I was at church this past Sunday night, and my pastor said something I’ve heard said a zillion other times, but never really let it sink in . . . Jesus died on that cross for you, and if it had been only for you, he would have still done it.
I’m not sure the reason, but it sat there with me this time, resonating in the silence of the building, only the pastor’s voice being heard. If it were only one of us, only me, or only you, he still would have taken that beating, that bloody, gruesome, painful death. For only one of us.