On Friday, Jesus took the cross.
His hour had come,
The world would see,
What it means for God to love you and me.
On Friday, Jesus Wore the crown.
Not a crown of dainty things,
But a crown pressed down into his brow,
As he began to bleed.
On Friday, he walked the streets,
But couldn’t keep his feet,
And so somebody had to help him stand.
Simon the Cyrene was pulled from the crowd,
To help the man who created the world,
Carry the cross that would save him and me.
On Friday, he laid down.
Nails driven in his hands and feet,
As the creator of the world was fixed in one place,
The place he always intended to be.
On Friday, he was lifted up between two thieves.
One on the left and the other on the right,
both representing all of humanity.
One would test him, the other embrace him.
One’s death undid him.
The other’s death a gateway to be with Jesus this day in paradise.
On Friday, the sky turned dark as he made his final cry.
Father, forgive them, he said.
Then bowed his head and became one with the dead.
The ones who had fallen asleep in the graves heard him when he cried from the cross.
The crucifixion of the Lord shook them from death,
And they appeared alive and testified,
Jesus, the man who died, made me come from my grave alive.
On Friday, the veil of the temple separating God and man
Was torn from top to bottom.
The time of separation had come to an end.
The time to walk with God was beginning again.
On Friday, he was taken down from off that cursed tree.
Where a rich man named Joseph begged to let his grave Jesus’ be.
Did he know it was only for a time, or did he remember Jesus promised to rise?
On Friday, they wrapped his body,
Wiping the blood from his wounds.
Those precious wounds, that fount of blood,
Was the way the world’s stains would be undone.
Then they wrapped him in a burial cloth and put him in a tomb.
Don’t you wish you could have told them what you knew?
Could you imagine how the truth would’ve changed the mood?
On Friday, they sealed the tomb,
Pilate gave his seal.
They closed the door for just one time,
Then their fright became sureal.
Friday was the darkest day.
Tomorrow will be worse.
For as more and more time passes,
The more we his words forget to rehearse.
Many times he said he would rise from the dead,
But as we all know, dead men don’t talk.
Will his word be stronger than death,
Or will it be a whisper lost?
On Friday, Jesus took the cross.