It's Friday

It’s Friday, Jesus is praying, Peter’s asleep, and Judas is betraying. But Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, my Savior on trial is silent, the high priests of Israel are violent, my Jesus is a lamb before slaughter. But Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, Pilate is struggling, the council is conspiring, the crowd is vilifying. They don’t even know that Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, the disciples are running … like sheep without a shepherd. Mary is crying. Peter is denying. But they don’t know Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, the Romans beat my Jesus, they robe Him in scarlet, the crown Him with thorns. But they don’t know that Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, see Jesus walking to Calvary. His blood dripping, His body is stumbling, and His spirit is burdened. But you see it’s only Friday. Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, the world’s winning, people are sinning, and evil is grinning.

It’s Friday, the soldiers nail my Savior’s hands to the cross. They nail my Savior’s feet to the cross. And they raise Him up next to criminals.

It’s Friday, but let me tell you something. Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, the disciples are questioning. What has happened to their King? And the Pharisees are celebrating, that their scheming has been achieved. But they don’t know. It’s only Friday. Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, He’s hanging on the cross, feeling forsaken by His Father, left alone and dying. Can nobody save Him? Oh! It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming.

It’s Friday, the earth trembles. The sky grows dark. My King yields His spirit.

It’s Friday, hope is lost. Death has won. Sin has conquered. Satan is just laughing.

It’s Friday, Jesus is buried. A soldier stands guard. And a rock is rolled into place.

But it’s Friday. It’s only Friday.

Sunday is coming.