Good Friday Messages

I, too,
sleep,
while He prays
and sweats blood in agony.
Somehow never see His
anguished eyes
outstretched arms
“Come to me?”And I, too,
weep bitter tears
when the shame rips my heart,
not after cock crow,
but as the wine burns my throat.But
He grits His teeth
while we still pound nails
through hands, and weary heart.

And, tears brimming,
He still holds wide His arms.

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Friday SMS

Those Who Believe And
Whose Hearts Are Satisfied
By Remembrance Of GOD.
Oh, It Is By Remembrance Of
…GOD That Hearts Are Satisfied.
For Those
Who Believe And
Do Good Works, There Is
Happiness And A Beautiful
Destiny…
Quran [13: 28,29]

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GOOD FRIDAY

GOOD FRIDAY –
THIS SOMBRE DAY
WHEN CHRISTIANS MOURN
A 2,000 YEAR OLD DEATH.HE DIED, SOME SAY,
TO APPEASE A VENGEFUL GOD,
DEMANDING A ONE-TIME
CAPITAL PUNISHMENT
FOR HUMAN SIN,
BOTH PAST AND YET TO COME.
IT WAS, THEY INSIST,
THE ONLY WAY
WE COULD BE SAVED.

OTHERS ASK
IS THIS THE SAME GOD
WHO SAID “THOU SHALL NOT KILL”
NOW OFFERING HIS SON
AS A SACRIFICIAL LAMB
TO BE SLAIN
FOR OUR SALVATION?

YET OTHERS SAY
HE DIED BECAUSE
HE LOVED TOO MUCH –
LOVED THE OUTCAST,
THE SINNER, THE SICK,
THE POOR, THE OPPRESSED.

AS HE HUNG THERE
BLEEDING, DYING,
SOME HEARD HIM SAY:
“FATHER, FORGIVE THEM.
THEY KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO.”
IS THIS WHAT MADE
THAT BAD DAY GOOD?

WHATEVER WE DO, HE HAD SAID,
WE DO TO HIM.
AND WE ARE CALLED
TO FOLLOW IN THIS WAY.
THUS, IF WE IGNORE ANOTHER’S PAIN
WE SURELY CRUCIFY HIM AGAIN.

IT WAS INDEED A BAD FRIDAY,
MADE GOOD BECAUSE
IT SHOWS THE WAY TO OUR SALVATION –
SALVATION AS LIBERATION.
LIBERATION
FROM OPPRESSION TO JUSTICE,
FROM WAR TO PEACE,
FROM HATE TO LOVE.
AND THIS
IS TRULY
RESURRECTION.

Brier: Good Friday

Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
Bends back the brier that edges life’s long way,
That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.

Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
Because you walk before and crush the brier,
It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.

Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now,
That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.

E. Pauline Johnson

Good Friday in my Heart

GOOD FRIDAY in my heart! Fear and affright!
My thoughts are the Disciples when they fled,
My words the words that priest and soldier said,
My deed the spear to desecrate the dead.
And day, Thy death therein, is changed to night.

Then Easter in my heart sends up the sun.
My thoughts are Mary, when she turned to see.
My words are Peter, answering, ‘Lov’st thou Me?’
My deeds are all Thine own drawn close to Thee,
And night and day, since Thou dost rise, are one.

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

Good Friday Poem

“What makes Good Friday good?” you ask.
A challenge! A rather daunting task.
Some may dismiss it with a shrug and a smirk,
And consider it another day off work.
Others, religious, pious as such,
Take a few minutes for a mournful watch;
Merchants unlock their doors with glee,
Anticipating the pre-Easter shopping spree.
A bunny here, a chocolate egg there,
Symbols of a society that doesn’t care.
“Care?” you say, “Do you mean me?”
“What’s there to care; how can this be?”
It’s the cross, you forget, that rugged wood,
That makes Good Friday eternally good.
What’s so good about the death of an ancient man,
Who died long before my life began?
This man, who on this earth once trod,
Was not only man, but the Son of God.
That wood, that tree, that old rugged cross,
Was the symbol of gain and the symbol of loss.
To those who believe, it is the promise of gain;
The hope that, like Jesus, we’ll rise again!
For the skeptic, the doubter, the meaning is loss;
An eternal gulf, which no one can cross.
Good Friday is good, because of the death
Of Jesus the Savior, who gave His last breath
So you, friend, and I, could be cleared of our guilt,
Redeemed by the blood of the Lamb that was spilt.
Mourn not, my dear soul, for the death of the Lamb,
For that cross made the bridge to the Great I AM.
Christ paid the price, rose again to God’s side,
And brought us next Sunday: the Resurrection-tide!

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“GOOD FRIDAY”

Oh my chief good,
How shall I measure out thy blood?
How shall I count what thee befell,
And each grief tell?

Shall I thy woes
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one star show’d thy first breath,
Shall all thy death?

Or shall each leaf,
Which falls in Autumn, score1 a grief?
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be sign,
Of the true vine?

Then let each hour
Of my whole life one grief devour;
That thy distress through all may run,
And be my sun.

Or rather let
My several sins their sorrows get;
That, as each beast his cure doth know,
Each sin may so.

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