Good Friday

Today we have a series of 14 videos that are meant to be viewed in succession. They alternate between readings from the Gospel According to Luke and musical selections. Our hope is that together, they might help lead you into a contemplative time of worship as we consider the great sacrifice of our Savior.

In His Cross I Glory

Words and Music by Tricia Walker

In the cross of Christ I glory,

There for all was grace made free.

None deserving, yet receiving

Life through death a Calvary.

In the cross of Christ I glory,

Not in power, wealth or fame.

In the cross sin’s curse is broken

For the sake of Jesus’ name.

For the sake of Jesus’ name.

© Copyright 1986 WORD MUSIC (a div. of WORD, INC.). All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured.CCLI # 594962

Beautiful Scandalous Night

Words by Steve Hindalong, Music by David Daugherty

1. Go on up to the mountain of mercy,

To the crimson perpetual tide.

Kneel down on the shore,

Be thirsty no more,

Go under and be purified.

2. Follow Christ to the holy mountain,

Sinner, sorry and wrecked by the fall.

Cleanse your heart and your soul

In the fountain that flows

For you and for me and for all.

Refrain: At the wonderful, tragic, mysterious tree,

On that beautiful, scandalous night you and me

Were atoned by His blood and forever washed white;

On that beautiful, scandalous night.

3. On the hillside you will be delivered,

At the foot of the cross, justified,

And your spirit restored

By the river that pours

From our blessed Savior's side.


Repeat Verse One


© 1991, 1992 Glasshouse Records.  Manufactured and Distributed by Word, Inc., 5221 N. O'Connor Blvd. Irving, TX 75039.  CCLI # 594962.

Maker of the Universe

Words by F.W. Pitt

Music by Phil Keaggy



The Maker of the universe

As Man, for man was made a curse.

The claims of Law, which He had made,

Unto the uttermost He paid.


His holy fingers made the bough

Which grew the thorns that crowned His brow.

The nails that pierced His hands were mined

In secret places He designed.


He made the forest whence there sprung

The tree on which His body hung.

He died upon a cross of wood,

Yet made the hill on which it stood.


The sky that darkened o’er His head

By Him above the earth was spread.

The sun that hid from Him its face

By His decree was poised in space.


The spear, which spilled His precious blood,

Was tempered in the fires of God.

The grave in which His form was laid

Was hewn of rocks His hands had made.


The throne on which He now appears

Was His from everlasting years;

But a new glory crowns His brow,

And every knee to Him shall bow.


The Maker of the universe.

The Maker of the universe.

The Maker of the universe.

 © 1986 Marguerite Music (ASCAP).  CCLI # 594962

When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

Words by Isaac Watts, 1707, 1709

Traditional English Melody


When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.


Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God:
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.


See, from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down:
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?


Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

How Deep the Father’s Love for Us

Words and Music by Stuart Townend



How deep the Father's love for us,

How vast beyond all measure,

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure.

How great the pain of searing loss,

The Father turns His face away,

As wounds which mar the Chosen One

Bring many sons to glory.


Behold, the man upon a cross,

My sin upon His shoulders;

Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice

Call out among the scoffers.

It was my sin that held Him there

Until it was accomplished;

His dying breath has brought me life;

I know that it is finished.


I will not boast in anything,

No gifts, no pow'r, no wisdom;

But I will boast in Jesus Christ,

His death and resurrection.

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer,

But this I know with all my heart,

His wounds have paid my ransom.

© Copyright 1995 Kingsway's Thankyou Music.  ARR. UBP.

CCLI #594962

My God, My God, O Why Have You Forsaken Me?


From Psalm 22:1-10, 25

Traditional English Melody



My God, my God, O why have you forsaken me?  O why

Are you so far from giving help and from my groaning cry?

By day and night, my God, I call; your answer still delays.

And yet you are the Holy One who dwells in Israel’s praise.


Our fathers put their trust in you; from you their rescue came.

They begged you and you set them free; they were not put to shame.

But as for me, I am a worm and not a man at all.

To men I am despised and base; their scornings on me fall.


All those who look at me will laugh and cast reproach at me.

Their mouths they open wide; they wag their heads in mockery:

“The Lord was his reliance once; now see what God will send.

Yes, let God rise and set him free, this man that was his friend.”


You took me from my mother’s womb to safety at the breast.

Since birth when I was cast on you, in you, my God, I rest.

When I proclaim my praise of you, then all the church will hear,

And I will pay my vows in full where men hold him in fear.




From The Book of Psalms for Singing, 1973

Tune from the English Hymnal, 1906

CCLI # 594962

O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

Words by Bernard of Clairvaux, 1091-1153

Translated by Paul Gerhardt, 1656

Translated by James W. Alexander, 1830

Music by Hans Leo Hassler, 1601



O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down;
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
O sacred Head, what glory, what bliss ‘til now was Thine!
Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine.


What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered was all for sinners’ gain:

Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!  ’Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.


What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this, Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

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Maundy Thursday

Click here for lyrics to today's music.


Click here for lyrics to today's music.