Jim Hite

A couple of weeks ago, a day after I completed my last column, the media reported the death of Gian Carlo Menotti.

I am not sure if you are familiar with that name or not, but if you are of a certain age, you should remember a Christmas music special, first broadcast in1951, called "Amahl and the Night Visitors." It was performed on television annually for several years and even now is performed by amateur groups during the Christmas season. Some years ago, Joyce and I took two of her granddaughters to a performance in Beaufort, SC.

This story of a crippled shepherd boy whose home is visited by the Wise Men on their way to see the newly born Jesus, and who pleads with his mother to let him go with them, is beautiful, touching, and poignant. The words are set to melodies that move one's emotions. The only gift the boy can bring to the Child is his crutch, but that is enough. And as I write this, I am still moved when I recall the scene when Amahl runs to catch up with the Wise Men. His mother cries "You can't!" but the boy takes an unaided step. A long, frozen silence ensues. Softly, and with awe and wonder, Amahl says: "I can walk, Mother!"

What makes this all the more meaningful is something I had never heard until after Menotti's death. In an earlier interview he had told the reporter that he himself had been a miracle child. He was born crippled, to what degree he did not say. His mother took him to their local church in Italy, praying for a miracle, which he said was granted. He could walk.

My reason for mentioning Menotti, however, is not only based on this one composition. He wrote many pieces of music. And of special import to those of us living in the southeastern United States is the Spoleto Festival in Charleston, SC. This annual event was started by Menotti in 1977, an offshoot of the Spoleto Festival in Italy, which he had organized in the 1950s.

His contribution to the world of music was such that the US Congress granted Menotti a one-day citizenship in 1984 so he could receive a Kennedy Center honor.

On the day of his death at age 95, National Public Radio rebroadcast a portion of an interview recorded five years earlier. What he had to say struck a chord with me, and I hope it can do the same for you.

He said that as he grew older, what he feared most was becoming indifferent. He then added that to keep from becoming indifferent, you must have a passion for something that takes your interest, even consumes you.

He did not say it should be the same for all. His passion is music, he continued. But for each person, it must be personal. And in a recorded television interview broadcast that same evening, Menotti said we must find the gift of God meant for each of us.

What a fantastic outlook! Look around you. Or look into a mirror. Do the persons you see look like they are living a life with passion, or do they reflect boredom, indifference, a self-centered world that is as lifeless as the expression you see?

I know that a person cannot be on the top of his or her game all the time. But if we are goal-oriented, if we are looking forward, if we are planning, if we are excited about something in our lives, then we are not indifferent. This is not the idea of building bigger barns to store our surplus grain. But this is the idea of living my life, a gift from God not idly to be dismissed, to the fullest extent possible.

This life of ours will end when it will end. The decision, for the most part, is not ours to make. But until that time, we can be so consumed with a passion for something that it will show to all our appreciation for the life and talents given us by our Creator.

Steve Prefontaine, one of America's best middle distance runners who was killed in a car accident at the prime of his career, had a saying that some of you have seen on the large poster in our home: "To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift!"

He lived his life with a passion for running. Menotti lived his life with a passion for music.

What is yours?