This was meant to be posted yesterday (Good Friday) but written a day late.

Dedicated to the Lord, a horribly small token of my deepest gratitude.

He had risen!

Please review.

It was not a Good Friday.

Thunder shook the earth, lightning split the sky, and the greatest man who ever lived was gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Judas knew it. Squinting at the blurry world through his tear soaked eyes, weeping tragic tears of sorrow and shame, he could hardly bear to raise his head and look at the cross. He had trusted him! Jesus of Nazareth had trusted him! But he stabbed Him in the back, in a worse than literal sense. The gold coins of his earnings burned his skin as he clutched them in the palms of his hands.

He was Judas the betrayer. Pathetic. Liar. Traitor. Lowlife. Judas, on his knees, flung the coins in the air. He tore at his hair in guilt and shame, seeing the lifeless body of his teacher on the cross, hung next to criminals! His pale skin was crimson with sticky blood, a crown of thorns on His head. Why? How could he done such a thing? His soul was turned in two. He had betrayed him. All was lost, for Jesus was gone.

But Sunday was coming.

It was not a Good Friday.

Mary screamed with indescribable pain for her Jesus'. She wanted to push through the heartless crowd of Roman soldiers to Him, scream at the cruelty and blasphemy of the mob of people. She wept in the support of Peter's arms, violent sobs raking through her body. This was not supposed to happen. Jesus was the king. He did not deserve this.

Mary closed her eyes tightly, her heart shattering, being ripped slowly out of her body. She had seen His blood gush through every ravished wound, it was painfully, utterly macabre, but the look in His eyes was so much worse. His shimmering, heavenly blue eyes held all the sadness of the world, they were raised up to the heavens, and Mary could see how much love her Jesus truly possessed as he pleaded for the sinner's forgiveness.

He was dying.

But Sunday was coming.

It was not a Good Friday.

Peter covered his eyes, hiding his dirty face in shame. His Teacher, his Healer, his Lord, his Friend was on the cross. Three times he denied him, three times! Peter's heart was heavy with remorse and self-disgust. His cowardice lead him to it, his fear of being mistaken as 'Jesus' follower' because he did not want to die with Him. His promises to Him were just bravado, ego, possibly pride, and now they account to nothing because he denied Christ.

But Peter knew that He was forgiven. He could see it in Jesus' eyes, the way they pleaded for the Heavenly Father's mercy. Jesus was not Peter. Jesus was not a coward. He was willing to die for each and every soul on earth, of the past, the present, and even the future. Peter knew that Jesus would endure these hours of pain even if it were the sake of one man, not millions. Jesus was the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. But Jesus' eyes were finally closing.

But Sunday was coming.

It was a terrible Friday.

A horrible quake shook the earth, and the sinful people of the world ran for cover, screaming with the howl of the wind, fear blazing in their hearts as the sky turned to darkness. They were unaware that their salvations have been purchased the blood of Jesus Christ, unaware that his unconditional love and gift of life would be denied for generations to come. Pilate was no less frightened then his people, though he did his best not to show it. His proud, fearless Roman soldiers cowered in paralyzed fear, exclaiming that this truly was a righteous man.

The priests cried out helplessly in panic, clutching at the temple walls as they shook with the earthquake. The great curtain that separated the Holiest of Holies was torn apart with lightning, the cloth screamed as it separated. They clutched at the pillars of the temple of Jerusalem, knowing that they were no longer needed. For Jesus had bought salvation with his life, his blood washed away the sins of the world, and any man could come to God, for they were united through Jesus Christ.

Only He was a dead man.

But Sunday was coming.

It was a Good Friday.

For the Son of Man had saved the world. He saved us. He gave us the most precious gift one could ever give.


Jesus Christ knew exactly what he was doing. He was here on a mission, the one right man that had every truly saved the entire world, and of the past, the present, and the future. This unconditional love for sinners, people who murder, lie, cheat, spat in his face, existed only in Him. That kind of love is impossible to find in any other human being. For Jesus was superhuman, He was a Savior, a Hero, a Lord…and he still is.

He could barely walk, beaten and flogged half to death by Roman soldiers, burdening His shoulders with a heavy wooden cross that was almost impossible to carry. The crowd pushed Him; they screamed in his ears, they called him horrible names that He did not deserve to be called. A King was treated this way. A King that felt no hatred for his people, despite the fact that they laughed at him, spat in his eyes and face, offered him vinegar to drink instead of water, burning his sore throat.

It was so painful. The walk up to Golgotha was treacherous, His bare feet being scraped with thorns and gravel. They tore at His clothes, laughing at His humiliation, planning to gamble the cloth away. But Jesus did not mind, He was here for a purpose, and until this act was complete, His beloved people would not make it to heaven. Jesus feared that, much, much more than He feared the violent pain that was yet to come.

He dropped on to the ground atop of Golgotha, His movement kicking up dust into His eyes. He coughed, and someone pushed Him from behind, and He fell in the dust. Several pairs of rough, Roman hands turned him over, his back slamming down atop of the vertical beam of the cross. He did not fight as they took his hands and positioned them on each side of the horizontal beam. Large, fat nails chosen for the purpose to make it worse for Him were driven mercilessly through his palms.

Jesus bit His lips so hard that it bled, groaning as two more nails were driven through the centers of His feet, hitting the nerves in His body and ripping them to pieces. The crowd laughed, but Jesus' heart held no hate, only love, and fear that His Father should punish them for their cruelty. He begged God to forgive them, for they did not know what they do. A crown of thorns dug into the soft flesh of His forehead, tearing at His hair, red blood trickling into his eyes and ears.

Some Roman hung a makeshift plaque over His head "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews' to further mock Him, extend His humiliation. Someone shoved a spear through His side, and Jesus cried out as His organs were pierced by the metal tip of the blade. They shouted up at Him to remove Himself from the cross if He truly was God. Oh Heavenly Father, forgive them, they know not what they do. But Jehovah had turned away from His Son, and it was almost too much for Jesus to bear. Father, He cried out, His tears mixing with His blood. It felt like the crimson fluid oozed from every pore. But Jehovah did not respond, for Jesus held all the sins of the world on Him, and only a clean, righteous creature was accepted by God.

With one last deep breath, that raked His body with pain, bleeding on the inside, bleeding on the inside, Jesus' head finally dropped in 'death' a blissful release from the impossible-to-describe throbbing and aches all over His body. He had saved the world. The Lord God Heavenly Father had forgiven their sins. Jesus had built a bridge with his cross between the world and the Lord. His mission was complete. He died for undeserving sinners like me and you, yet some of us still spit in his face and mock his pain, like those Roman soldiers. The crowd began to weep, for he was gone.

But Sunday was coming.

Satan screamed in anger in the fiery pits of hell, he had lost. Jesus had deprived him of countless souls. Satan was afraid, he was afraid of the wrath of God, and of the His power. But Satan would still continue to try and woe the ill-minded human, but God's grasp was stronger. The Lord Jesus had defeated him. He had risen. He had stopped him. He had saved the world and washed away its sins.

For Jesus had risen. He had opened His eyes on the third day, and you will not find Him there, for He has risen, and He is in heaven with our Father, eagerly preparing for our arrival.

John 14:6 "Jesus sayith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me."

Please tell me what you think.

Have a wonderful Easter, for He has risen indeed!

God Bless you all.