Jesus was not crucified on an alter between some candles in a lavish old building filled with gold that is worth more than many earn in a decade. He was not crucified behind a platform in a smart warm building with flashing lights illuminating his cross for extra effect. Guitars were not playing and choirs were not singing when the Son of God hung on that crucifixion stake. No, Jesus died on a cross between two thieves, outside of the city, in a place fit only for rubbish, filth and death. The people who walked past him would have been so diverse from so many streams of life and culture they decided to write the sign above his head in Greek, Aramaic and Latin, and this was the kind of place where gambling and drunk soldiers engaged in coarse and filthy conversations; cursing thieves denied the existence of God; cynical bystanders mocked and ridiculed with a mob mentality. This is the place where Jesus died and this is what Jesus is all about. The call of the church is to be in these places and be about these things.