When I was growing up in Phoenix, every Good Friday during Lent between noon and 3 PM, my mom would turn off the television or any music we had playing so we could spend some quiet time in prayer. We couldn’t play, or swim, or basically have any kind of kid fun during those hours. Me and my siblings always complained, of course. “We’re bored,” we would say. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Think about Jesus hanging on the cross,” she would reply matter of factly. “And go outside and pull weeds. Or rake the...