At last, Messiah was in their midst

Offered His hand, received their fists

Deliverer delivered by Judas’ kiss

His message ignored, His mission missed

How could Friday be called Good?

They mocked him, left Him bruised and battered

Spat upon, scourged, His skin in tatters

His friends all left, in fear they scattered

What was His crime?  It didn’t matter

How could Friday be called Good?

Refusing to admit they were hopelessly lost

They nailed their Hope to a Roman cross

The dying man’s diadem a crown of thorns

Some jeered, some cheered, some laughed, some mourned

A joke, a tragedy, a lesson, or Truth?

Did they all just simply need a little more proof?

Or was this man never really on trial?

Dying for those hell-bent on denial?

Where is He now?  A Palestine tomb?

Or preparing the faithful a heavenly room?

Who was this man?  What do you say?

Friday is Good because of Sunday