It's Only Friday...

I should have posted this yesterday (for Good Friday), but I just didn't get around to it until today. Forgive me.
 

Every Easter I post something about the season and my faith. I don't feel that I have the words to properly express the significance of the meaning of Easter. Usually, I select something inspiration from someone more gifted with "preaching" than I am.
 

This year I have chosen a repeat, a sermon by the late Rev. S.M. Lockridge. I felt justified since many of my previous posts were lost in a switch-over of my blog location last summer. This is one of my most favorites; so, I wanted to be sure a copy was available on the current incarnation of my blog.
 

I hope you enjoy, but more importantly - I hope you get the significance.
 

Video: It's Friday...But Sunday's Coming (This Link opens in a New Window)
 

It’s Friday. Jesus is praying. Peter’s a sleeping. Judas is betraying.
But Sunday’s comin’.

It’s Friday. Jesus is praying. Peter’s a sleeping. Judas is betraying.
But Sunday’s comin’.

It’s Friday. Pilate’s struggling. The council is conspiring. The crowd is vilifying. They don’t even know that Sunday’s comin’.

It’s Friday. The disciples are running like sheep without a shepherd.
Mary’s crying. Peter is denying. But they don’t know that Sunday’s a comin’.

It’s Friday. The Romans beat my Jesus. They robe Him in scarlet. They crown Him with thorns. But they don’t know that Sunday’s comin’.

It’s Friday. See Jesus walking to Calvary. His blood dripping. His body stumbling. And his spirit’s burdened. But you see, it’s only Friday.
Sunday’s comin’.

It’s Friday. The world’s winning. People are sinning. And evil’s grinning.

It’s Friday. The soldiers nail my Savior’s hands to the cross. They nail my Savior’s feet to the cross. And then they raise him up next to criminals.

It’s Friday. But let me tell you something: Sunday’s comin’.

It’s Friday. The disciples are questioning. What has happened to their King. And the Pharisees are celebrating that their scheming has been achieved. But they don’t know: It’s only Friday. Sunday’s comin’.

It’s Friday. He’s hanging on the cross feeling forsaken by His Father.
Left alone and dying. Can nobody save Him? Oooh, it’s Friday. But Sunday’s comin’.

It’s Friday. The earth trembles. The sky grows dark. My King yields his spirit.

It’s Friday. Hope is lost. Death has won. Sin has conquered. And Satan’s just a laughing.

It’s Friday. Jesus is buried. A soldier stands guard. And a rock is rolled into place.

But it’s Friday. It is only Friday.

Sunday is a comin’.
 

Digital Society

I am reading "The Wikinomics Way" which compares social media and modern internet collaboration to Gutenberg's printing press. Many know about book burnings by the Grand Inquisitors, but I found the comments of Robert Burton (1616), vicar of Oxford, most interesting. He complained about the "vast chaos and confusion of books" which hurt both eyes and fingers.
 

How close-minded these thoughts seem today, but Burton struggled to adapt to the change which became unarguably useful and beneficial to the masses. Nonetheless, these words sound so familiar to the complaints I have heard about how uncontrolled and dangerous the internet or Facebook can be.
 

While I do agree there are scams, privacy concerns and other problems due to the internet, I wonder if it is much different from the early years of print. Book-smugglers might be the "hackers" of their day, fighting an authority who refuses to see the benefits of the new technology. Or perhaps some were malevolent and selfish, using books to brainwash the feebleminded. Whichever, but it does seem similar; right?
 

Are we on the edge of a new shift, life from the Agrarian model to the Industrial one? How can we embrace the right changes and reject the ones doomed to fail? How will I know to invest in the VHS rather than the BetaMax? And will it matter?
 

Interesting thoughts...
 

Bloody-Good Talent

So, I have previously shared the creative scripting of my talented daughter. The last item I shared was a highly-optimistic and considerate poem in my Young Brilliance post.
 

However, this selection I felt compelled to share is a far darker tale, one more akin to the works of Anne Rice. I will not offer this thirteen-year-old girl writes at quite her caliber, but Rachel’s description of her character’s “dark turning” gripped me.
 

Allow me to let you sample the menacing depiction yourselves: