It has been a difficult year. Anyone on the planet would have to agree. The list of creatives alone who have passed away seems longer than usual, and I’m not surprised they gave up the ghost, as they say. Which brings me to this word, spirit . . . I’m in my seventies. Growing up, we said Holy Ghost when speaking of the third person of the Trinity, and then Ghost was changed to “Spirit.” My Benedictine friends pray to the Father, Son, and to the Holy Spirit of Father-Son, to distinguish it from an actual entity. And then there’s the notion of “the spirit of an age” or, “the spirit of Christmas (not as entity, but traditionally, as a feeling of good will); or, the German, zeitgeist, defined as “the unique character of feeling of a particular period”). Essence qualifies. What, pray tell, is the essence of these times?

Humanity—and the Spirit, I suspect—groans as we embark on this new journey. As difficult as it is for immigrants to cast a last look back toward their homeland, so it will be for us. I fear we don’t know where we’re going, or, what we’re doing much of the time. Anne Lamott’s Halleluiah Anyway! pops into my head. Faith, trust, and love must will out. And, taking action. The spirit of the age is both subject and verb. Do something, I hear. Prayer is helpful but not enough. It is reserved for folks who can actually do little else, and we must be grateful for them. Prayer, like faith, is most effective in tandem with good works.

The essence, or “heart,” if you will, of this age seems to be wrapped, tied, and bundled in gasping discord. At play’s end of Romeo and Juliet, Prince Escalus pronounces, “And I, for winking at your discords too, have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punishèd . . . all are punishèd!”

We are passing through a tragic age. Winston Churchill quipped, “When you find yourself going through hell, don’t stop!” Biases run amok. We are fearful, deranged, and violent. War, famines, and weather extremes prevail. Everyone realizes this time is different, whether right, left, or indifferent. My husband and I weep during most episodes of CBS Sunday Morning, when the producers make a point of providing some positive, good news. I long for a holier spirit to animate mine and that of this coming age. An alchemy of wisdom and possibility.