T

decision had caused. He defended his decision, with the true
righteousness of the cause and perhaps a little of the entitlement of a man
of his generation. I pushed him hard about why he had not apologized for
the anguish it had caused Leah, even if the decision had been the right
one.
As my verbal assault became more pointed and challenging, I saw his
head draw back in reaction and perhaps some defensiveness. Most of us
might have argued more adamantly or attacked back in such a
disagreement, but it was as if I could see the Archbishop—in a split-
second pause—collect his consciousness, reflect on his options, and
choose his response, one that was thoughtful and engaged rather than
reactive and rejecting. It was one of the most profound examples of what
a prayerful and meditative life can give us—that pause, the freedom to
respond instead of react. A few weeks later he wrote to me that he had
discussed the experience with Leah and had apologized. She told him that
she had forgiven him long ago. Marriages, even the best ones—perhaps
especially the best ones—are an ongoing process of spoken and unspoken
forgiveness.

•           •           •

he Archbishop cradled his right hand in his left. He hung his head in
concentration. The goal was meditation, but I’ve never been quite
sure where meditation ends and prayer begins, or where prayer ends and
meditation begins. I have heard it said that prayer is when we speak to
God, and meditation is when God answers. Whether it is God answering
or some wiser part of our own intelligence, I am not sure it mattered to
me, as I was just trying to quiet the inner noise and listen through the
thick and enveloping silence.
After the Dalai Lama ended the meditation, it was the Archbishop’s
turn to share his spiritual practice. The Archbishop begins his day with
prayer and meditation in the small closet-sized upstairs chapel in his
home in Cape Town. Before becoming the archbishop of Cape Town, he
and his family lived in Soweto, the former black township outside of