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The Space Between: A Good Friday Reflection

We call it Good Friday, yet it is marked by death… the death of Jesus. We may know that Sunday’s coming, with its promise of hope and resurrection. But the space between death and resurrection is a place of pain, heartache, loneliness and sorrow. The following is a poem I wrote as a reflection last year for Good Friday entitled, The Space Between. Special thanks to Steve Brown of Key Life who recorded the audio.

[audio http://www.covenantlifepca.com/clients/73/media/TheSpaceBetween.mp3]

The Space Between

The space between Sunday and Friday
Is more than I grasp, more than I can say
What started on a high note has turned into an awful week
Let me share the story of how it got this bleak

It all began on Sunday as Jesus came riding into town
For just the chance to see him, people gathered from all around
“Hosanna” they shouted, “Won’t you be our king?”
“We’ll put a crown upon your head and on your finger, a ring”

As Sunday turned to Friday, all joy began to disappear
The celebration ended, replaced by doubt and fear
Walking through that week and all that did unfold
The air, like my heart, grew heavy and cold

For 30 pieces of silver he was betrayed by a good friend
Then Peter said he didn’t know him, or so he did pretend
They hurled baseless accusations in that sham of a trial
Still he did not defend himself, not even a denial

Pilate was gonna set him free, but he gave into the crowd
He was gonna let him walk, but that’s when they got really loud
His enemies riled the crowd ‘til all you could hear was “Crucify!”
So he was beaten, bruised, spat upon and hung on a cross to die

As he breathed his final breath, he cried out “It is done”
That’s when darkness covered the land, swallowing the sun
The One who at creation declared “Let there be light”
Died a violent death and was buried on that scandalous night

For years I had followed him wherever he went
Never could I have foreseen this dramatic turn of events
My God, my King, my Jesus was laid in a grave
The hopes and fears of all the years… Buried with him in that cave

The space between Sunday and Friday
Is more than I grasp, more than I can say
Sunday’s triumphant parade of victory
Has given way to Friday’s agony

His friends all forsook him, they all began to flee
I ran too, so that list includes me
Our once-so-close knit group has been all strewn and scattered
After three years of following him, I wonder if any of it mattered

The space between Friday and Sunday is a terrible place
It’s an ugly, dark and unjust land of fear and disgrace
The brokenness and the dread, the heartache and the pain
Here I stand all alone, my faith has begun to wane

Someone once called this the dark night of the soul
If only someone could come and make my aching heart whole
Jesus is the only one who could do that, but alas, he is dead
Trapped in that gloomy moment, I hold on to something he once said

He made a curious comment: “Three days and I will rise”
If that is true, my friends, I must see it with my own eyes
I count the days till Sunday, I long for it to come
If Jesus does rise, a mighty victory’s been won

Caught between the grave and resurrection, between death and life
I want to believe, but in this place I’m torn between hope and strife
Right here, right now, that coming victory hardly can be seen
So until Sunday I’ll wait, in the space between



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