In the first garden, the light was diminished as sin took its hold,
As darkness grew, the heavens burst to cleanse the earth
Yet even in deluge’s aftermath, man continued his rebellion
The Chosen of God heard His voice,
Yet still wandered in their wilderness
Clamoring for a King, shouting for their own way,
And then weeping over that which they had wrought.
From Babylon’s captivity the remnant flowed to rebuild the walls,
Then God’s silence in its deafening roar brought forth the lament,
“Where is our Messiah?”
“Where is our hope?”
Unknowingly asking when
“Sunday’s Coming”

Hanging in the darkening gloom on Golgotha’s cross,
Body beaten, bruised, bloodied, broken,
The King of the Jews,
Scorned, rejected by His own,
Forsaken by His Father,
Suffering horrific death.
And dying with Him
The hope of His followers,
The hope of a nation,
The hope of the world
Snuffed out as heaven looked on in abject speculation.
Yet as Satan’s minions gloat,
Truth shouts, “It is finished”
And with the tearing of the veil,
The waking of the dead,
The shaking of the earth,
God first portends,
“Sunday’s coming.”

His lifeless body lowered to a mother’s grieving arms,
Wrapped with tenderness in linen and spice,
Brought to Arimathea’s garden
Laid in the cold dark of a new tomb
Light shut off as a stone conceals the entrance
The harsh actuality of death extinguishing the parcel’s beauty
Silence
Silence
The black of night replaced by the bleak darkness of vanquished dreams,
Yet even in creation’s bereavement flickers hope
“Sunday’s Coming”

Suffering under Roman cruelty,
Seeking the overthrow of oppression,
Hope was born in this one called Jesus
But this Messiah is now dead,
This Word silenced,
Calvary ’s Lamb bloodily sacrificed for mankind’s transgression,
Embraced by death, cocooned away
And in darkness,
Stillness…
History moves on
Man again turns his own way
Still seeking a Messiah
Wondering when,
Wondering if
“Sunday’s coming”

Today the world remains the same,
Mankind still holding the flickering candle of hope
Seeking redemption,
Longing for truth,
Searching for meaning and messiah,
Saturday’s silence hanging portentously in the gloomy darkness of man’s device
But man does not have to stay in the murky bleak,
For in that garden 2000 years ago
As all creation stood watch with the Roman guard,
The black of Saturday’s night was dispelled
Radiant light broke forth into new day’s dawn,
The earth shook,
The stone rolled away,
Silence shattered as angels triumphantly declared
“Sunday’s Come!”

Greg Gaffney
2/25/05