Redemption's tears have softened another hardened heart, that of Sen. Jesse Helms, R-N.C. Next year, Helms, 81, will be ending a long political career marked too often by bigotry.

On no subject was Helms more intolerant than on homosexuality and AIDS, even when his words added to suffering. In 1990, Helms opposed a bill that would have helped local governments with the cost of treating AIDS patients. In 1995, he accused AIDS victims of "deliberate, disgusting, revolting conduct," and he defended his opposition to AIDS funding this way: "We've got to have some common sense about a disease transmitted by people deliberately engaging in unnatural acts."

But time and a sense of mortality have a way of opening even closed minds. In 2000, in his role as chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, Helms co-wrote a law authorizing $600-million for African and other poor nations to treat AIDS patients. He did something else that no one could have expected, he admitted that he was "so ashamed" of having turned his back on AIDS victims. Most astonishing was the person Helms credited with inspiring his new insight into the suffering of others: rock star Bono of the Irish band U2.

Bono met Helms in 2000 when the singer/humanitarian was seeking support for debt relief for poor nations. Last June, Helms hosted a Capitol lunch for Bono to discuss the African AIDS crisis. "You'll always be a friend here," Helms told Bono, who was surprised at the turn of events.

"It's an extraordinary thing, I will admit, to have Jesse Helms to throw a lunch for you," Bono said. "You know it's bad for both of our images."

Will it be enough to change Helms' image in the minds of most Americans? Maybe not. But as he leaves the public stage, Helms has shown us the power of redemption.

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