The road to Calvary is lined with harrowing, blood-soaked details — the agony, the mockery, the relentless cruelty as Jesus carried His cross to the place of execution. In the Bible, as we read about Christ’s crucifixion and the moments that led to it, what stands out most to you? For me, it seems to change with each reading.

In Matthew 27, starting in verse 15, the governor was just following through with the custom: one prisoner could be released, and the crowd got to choose. Pilate found no fault in Jesus, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe he anticipated the crowd would release Jesus — yet perhaps not, “for even he knew that it was out of envy that they had delivered Him up.” So, he posed the question: “Whom do you want me to release for you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?” After a moment, he asked again: “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?”

Barabbas. The crowd roared for the release of the criminal, the insurrectionist, over the sinless, perfect Christ.

“Then what shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?” Pilate asked. “Let Him be crucified!” they cried. And Pilate said, “Why? What evil has He done?” As the account continues, they could name no evil Jesus had committed, nor did anyone even attempt to answer Pilate’s piercing question. Instead, as a riot began to swell, “they shouted all the more, ‘Let him be crucified!’” Pilate did not stop it; he questioned no further. His final words were chilling: “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” Yet no more chilling than the crowd’s collective response: “His blood be on us and on our children!”

Not that I hadn’t read it before, but this passage, during my last reading of it, truly struck me. I knew they chose the guilty over the innocent. I knew Pilate caved, doing nothing to halt the injustice. I knew the cross was inevitable — Christ had to die to redeem us from sin’s grip. Yet in my last reading, something struck like lightning: the eerie, almost prophetic echo between that furious crowd — demanding death, invoking blood curses on themselves and their descendants — and the rage boiling in our own era.

Look at the news. Immigration enforcement has ignited a firestorm. We’ve moved far beyond numbers of illegal crossings or deportations. Every day brings fresh nightmares: federal agents clashing with protesters screaming for ICE’s abolition. Since the second Trump administration began, the anti-ICE fury has erupted into volatile confrontations — especially in Minneapolis, where at least two U.S. citizens have been shot by federal agents amid hostile encounters.

Violence is spreading nationwide, hatred and anger intensifying daily. When does it stop?

So many of us were stunned when prominent Christian commentator Charlie Kirk was assassinated in cold blood last year in front of thousands during an event at Utah Valley University. We were equally horrified by the murder of Iryana Zaruska, the young Ukrainian refugee who was stabbed to death on the light rail in North Carolina. These are just glimpses, but they expose a chasm deeper than politics. This isn’t merely Left versus Right — it’s good versus evil, light versus darkness. And it is far from new. In fact, it’s ancient.

For decades we’ve fought over the sanctity of life, with “my body, my choice” rhetoric growing ever more grotesque. When Charlie Kirk was murdered, many openly celebrated his death. If you don’t bow down to LGBT ideology, you’re not merely slandered — you’re accused of having blood on your hands. Legitimate concerns about ICE exist, yet where was the same outrage when innocent children, students, and citizens died at the hands of illegal immigrants? The hypocrisy burns.

I refuse to paint everyone not aligned with Christian or conservative values with the same brush. But far too many seethe with such venom that they justify violence outright. The contradictions scream. Yet here’s the real gut-punch: these same people, blinded by rage and fueled by unsteady passion, almost always refuse real conversation. They rarely articulate their beliefs clearly — if they even know what they are. When challenged, they hurl insults; pressed, they escalate to threats — or worse. In their eyes, death becomes “noble” if it serves “autonomy,” or their version of “liberation” and democracy.

On a recent commute, a man in the metro car was shouting death threats — explicitly targeting Christians and Jews. What are you supposed to do in that moment? How do you respond to someone already escalating to literal death threats? The short answer is that you can’t. So, we didn’t do anything. Thankfully, the man did not engage beyond lip service. And yet, it was a stark reminder: we’re stuck in a real, oftentimes palpable, spiritual battle. When someone is blinded by darkness, being manipulated by the losing side, reason, compromise, and dialogue vanish. Those who walk in the light? We become targets.

We saw it at Calvary. We see it now. The parallel is shocking: that ancient mob, unable or unwilling to justify why the innocent must die, mirrors today’s self-proclaimed “heroes” who brand dissenters as bigots, haters, and modern Nazis. They demand silence and conformity or destruction. These patterns trace back to Eden, where the serpent’s aim was always to kill, steal, and destroy —fracturing the first human union, and still seeking to tear apart families, communities, and nations.

Yet there is a union that remains unbreakable: the Trinity. The Father who sustains us, the Son who redeemed us, the Spirit who guides us is a union that will never be severed. Only once was that communion broken — on the cross — and it was only because God the Almighty ordained it. This God willingly chose to sacrifice His Son, even to actual death on a cross, so that you and I and all who call upon His name may live.

I praise God that Christ conquered sin and death. Not merely because it means we His people get to enjoy eternity with Him one day, but because it means there is nothing on this earth that could truly harm us. There is nothing in “all creation .. able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39). There is nothing that can undo what Christ accomplished on the cross.

When I was in that metro car, even as that man was threating to kill the people who made eye contact with him, even saying Christians specifically deserved to die… all I could think was: Lord, if this man were to confront me, may I have the courage to stand firm in Your name and refuse any other option than to proclaim it. It did not come to that, which I count as mercy. And yet, I think we all have to ask ourselves: if death is staring us in the face, breathing threats down our necks, are we still willing to confess Christ? Are we willing to do so, even if that very confession is what turns the furious, screaming, blinded crowd against us?

The cross stands as both judgment and mercy. May we never forget that the same spirit that cried “Crucify Him!” back then still prowls, cloaked in new slogans, but driven by the same darkness. Yet may we cling to the greater truth: victory belongs to the One who bled, died, and rose. He calls us, today and forever, to stand firm.