David Phelps - End Of The Beginning Lyrics
Lyrics
I was takin' a trip on a plane the other day
Just wishing that I could get out.
When the man next to me saw the book in my hand
And asked me what it was about.
So I settled back in my seat-
"A best seller," I said.
"A history, a mystery in one."
And then I opened up the book and began to read
From Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
He was born of a virgin one holy night
In the little town of Bethlehem.
Angels gathered round him underneath the stars
Singing praises to the great I Am.
He walked on the water, healed the lame and made the blind to see again.
And for the first time here on earth we learned that God could be a friend.
And though he never ever did a single thing wrong
The angry crowd chose him. And then he walked down the road
And died on the cross and that was the end of the beginning.
"That's not a new book that's a bible," he said, "and I've heard it all before.
I've tried religion- its shame and guilt and I don't need it anymore.
It's superstition, made up tales and just to help the weak to survive."
"Let me read it again," I said, "listen closely, 'cause this is gonna change your life.
He was born of a virgin one holy night
In the little town of Bethlehem.
Angels gathered round him underneath the stars
Singing praises to the great I Am.
He walked on the water, healed the lame and made the blind to see again.
And for the first time here on earth we learned that God could be a friend.
And though he never ever did a single thing wrong
The angry crowd chose him. And then he walked down the road
And died on the cross and that was the end of the beginning.
"The end of the beginning," he said with a smile.
"What more could there be? He's dead.
You said they hung him, put nails in His hands
And a crown of thorns on His head."
I said, "I'll read it again but this time there's more,
And I believe that this is true.
His death wasn't the end, the beginning of life
That's completed in you.
Don't you see he did all this for you!"
He was born of a virgin one holy night
In the little town of Bethlehem
All the angles singing praises to the great I am
He walked on the water, healed the lame,
And made the blind to see
(And for the first time here on earth)
Did you know that God could be a friend.
Tho He never ever did a single thing wrong,
He was the one the crowd chose.
Then he walked and he died but
Three days later
Three days later
Three days later
He rose!
Three days later he rose!
You see he came, he lived, and he died.
But that was the end of the beginning.
Video
Bill & Gloria Gaither - End of the Beginning [Live] ft. David Phelps
Meaning & Inspiration
I sat here this morning with a cup of coffee that had gone cold, leafing through David Phelps’ "End of the Beginning." There’s a line in there that kept scratching at the back of my mind: “And for the first time here on earth we learned that God could be a friend.”
It’s easy to say that when you’re young, when the knees don't ache and the house is full of noise. But when you’ve hit eighty, and you’ve buried friends who knew your secrets, and your own body feels like an old house with a foundation that’s settling a bit too much into the dirt—well, "friend" starts to carry a heavier weight.
Most folks treat God like a judge or a boss. They look at the "history and mystery" Phelps talks about like it’s a manual on how not to get fired from existence. But friendship? Friendship implies presence. It implies that He’s sitting right there in the passenger seat when the road gets narrow and the map makes no sense. I think back to the times I’ve been truly afraid—not the polite, Sunday-morning kind of fear, but the kind that wakes you at 3:00 a.m. with your heart thumping against your ribs like a trapped bird. In those hours, a judge doesn’t help much. You need a friend who knows the silence.
Phelps sings about the "end of the beginning." I think about that every time I sit in the pew. People talk about the cross as if it’s a punctuation mark, the final period at the end of a sentence. But if you’ve lived long enough, you know that the most painful things in life are rarely the end of anything. They are usually just the start of a long, quiet unraveling.
The gospel of Mark tells us about the women going to the tomb, expecting the end, expecting the decay of a life they loved. They brought spices. They brought their grief, fully formed and ready to be set down. They weren't looking for a miracle; they were looking for closure.
We spend so much of our lives looking for closure. We want the story to finish so we can stop worrying about the plot. But that’s the rub, isn’t it? The middle of the story is where the friendship is actually tested. It’s where you have to hold onto the truth that the grave wasn't a dead-end street but a doorway.
When the lights go out, I don’t need a theological lecture. I don’t need the fancy, high-reaching notes Phelps can hit. I just need to know if the Man who walked that dusty road is still the Man who sits with me when I’m too tired to pray. If He rose, then the friendship holds. If He didn't, then it’s all just noise. I’ve lived long enough to bet my last breath that He did. It’s not about the resolution of the story; it’s about who stays in the room once the book is closed.