Good Friday

He was the king of glory, the Morning Star, the image of the invisible God, the first born of all creation—by Him all things were created in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities. All things were created through Him and for Him. He was before all things, and in Him all things held together. In Him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.

And yet, He was born for this moment. It was for this humiliation, it was for this shameful injustice, it was for this torture that He came into the world. He was made incarnate so that His holy brow might be crowned with thorns. He was made in the likeness of a servant so that He might be mocked by the very ones He had come to seek and save. He left His throne in glory so that His back might bear the stripes for our iniquity, so that His hands and feet and side might be pierced for our transgressions.

Hark that cry that peals aloud,
Upward through the whelming cloud.
Thou the Father’s only son,
Thou His own anointed one,
Thou dost ask Him, can it be?
Why hast thou forsaken me?
Twas me, twas me that placed thee there,
Twas me that shouldst have pierced the air.
Twas me that shouldst have borne that grief,
Yet t’was thou forsaken instead of me.