The music of the choir – a capella, all male voices, ancient melody, tight harmony – blending in air with the pungency of incense. The walls of the cathedral lush with gold paint and icons. The worshipers standing, heads of women covered, on this Saturday afternoon in Moscow, Russia. My spirit soars with the music.

I’ll never forget another Quadrennial Assembly – 1986, I think – where the speaker asked us to simply stand up if we had ever known a woman who had been physically abused. The eerie whisper of rustling skirts and shifting chairs still haunts me – the sound of nearly every one of those thousands of women quietly rising to her feet.