I struggle with Easter, but I know why it's important
Sacred to Somebody, April 2025
I don’t know what happens after a person dies.
Including that man we call Jesus, whom they say God raised from the dead. I’m suspicious of anyone who says they know what (if anything) is in store for us beyond this earthly life.
So, in that sense, I will never be an Easter Christian.
But even if it’s all make believe, I can see why it’s important.
When their hero was executed by the Roman Empire, the followers of Jesus probably had a number of reactions: shock, rage, heartbroken despair, fear, disbelief, and…for some significant portion of them…a stubborn refusal to let that be the end of his story.
We don’t know if the tale of the empty tomb was a complete fabrication, but after a certain point, it doesn’t matter. Enough people believed in it that it became real. Or, at least, it became real enough to give them the power they needed to carry on.
Trump knows the power of Easter, and he has absolutely no problem with making shit up.
Here is a man who was thoroughly beaten in his first bid for reelection, fomented a failed coup, was twice impeached while president and then convicted of 34 counts of felony, (and may face more later). And yet, his jail cell sits empty. Instead of serving time, he is serving his second term as President of the United States of America.
I mean, if that’s not a political resurrection, what is?
He and his followers believed enough in the lie of Trump’s victory that they eventually brought it about in reality. (Well, them and the billionaires who were betting that a second Trump term would mean even more tax cuts for them.)
But he’s not the only one with a stubborn hope in the impossible.
Even in my small, deeply red state of Iowa,1 there is a growing and persistent resistance to Trump and his attempt to become an American Emperor. One small example: every Tuesday, across the street from the Federal courthouse in downtown Cedar Rapids, protestors line the street as a reminder that they will not let Trump’s early wins be the end of our story.
As more and more people come to realize that this administration is doing its best to rapidly dismantle everything they depend on—and as they feel the pain of that realization—they are beginning to speak up.
Town hall meetings are becoming increasingly uncomfortable for our current elected officials. “What are you actually doing to stop this?” people want to know. And they’re seeing that their Republican representatives have no good answers.
My mom tells me that even in the solidly Trump-supporting territory of rural southern Iowa, a growing number of people are beginning to say things like, “Well, I didn’t know he was going to do all this!”
I’m not quite sure how they voted for him without suspecting he would make good on any of his stated plans. Did they just think he was too incompetent to follow through? Were they so sexist/racist that they felt like even an incompetent, criminal liar was better than a nonWhite woman as president? I can’t pretend to understand their thinking. But I’m glad that some of them are starting to see the error of their ways.
Easter is not a one-time phenomenon.
In the Christian calendar, the entire story of Jesus is repeated every year. His birth through his radical ministry; his challenge to the power structures of his day, which led to his death; his empty tomb and resurrection; and then the Holy Spirit empowering the rise of the early church.
Even those of us who don’t believe in the supernatural elements of that story, and who question many practices of the institutional church, could benefit from a similar practice. When we’re down and out, we can remind ourselves that all is not lost. The sun will keep rising, and what seems impossible today may not actually be too far off.
Another reason for retelling the holy stories of resistance: to remind ourselves that everyone has a part to play. Some of us will be heroes. Some of us will do nothing more remarkable than brushing the coat of the donkey Jesus rode into Jerusalem. Every one of us makes a difference, so long as we choose to participate.
It’s important to believe in something. Even if you can’t prove it will work out in the end. Belief has a way of becoming action, and those actions can add up to a wave that turns the tide. So how about this time, instead of letting the billionaire fascists think they’ve written the ending, we start embodying our own easter story. And then let’s repeat it: again and again and again and again.
Some people may debate our status as a red state. For most of my life, Iowa sat squarely in the middle politically. People here prided themselves on pragmatic moderation. Neither party controlled enough of the state that it could ignore the opposition. Those days are gone (for now). With a Republican Governor and a Republican majority in both state houses, plus Republicans serving as both our senators and all our congressional representatives in Washington, we can safely be called a red state.