What I love about Biden’s Eagles Wings ending is this: It is q sign of regular pewsitter who has gone to Mass all their life. It is a simple and ordinary song cited without fear, embarrassment, or pretension. It is the sign of someone who isn’t jaded or too good for their Church.

I’ve been a Roman Catholic for 38 years. I was raised in active public ministry and have never quite gotten out the thick of that across the Church in the US, Mexico, and now in Canada. I know the talk and the faction lines like many of you do, but I have probably lost something.

That something I lost is the unpretentious and even slightly naive ability to listen and sing along to Eagles Wings with the faith that inspired it, to allow that and so many other things I have grown too jaded and calloused to simply fill my heart with God’s presence and love.

I cannot go back and build an artificially nostalgic faith for myself, but I can see the witness in my brother in Christ and feel convicted of the need for a deeper conversion that doesn’t only send me into the deep waters of my faith but also dwells in the pools of pewsitting.

I just know that Biden buried his son to that song, too. There I find that tiny interval where the average and ordinary shifts through personal intimacy into Divine love. That the President-Elect of the United States showed that to me is a precious gift I will not soon forget.

Here is my rendition of Eagles Wings: