That was how we left it on Saturday. There were a few crosses that had fallen down by Sunday morning – deer, wind, and feeble hammer hits accounted for those.
On Sunday night, though, somebody decided they didn’t like the crosses standing up in nice rows – so they drove through the crosses.
In all, after the police had come and a group of men had set up the crosses, we lost about ten to damage.
That was a sad picture for me – it reminded me of the broken bodies of aborted babies. Which reminded me of Jesus dying on the cross, broken under the weight of the sins of the world (including mine).
The people that did this – they shouldn’t have.
And Jesus dying on the cross? He shouldn’t have, because He was sinless and perfect. I’m glad He did. And though I have to work to remember it sometimes, He died for the people who drove over the crosses. The difference between those people and me isn’t a matter of kind – we are all sinners – it’s a matter of degree.
And whether they have accepted Jesus as their savior.