
Yesterday, I was sitting in the steam room at the gym, minding my own business, enjoying some silence, when the naked guy next to me says, “So, did you see that basketball player’s broken leg? It was gruesome.”
“No,” I replied, “I’ve been avoiding it.”
“Well, all the talk on the radio today is about the sound. Supposedly a lot of people in the arena could hear the snap, and they can’t get the sound out of their heads.”
Then he got up and left the steam room, leaving me alone to ponder the sound of breaking bone.

Many Christians struggle to understand this day, Good Friday. We’re told, “Jesus died for you,” and “Jesus died for your sins.” And that makes perfect sense for many years.

I get kitchy Jesus. I get the 















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