Every Good Friday reminds us who the sinners really were. A world bleeds and burns. Souls wither into old leather and blow away. One woman, disillusioned by ideologies, relationships, psychobabble, and pop spirituality, read the Gospels and in simple desperation cried, "If you're real, come get me." First century followers of Jesus weren't trying to be "deviant"; they were captured people—not by an idea, a memory, an ethic, or anything concocted they could control. Mr. Potato Heads crumble; Messiahs rise from the dead. May He bite us all.
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