When I was a kid, I dreamed that one day crowds would chant my name.  I would be returning home a hero.

When I was an adult, I feared that one day crowds would chant my name.  I was no longer an innocent dreamer.  I was a criminal.

But I never dreamed that one day crowds would chant my name, not asking for my punishment but for my freedom.  And yet that is exactly what happened.

A young teacher had so angered this mob that they chanted for me to be freed and for him to be crucified.  I’ve heard of him.  There are many stories about this Jesus.  Some say he’s a prophet.  Some even say he’s the Messiah.  But I don’t really know much at all about him.

And yet, He died in my place.  That was my cross to carry and yet here I am, free.

I have a choice to make.  I can discover the truth of who he was, realizing that this could change everything forever.  Or I can ignore it, going right back to the life I’ve always lived.  The second one is definitely easier.  But the first…

The first…