Were you there?
Let the slow, poignant shuffle begin--the Veneration of the Cross.
A priest prone, his face to the floor, his arms stretched like broken wings. The chapel silent and expectant. Thorny-voiced Isaiah: "He was despised and forsaken; he was pierced for our transessions; he was crushed for our iniquities." Then the voices from all around the chapel-the young priest near the altar, a girl high in the balcony, a boy in a deep dark corner:
"What is truth?" says Pilate.
"Hail, King of the Jews."