THE MORNING AFTER
I jogged around the stadium early Sunday morning. There was the litter of papers, programs, and empty cans. Everywhere was the silent evidence that thousands had been here just hours before. Now it stood totally empty and silent. Banners on both sides of the stadium indicated something of the battle that had taken place. The broken turf on the field itself gave further evidence of the struggle. But now in the silence of the morning hour, amid all the debris, there was not one shred of evidence to testify which side had won. In the quietness of another morning hour, I stand beneath the craggy hill called Golgotha. Very few people are around this early. But there is evidence that a great crowd gathered yesterday to watch a crucifixion. As a matter of fact, three men were crucified. I see the three trees now lying flat on the ground. The wood is still stained with blood. Nearby is part of a…
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