(By Rachel Joyce)
We know a little about Friday, Lord.
We’ve fallen face down before You
Under the crushing weight
Of all our sin.
We’ve felt the darkness pressing in,
Cringed from the pain of condemnation,
And staggered under the heaviness
Of our shame.
But You were pure and holy
It was our sin, our guilt, our shame,
Our punishment You bore on that
Rough, wooden cross.
We know a little about Saturday, Lord.
The silence when all hope seems lost
And we don’t know what to do,
But our eyes are on You.
In the silence, we wait for our Lord
When all is not as it should be
And tears fall while our hearts strain
To hold onto faith.
We have Your promises, Your words
Of hope and faith and joy.
As we live with such heartache,
Our trust is in You.
We know a little about Sunday, Lord.
You rose, and oh, life is forever changed.
In glorious triumph, You live
And we are alive in You.
You gave Your life for our redemption
And with Your resurrection we now have
Your life, Your power, Your grace within
These fragile jars of clay.
The wonder and the glory of these truths
Transform our lives and set our hearts
Ablaze with holy passion to worship
You, our risen Lord.
