopes and dreams we cannot always see.  We are finite creatures living in a bottomless world.

    Ironically, two other famous personages passed away the same day.  Both were British:  Aldous Huxley, author of Brave New World, C.S. Lewis, writer of many works of fiction and Christian apologetics.  Both contributed much to our understanding of what is possible and, more significantly, what can be true.

    Yet even as we consider JKF's grave in Arlington cemetery, where the flame burns eternal, we realize that only in transcendence do we see what is true.