Good Friday

Is it good for someone to suffer,
Unjustly at the hands of men?
To be deserted and abandoned,
Even by His friends?

Is it good for someone to lose,
Every bit of dignity and worth?
To be shamed and humiliated,
And subject to mocking mirth?

It is good for someone to die,
Forsaken by His own,
To feel the harsh wrath of God,
And bear it all alone?

Is it good for someone to feel,
The deep pain of others’ sins,
To take upon himself the guilt,
And penalty for them?

Is it good for someone to be broken,
At the hands of evil men,
To stand mute before his accusers,
And then boldly pray for them?

Good Friday we call it,
Yet it didn’t feel good at all,
Shouldering the burden of sin,
The ultimate price of the fall.

Good Friday, we call it,
Because we know the story’s end.
We know the good that was wrought,
By the Savior’s bleeding hand.

We know the death he died,
Was not to hold him down.
And that on His glorious head,
Now rests a royal crown.

Good Friday we call it,
Because by His gift we are brought near,
And through His sacrifice,
We no longer live in fear.

Good Friday, we call it,
Anticipating Sunday’s dawn.
Rejoicing in redemption’s play,
Sin’s bitter curse has been undone.

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