(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.