I shared this story a few years ago, but it may be useful to do so again in light of Easter, and of conditions in the world.
The Easter story took place in ancient Jerusalem. But this one takes place in modern Jerusalem, where I was on assignment several years ago for this newspaper. I had flagged a taxi to take me from a Palestinian section of the city back to my hotel. The driver was Palestinian, and he was talkative and gregarious. His cab was filled with Arab writing, on the dashboard and on the sun visor, among other places. I asked him what it all meant. He said these were religious phrases that were deeply significant to him.
So the conversation turned to religion, and I told him I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, not quite certain what kind of reaction I would get in return, if anything at all. To my surprise, he became emotional and said he had great regard for the Mormons. He got so emotional, in fact, that he began thumping the dashboard with his hands as he spoke.
A few years earlier, he said, a gunman had opened fire at an important mosque, killing and wounding many Palestinians. Students at the BYU Jerusalem Center had voluntarily showed up at hospitals to donate blood and help the wounded. This was something he said he never would forget.
Again he pounded the dashboard. "Mormon blood is Palestinian blood, and Palestinian blood is Mormon blood!" he declared, as if it were a solemn oath.
I have thought about this incident again and again as the years have passed. It has lingered in the back of my mind as I met at various times with diplomats and secretaries of state and, most recently, with Muslim leaders concerned about cartoons depicting the prophet Mohammed. My cab driver gave me a memorable lesson about the power kindness has to change hearts. His was a compelling story because it shone a glimmer of hope in a part of the world that seems hopelessly tied up in the darkness of hate and suspicion. The years since that cab ride have proven again and again that hate and suspicion remain the dominant themes over there, as they do in much of what happens here, too.
But hope is the essence of Easter — hope for second chances after making mistakes, and hope for a victory over death that makes everything in this world meaningful. It is a day full of the promise of the ultimate triumph of good over evil, and that makes the good things people do an expression of hope, as well.
That is a comfort in a world where headlines tell of Iran enriching uranium and of terrorism and sectarian violence in Iraq, where U.S. soldiers muster courage daily to continue the battle for a better world. It takes some of the sting off the awful sound clips from the victims in the World Trade Center on 9/11.
If death has no lasting effects, how does that change the argument?
In the 1896 play "Salome," playwright Oscar Wilde has Herod Antipas feigning little interest in Jesus until a Nazarene tells him Jesus raised the daughter of Jairus from the dead. Then, suddenly, Herod explodes:
"I do not wish him to do that. I forbid him to do that. I suffer no man to raise the dead. This man must be found and told that I forbid him to raise the dead."
The reason is easy enough to understand. Without the threat of death, tyrants have little power. The debate changes. They must search for solutions. They must compromise and show kindness, and they must share.
Blood donors seldom halt movements or alter the course of zealots. My cabbie may have been touched by the spirit of compassion, but he also admitted to me he sometimes threw rocks at Jewish cab drivers who ventured into his territory. Humans don't always remember the lessons they have learned.
But for people of faith, this day is a reminder that, ultimately, goodness will triumph.
Jay Evensen is editor of the Deseret Morning News editorial page. E-mail: even@desnews.com