by Fr. Jim Tucker
The cuffs chafed his wrists as Jude sat peering out the back window of the squad car, a scowl creasing his face.
He peered out at the sullen rain, crying over the pavement. People crowded around the massive doors of the church, pulling their garments close against the cold and clammy dampness. They had been waiting for what seem to be hours. An hour ago, police cars had pulled into the lot with their red and blue lights flashing, one officer pulling some yellow tape across the entrance: Police Line. Do not cross.
Yeah, he thought. “Do not cross me,” says the long arm of the law. Jude snorted, “Do not cross me,” says the God of the high mountain tops. Read more