Thank God It's Friday!

On this supposed final day of His life, one man knew something that no one else did: this was not the end of the story.

Living a life in the public eye is not all glitz and glamour, as some would think. I have met some wonderful and well-known people, I've been a guest in a few sumptuous hotels, and I've eaten some delectable meals. However, many people don't understand that I rarely see my own home, miss my family desperately when I travel, and eat many fast food meals when I take overnight jaunts away from the people I love and the place I know as home.

One particular evening, driving back to my hotel after a wonderful night of anointing, I saw a restaurant which sells itself as being the utopian weekend spot. Yet its name comes from a slogan that, at the beginning of every weekend, most of my own employees chant joyously as they sprint for their cars in the parking lot: "Thank God It's Friday!"

As we approach one of the most sacred Christian days of the year, I think we should all know why so many Americans cry out this same sentiment every weekend.

One dark and dreary afternoon, between the sixth and ninth hours of the day, the wind whistled and the clouds swarmed over a brazen Nazarene set to be put to death for speaking some very controversial views in the face of the priests and religious leaders of his day. He was bludgeoned, battered and bruised. With his head hanging low, not out of self-pity but because of a rafter hanging on his neck and brittle arms, He made a trek up an inclined cobblestone path - barefoot and bleeding. There were scars on His back from a merciless cat-of-nine-tails whose silver tips lacerated Him. There were hairs missing from his beard, drops of spittle dangling on His face and bruises scattered from as many as 600 fists crashing in his jaw.


Yet, all the while, this man was choice, not by force.

This man was not scared. He was confident because in the background, during His final breath, He could hear a veil being torn in two and a mighty shudder in the Earth. Surrounded by thieves and left devoid of all personal contact on this supposed final day of His life, He knew something that no one else did: this was not the end of the story. There would be another chapter.

As a page of history turns, a centurion soldier repents and a civic leader is buried. Pharisees are reminded of a statement this accused blasphemer made while He was alive:

"After three days, I will rise again." (Mt. 27:63)
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