He said, ‘Light,” and the light came on.

    Just like that.

    Simple, for God.

 

And His face lit up.

And all of heaven must of noticed.

 

And God surely must have smiled, as he said “Good.” 

 

Day after day, God created.

    Stuff like the sky, the birds, the fish. Even a man.

    Carefully, he sculpted and fashioned and touched the days.

 

And at the end of every day he created, he looked back at his work,

    And he surely must have smiled, as he said, (right out loud so anyone could hear,)

 

“Good. This is good.”

 

No, there’s not a thing wrong with calling a day “good.” God’s done it, lots of times.

 

But Good Friday? I wonder?

 

    There’s not a lot of good things to be said about Good Friday.

    

    Not a good walk up Calvary.

    Not a good joke the soldiers were laughing at.

    Not a good crowd.

    

    The naked shame.

    The smell of blood.

    The dim and dark light.

    The sad, redemptive sight.

 

And God seemed to be at a total loss for words.

 

No pronouncement or announcement, ‘Let there be light,” on that day;

    The Light, after all, was dying out.

    

 

Who knew?

 

    All heaven wept. 

    All hell broke loose, cheering.

 

Even the light, which had been around since “In the beginning …” couldn’t bear to watch.

    Noon, and dark as ink or sin.

    Light must have seen that this scene was not ‘good.’

 

And then, that Voice splits the air:

 

    “My God, my God ….”

 

And Light died out.

And God said nothing at all, as the thunder spoke up.

 

Good God.

Good Friday.

 

Good?

No, not good.

 

Perfect.

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