We have come to the time that Jesus is arrested, tried, and crucified. I read the story again, and I know this sounds like a cliché, but my heart feels like it's beating heavily in my throat. A heavy weight pushes down on my chest. Powerful, intense movement in my soul. Just think of it! Here we have an innocent man, he was God, he was a miracle worker, and he’d done nothing wrong. And they killed him. It can't be real. The story feels more like poetry. Certainly not the stuff of history. But it is history. I guess we could almost call it "poetic narrative."