It’s the title of one of the greatest books ever written - a slim tome by no less an intellectual titan and literary luminary than Clive Staples Lewis. In those days, of course, the word “mere” had a different colloquial meaning than it has today. In those days, “mere” meant “pure.” Lewis was talking about PURE Christianity.

He was referring to the distilled essence of a faith that sprang up in Judea two millennia ago when disciples of an obscure Jewish rabbi - who was crucified by the Roman Empire - insisted that he rose from the dead and appeared to them. So insistent were they of the truth they perceived, they willingly died for it - as did countless numbers of others in the centuries afterward.

Fast forward two millennia to Groom, Texas. There, just off of Interstate 40, you will see an enormous cross. You can’t miss it: it’s nearly 200 feet tall and weighs close to 1,300 tons. Two hundred welders labored long and hard to build it and erect it.

On the land surrounding the cross you will find a collection of metal sculptures that will, quite literally, blow your mind. Long ago I once opined on the difference between art and crap. In a nutshell - if I or any other ordinary schlub can do it, it isn’t art.

Well, my friends…THIS is art. And we all know who inspired it. I doff my hat to Denyce Lucatorto of the SGP for the link to this phenomenal and moving display.

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My take on all this?

I wept…my heart made unbearably heavy by the guilt for all the grief and the pain I have caused Him. If you seek those who betrayed, condemned, tortured and then crucified Him then I can tell you your search is over.

I did it.

I am Judas the Betrayer. I am Peter the Denier. I am Caiaphas the Hypocrite. I am Pilate the Politician. I am the crowd who screamed for His crucifixion. I am the soldiers who mocked Him, scourged Him, tortured Him, drove nails through His flesh and gambled for His robe.

For many years I have been Milas the Wicked Thief, but as my mortality overtakes me I have become Dismas - the thief who begged Him for mercy.

All I can do now is fall to the ground, my face in the dirt, and plea to Him:

“I have done terrible things in my life and I deserve the misery I now endure. But you do not. You never did and I have done all of this to you: I betrayed you. I denied you. I slandered you. I tortured and tormented you. I killed you. Can you forgive me? Will you forgive me? Please have mercy on me.”

I dare not ask anything more of Him and will consider myself the wealthiest man in the universe if He just touches me and says: “Rise and walk with me…your sins are forgiven.”

I suppose that is Mere Christianity. It is to me, anyway.

I suppose I’ll also catch an armful of flack for this post. Good grief, I’m turning into Glenn Beck, right? Well…not exactly. Glenn is idiotically advocating for a third political party. I’m not and never will and Beck is a complete political flake.

But I share a portion of his pain and in that sharing am something of a kindred spirit. I know his story and I understand his tears. How sad that liberals - they who claim to be so high-minded and tolerant and full of love - are the first to hurl invective and vitriol at him.

They would do well to make a pilgrimage to Groom, Texas. Then again, I suppose the journey would be lost on them as they ignore the garden of sculptures and inquire if there is a Starbuck’s nearby.

Some things never change.