Good Friday

They Call it "Good"
This funeral of a Friday.

When shadows have the final word
And Silence gives the benediction.

Yes, we know the sun will come out,
That bluebirds sing,
And, what happens when you wish upon a star.

Tomorrow...
Somewhere...
When...

But, not today.
Not here.
Not now
On Good Friday.

For in these shadows and in this silence
We find that God can die.

Taking our brightest hopes
Our sweetest dreams
And great expectations with Him
"From the cross to the grave."

Just ask Nicodemus, or Peter, or Mary.

And, before we come to the empty tomb
We must find
We must feel
We must face
The sting of death, and the victory of the grave

On Good Friday.