Mason 365: Day 5

Sunday's Here!

Two days ago, on Good Friday, a visiting deacon was invited to give the homily at our church.

It was a really good one.

I even stayed awake for most of it.

He read a sermon that was delivered some years ago by a pastor in Philadelphia to his Baptist congregation

entitled, It's Friday, But Sunday's Coming:

"It was a simple sermon, starting softly, building in volume and intensity until the entire congregation was completely involved, repeating the phrases in unison. The sermon went something like this.

It’s Friday. Jesus is arrested in the garden where He was praying. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The disciples are hiding and Peter’s denying that he knows the Lord. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is standing before the high priest of Israel, silent as a lamb before the slaughter. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is beaten, mocked, and spit upon. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Those Roman soldiers are flogging our Lord with a leather scourge that has bits of bones and glass and metal, tearing at his flesh. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The Son of man stands firm as they press the crown of thorns down into his brow. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. See Him walking to Calvary, the blood dripping from His body. See the cross crashing down on His back as He stumbles beneath the load. It’s Friday; but Sunday’s a coming.

It’s Friday. See those Roman soldiers driving the nails into the feet and hands of my Lord. Hear my Jesus cry, “Father, forgive them.” It’s Friday; but Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, bloody and dying. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. The sky grows dark, the earth begins to tremble, and He who knew no sin became sin for us. Holy God who will not abide with sin pours out His wrath on that perfect sacrificial lamb who cries out, “My God, My God. Why hast thou forsaken me?” What a horrible cry. But Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. And at the moment of Jesus’ death, the veil of the Temple that separates sinful man from Holy God was torn from the top to the bottom because Sunday’s coming.

It’s Friday. Jesus is hanging on the cross, heaven is weeping and hell is partying. But that’s because it’s Friday, and they don’t know it, but Sunday’s a coming.

And on that horrible day 2000 years ago, Jesus the Christ, the Lord of glory, the only begotten Son of God, the only perfect man died on the cross of Calvary. Satan thought that he had won the victory. Surely he had destroyed the Son of God. Finally he had disproved the prophecy God had uttered in the Garden and the one who was to crush his head had been destroyed. But that was Friday.

Now it’s Sunday. And just about dawn on that first day of the week, there was a great earthquake. But that wasn’t the only thing that was shaking because now it’s Sunday. And the angel of the Lord is coming down out of heaven and rolling the stone away from the door of the tomb. Yes, it’s Sunday, and the angel of the Lord is sitting on that stone and the guards posted at the tomb to keep the body from disappearing were shaking in their boots because it’s Sunday, and the lamb that was silent before the slaughter is now the resurrected lion from the tribe of Judah, for He is not here, the angel says. He is risen indeed.

It’s Sunday, and the crucified and resurrected Christ has defeated death, hell, sin and the grave. It’s Sunday. And now everything has changed. It’s the age of grace, God’s grace poured out on all who would look to that crucified lamb of Calvary. Grace freely given to all who would believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross of Calvary was buried and rose again. All because it’s Sunday.

At the end of the message the pastor shouts out:

It’s Friiidaaaay!

And the whole congregation responds:

But Sunday’s Coming!"

I was planning to just link to the page where I found the sermon, but I was afraid if I did that you wouldn't read it. And you should. You really should. It's worth your time, I promise.

I've always associated the Baptist faith with their known exuberance during the church service.

This is not a trait that I would ever, ever associate with us Roman Catholic types.

They don't call it the weekly "obligation" for nothin'.

We like to show up late, leave early, recite stuff, and sing if we feel like it.

That being said, we also help one another, pray earnestly, 

value charity, and practice tolerance and compassion.

What we do not do (those of us over the age of 5 or so anyway) is yell out during mass.

But darned if this guest preacher did not get a Catholic congregation to do just that!

I didn't do it. I was scared. I learned it young and I learned it well: 

Keep your fat trap shut when the priest is talking.

But I kind of wish I'd forgotten that on Friday, 

because I think it would have been nice to be a little Baptist for 15 minutes or so.

They have a passion that Catholics have but don't share in the same way.

I've been blessed to have so few Fridays in my life.

Maybe not even any in comparison to the struggles of others.

Maybe more like Thursday evenings...

But hearing that sermon made me so excited about the one long ongoing Sunday that is my life.

And particularly about this Easter Sunday.

If you think (possibly a little too hard) about it, you could pretty easily fit childbirth into the 'Sunday's Coming' metaphor. It's not easy, it's not fun, it can seem like it's never going to end... but Sunday's Coming.

We have so many fun and exciting things planned for later today and I can't wait to celebrate for the first time with all four of my sweet little Sundays.

Happy Easter Everyone!

Sunday's Here!

Sneak Preview of what my kids will be seeing when they get up this morning:

We're trying a super fun Puzzle Hunt this year!

Each of the kids has a little basket or something similar stuck on the "Easter Tree" (don't ask.)

Each basket contains a couple of the pieces to the almost-finished puzzles.

Logan's is the Madagascar, Julianne's is the Franklin, and Corinne's is the Little People.

Wish us luck!

The hunt for the egg-stra-special egg begins.
This is the only egg on the tree that actually has something in it.
I'll probably just have the kids point to different eggs and try to guess which one it is.
Otherwise I'll be cleaning egg shrapnel out of my carpet for a week.

Some shoes and "crowns" and stuff ready and waiting for church in the morning.

Decorated eggs chillin' on the kiddie table.

Kiddie Table: Aerial View

And now... the egg-citing conclusion of...
The Broken Egg Mystery!
The kids were doing egg-tremely well with
handling the fragile eggs properly until...
they finished decorating and I told them it was time to
put them away in the refrigerator until tomorrow.
Corinne did not handle the announcement well,
responding by flying into a fit of fury and pounding
the helpless egg against the table.
To be fair though, she is only 1 and clearly what she thought
she was doing was just pounding her fist in anger
because I'm pretty sure she was the only person
at the table who was surprised to see that the shell was broken.
Oh well, there's always n-eggxt year :)