On Good Friday, I’m always reminded of S. M. Lockridge’s famous sermon, “It’s Friday … but Sunday’s comin’.” It plays on Christian radio and is all over YouTube dubbed over scenes from The Passion of the Christ. There are even evangelists who’ve become well known for preaching it year to year in pulpit after pulpit.
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. But Sunday’s comin’.
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’t nobody save him? Ooooh 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 laughin’.
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. And Sunday is a comin’!
I love that sermon. I listen to it every Good Friday. Every sleepless night of worry and dread is Jesus in the Garden. In fact, every moment of pain, suffering, chaos and loss ever experienced by any of us is embodied in Good Friday. But Sunday’s coming.
Then comes Holy Saturday. It is finished. For me, Holy Saturday is a mixture of exhaustion and relief. He’s overcoming, but he’s not yet overcome. Still, Sunday’s coming.
Then, finally, Sunday’s here. We sing Alleluia for the first time in over 40 days and we celebrate that we’ve had nothing but Sundays for nearly 2000 years! Sunday is every day of our lives! Sunday after Sunday after Sunday.
As far as the calendar goes, today is actually Monday. We have sugar hangovers and the eggs have all been found. Before you know it, we Catholics will be back to Ordinary Time (a term which I found hilarious as a convert, by the way.). There are going to be days ahead when it feels like Friday again. My prayer, on this Monday, is that on those nights we spend in the Garden and the days we spend in agony, we can remember that we are not forsaken. We are redeemed. It may feel like Friday, but Sunday’s not just coming. Sunday’s here.