Every day, we have the opportunity to choose wisely

Our gathering was not a fundraiser. It was not about politics. It was not a wine tasting charcuterie-fest. It was an opportunity to sit in the same room with bright, caring individuals to get a sense of how each person is connecting, or not, to our greater community and, by meeting each other, find even more ways to connect and create a deeper bond.

So, we gathered. Everyone seemed to feel the effort had merit, that sitting in a room together being seen and heard is more needed than ever. We all want to know each other better, to connect more deeply, to shake off our worries and to participate more meaningfully in our communities. Everyone spoke from the heart. Everyone seemed to agree it was a much-needed opportunity to talk about concerns, values, goals and dreams.

For me, it was a way to say thank you and to acknowledge the kindness and the courage of each person in the room — people who do so much to contribute to the quality of life we enjoy here in Vermont. My gift to everyone was to read the following essay, dedicating it to the gathering — and to those who wished to be here but could not for various reasons. I will share it with you now and I will offer this: find ways to connect. We need each other.

In the film “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” Harrison Ford, as Indiana Jones, finds himself in a life-or-death gamble. His father, suffering from a gunshot wound at the hands of would-be assassins, lies perilously close to death in the outer chambers of a foreboding cavern.

Jones’ task is dangerous. He must find his way into the hollow that holds the supposed vessel Jesus drank from and shared among his faithful apostles at the Last Supper — the chalice known as The Holy Grail. He knows it is the only thing that will save the elder Dr. Jones, played by Sean Connery, from certain death.

Deep into the cave the adventurer wanders. He ducks under the low stone entry into a candlelit grotto where he finds an ancient knight guarding a host of chalices, gem-encrusted, filigreed, gold and silver, some modest in size but replete with expected grandeur, nearly every one of them impressive and ornate — the stuff of pageantry and glory.

Among them is the one true cup of a king, guarded by a lone and ancient knight. The cup once rested in the hands of The King, Jesus Christ, according to Christian tradition. But which goblet is it?

In this cave of shiny things, Indiana Jones must use all his intellect and cunning, and more than an average dose of humility, to choose between the many tempting vessels of every hue and composition. He scans the ledge, his eyes dancing off the firelit emeralds and sapphires — surely one of these is the drinking vessel designed for a holy man.

But, no. Looking beyond the loftiest designs, he reaches instead for the humblest artifact among them — a rough, unadorned, low-profiled, rustic cup. Holding it delicately in his hands, Jones says quietly and with reverence, “That’s the cup of a carpenter.”

He clasps the vessel in his hands, walks deliberately and slowly to a nearby basin, pauses, knowing this could easily be his demise as much as it could also be his salvation. He dips the cup into the water and drinks from it. There is no halfway choice. But why choose at all? Because the life of someone he loves hangs in the balance.

“You have chosen wisely,” the ancient knight says. From this one, thoughtful, courageous act, Indiana Jones is liberated from his incarceration and granted the grace of a miracle to save his father from certain death.

But what does a 36-year-old movie about the exploits of a fictional adventurer and his discovery of, perhaps, the most coveted religious artifact in history, have to do with us? It’s this: Every day we are given an opportunity to choose wisely.

Each of us makes choices of conscience with every thought and act. We might not know we are doing so, but we are. And it doesn’t require life-or-death decisions for us to act. It’s in the way we respond, or not, on behalf of ourselves and others, with or without consciously doing so.

“So, you want me to dodge bullets, duck under rotating saws and leap across pits of doom, like Indiana Jones?” you ask. No. I invite you to be more mindful. That’s all.

Each of us might consider how being more conscious, humble and deliberate in our thoughts and actions might benefit ourselves and our world. So why do it? Because anything that serves as a lesson in humility is a good thing, and it is the easiest form of acquisition of wisdom that I know. Humility, I believe, is the highest form of wisdom. The demonstration of it separates real leaders from pretenders.

Bruce Lee said, “Humility forms the basis of honor, just as the low ground forms the foundation of a high elevation.” Indiana Jones walked on low ground. He knew where it would lead.

Indiana Jones also said, upon finding himself in a most dangerous situation with his friend Sallah and the woman he loved surrounded by enemy soldiers, “Meet me at Omar’s. Be ready for me. I’m going after that truck.”

Sallah replies, “How?”

Indiana says, “I don't know. I'm making this up as I go.”

We are all making it up as we go. Sometimes, however, we can use our courage and humility to do great things, even when we’re not sure of the outcome.

Whatever the outcome of the gathering at my home proves to be, it will, I’m sure, reveal itself over time and through each of the amazing individuals who made the effort to join a group of mostly strangers sharing a meal, a conversation and a collective intention to promote whatever good each of us can in a place that is rare, special and that we get to call “home.”

Vermont is my Holy Grail. Perhaps it is also yours. Thanks, everyone.

A sixth-generation Vermonter, Mary L. Collins writes from her home on a hill overlooking Lake Elmore. She won’t be leaving anytime soon.