On that hour the sun darkened, the clouds loomed, the rocks split, and the whole of creation groaned.
Becuase the Creator died.
On that day, men knew regret, mothers knew grief, children saw cruelty, and no one saw hope.
Because Jesus was being murdered.
In that moment, true loneliness took on form, unrivalled pain was known, and eternal fellowship was broken.
Because the sinless became sin, and the Holy One could not bear to look on Him.
On that day all hope seemed lost, all joy placed beyond reach, all courage drained out of the hearts of men.
Because, it seemed it had all been a lie.
On that day, in that hour, it could not possibly have gotten worse. It was the darkest day in history. The cruelest hour of humanity. The most hopeless moment of all time.
Sin, when it has born its fruit brings forth death.
But on Sunday . . .
On Sunday Jesus, maker of all things, defated death.
On Sunday, death died.