The Cross Before Sunday

A voice cries out in barren land, "Prepare the way, make straight the sand." For our God comes, a highway clear, to conquer doubt, to calm all fear. But in this calling, what do we find? A different path for humankind. To be the first, to rise above? Instead, to serve with selfless love.

Oh, the glory found in lowest place, A servant's heart, a humble grace. The cross before the Sunday light, Prepares the way, makes wrong things right. We walk this road, a gentle call, To be a servant, slave to all.

A mother came, with hopeful plea, "Let my two sons sit next to Thee! One at Your right, one at Your left, From worldly power, none bereft." She saw the crown, not the cup of pain, The king's decree, not humble reign. "You do not know what you request," He said, "The cost of greatness, lies ahead."

Can you drink the cup? Can you face the tide? The baptism deep, where burdens hide? Through desert sands, a shaping hand, A pruning fire across the land. Humiliation's bitter taste, To find true strength in the humble place. A costly race, a work divine, To make our hearts reflect Your design. The cross before the Sunday dawn, The servant's path, we journey on.

Oh, the glory found in lowest place, A servant's heart, a humble grace. The cross before the Sunday light, Prepares the way, makes wrong things right. We walk this road, a gentle call, To be a servant, slave to all.

Just a servant, day by day... On this desert road, we humbly pray. To make the highway straight and true, Serving others, serving You.