Laid in a borrowed tomb,

awaiting the sign of Jonah -

the only sign that would be given to His generation -

that after three days and nights in the womb of the earth,

the belly of the fish, the grave and hell,

He would come forth to do His Father’s will -

Jesus the humble Son of God,

the exultant Son of Man,

the eternal contradiction,

the Blessed One.

The end is not yet.

Weeping endures for a night,

but joy comes in the morning.

 

The good news – ‘He is risen’ –

will burst on the Son-rise.

 

Therefore with joy shall we draw water

out of the wells of salvation.

When all is dark,

and Hope is buried,

it is hard to trust His words that promised,

before the pain:

He died that I might live.

He died that I might live.

 

In His death is my birth.

He died that I might live.

He died that I might live.

 

In His life is my life.

He died that I might live.

He died that I might live.

 

My Jesus! He died that I might live.

He died that I might live.