RECENTLY I WALKED THROUGH THE LEU Botanical Gardens, a 50-acre park in Orlando, Florida.

Among many exhibits is a home demonstration garden, where you can glimpse all the shrubs and plants that do well in mid-Florida. They provide helpful ideas for the garden you hope to create at home. The walkways are even paved with different types of stone and brick so that you can judge what might work well in your own garden, whether it's a small patio or a large open space. Some of the gardens are raised up from the ground so that you can garden without bending over too much.

As I walked along, I came across a circle of metal sculptures by Peter Otfinoski—one depicting bride and groom, another grandfather and grandson, and still another, mother and daughter. They were almost flat metal pieces and obviously caricatures—but very clever ones—of the types they represented.

Both the demonstration garden and the sculptures brought to mind the concept of models. And although the sculptures were only caricatures, they reminded me that the way we sometimes react is itself only a caricature of the way we would like to be seen. This caused me to ask myself, "What is my model?"

Most of the world's faith traditions present us with models for human behavior. Buddhists learn many lessons from the stories told of the life of the Buddha. Likewise, Muslims often feel they come closest to living their religion by emulating facets of the life they believe Muhammad led.

Among Christians, Jesus represents the supreme model of how to live in this world—through his ethical teaching, his healing works, and his entire life of self-sacrifice. Jesus offered a way of life that turned the ideals of the Greco-Roman world in which he lived upside down. Human glory, pride, the triumph of the warrior individual, and so on—all ideals of the time—were the opposites of his teaching. And yet the life of Jesus remains what Christians regard as their ultimate model.

If you were to try to summarize Jesus' guidelines for living, one likely place to start would be with a consideration of the Beatitudes—a section of what is called his Sermon on the Mount.

"Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted." By whom? Us. "Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness (justice): for they shall be filled." How? By our actions to promote justice in all human affairs. "Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy." How? Because other human beings exhibit the quality of mercy. "Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God." That ultimate beatitude speaks to the nature of God's kingdom—that it is not a kingdom of who shall be first, or of who shall overcome someone else, but a kingdom of justice and equal treatment for all (Matt. 5:4, 6, 7, 9).

These are at least some of God's demands on us, and Jesus' life so fulfilled them that many people view Jesus as the perfect man of God's creating. Even though people may fall short of even approaching this model on some days, they remain grateful for the standard the model has set for human behavior.

Mary Baker Eddy wrote about the imperfect models that we see around us all the time. "Do you not hear from all mankind of the imperfect model? The world is holding it before your gaze continually." Then she wrote, "We must form perfect models in thought and look at them continually, or we shall never carve them out in grand and noble lives" (Science and Health, p. 248).

It was a sunny Sunday morning. I walked on. I felt as if I had been in church. I had been reminded of the model I wanted to be following.