We live in a world in which, all protestations to the contrary notwithstanding, Good Friday still trumps Easter—a world in which children die in the dry night, and single mothers looking for a way to feed their hungry families are told that they’re only reaping the harvest of their bad choices, and teenage boys in hoodies must walk the suburban streets in fear, and the elderly have to decide whether their medication or having heat is more important the month.
Death too often calls the tune to which, sad to say, so many of us feel compelled to dance.
But I’ve got news for you—regardless of how it looks to you at present, regardless of who you think is calling the shots, Jesus is almost finished with his Lenten journey. And while the path he takes will ultimately lead him to a garbage dump on the edge of town called the “place of the skull,” the truth of the faith we profess is that that dump—which too casually deals in the art of death—is not the final destination.
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