The Eastern Gate looked like a limestone sentry waiting for an army to crest the top of the green-and-white mountain. I could see most of the Old City from where I stood on the western ridge of the Mount of Olives, the place Jesus supposedly rode into Judea’s capital on a donkey. They say when he saw the city he began to cry, like a mother attending her son’s funeral…

If they had never heard of Cole Spain, they would not have been able to pick him out of the crowd. In the backyard of a Tuscaloosa townhouse, over a hundred college students gathered to hear Cole perform. Standing next to the fire in boots, blue jeans, and a striped flannel, he looked like everybody else. On his head…

“In Love’s service only the wounded soldiers can serve.”