This is a poem-sermon I first heard two years ago. It has no connection to teaching or education (except in a grand, cosmic sense I suppose), but after a physically and mentally draining month, it's a jolting shot of hope and a powerful reminder of why today is called Good Friday.
Itâs Friday. Jesus is arrested in the garden where He was praying. But Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. The disciples are hiding and Peterâs denying that he knows the Lord. But Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. Jesus is standing before the high priest of Israel, silent as a lamb before the slaughter. But Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. Jesus is beaten, mocked, and spit upon. But Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. Those Roman soldiers are flogging our Lord with a leather scourge that has bits of bones and glass and metal, tearing at his flesh. But Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. The Son of man stands firm as they press the crown of thorns down into his brow. But Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. See Him walking to Calvary, the blood dripping from His body. See the cross crashing down on His back as He stumbles beneath the load. Itâs Friday; but Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. See those Roman soldiers driving the nails into the feet and hands of my Lord. Hear my Jesus cry, âFather, forgive them.â Itâs Friday; but Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, bloody and dying. But Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. The sky grows dark, the earth begins to tremble, and He who knew no sin became sin for us. Holy God who will not abide with sin pours out His wrath on that perfect sacrificial lamb who cries out, âMy God, My God. Why hast thou forsaken me?â What a horrible cry. But Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. And at the moment of Jesusâ death, the veil of the Temple that separates sinful man from Holy God was torn from the top to the bottom because Sundayâs coming. Itâs Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, heaven is weeping and hell is partying. But thatâs because itâs Friday, and they donât know it, but Sundayâs coming. And on that horrible day 2000 years ago, Jesus the Christ, the Lord of glory, the only begotten Son of God, the only perfect man died on the cross of Calvary. Satan thought that he had won the victory. Surely he had destroyed the Son of God. Finally he had disproved the prophecy God had uttered in the Garden and the one who was to crush his head had been destroyed. But that was Friday. And Sundayâs coming.