Woman covering her face with one hand and one fist raised above her head, kneeling beside the entrance of a tomb. Lettering that says "fuck you." underneath the image.
Artwork by Grace Park. Colored pencil, pen, & ink. 2019

Today’s Reading

“Then the disciples went back to their homes. But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb.” John 20:10-11a

a lie
simply a lie.
it draws its strength from belief.
stop believing
what hurts you.

– power

Nayyirah Waheed


It is Easter morning and the world is broken. Alleluia.

It is Easter morning and we have been told a lie: The crucifixion of a christ was a necessary injustice. Alleluia.

It is Easter morning and the resurrection, in all of its glorious Love, has not erased the sting of death. Alleluia.

It is Easter morning, and still, it is impossible to believe. Alleluia.

Alleluia, alleluia.


The church fed me lies by the spoonful.

“You are, at your very core, evil.” (No. I am called very, very good.)

“Your soul is in need of saving.” (I am so much more than a soul. I am also a body and a mind, and all of me has a right to safety.)

“All it takes to be saved is belief and this is the only thing that matters.” (What are you saving me from? You cannot tell me that my life does not matter.)

“Lack of belief means a lack of faith.” (And what if my faith compels me to ground myself in the disbelief that injustice must be perpetuated?)

“The worst thing you could possibly do is to not believe.” (The worst thing I could do is to believe these lies.)

“Easter is the culmination of Christianity. The work has already been done.” (Then why does my heart still hurt? Why do people continue to die from the ignorance of others? Why does the earth bleed from our unwillingness to change?)

Fuck this shit.

I am like Mary, weeping at the tomb. I refuse to believe the lies. I am caught in my tears and anger and lament for all the ways that christs are constantly being crucified.

The women christs.
The queer christs.
The christs of color.
The imprisoned christs.
The refugee christs.
The christs with mental illness.
The Muslim christs.
The transgender christs.
The christs with disabilities.
The impoverished christs.
The christ in me.

I am like Mary, weeping at the tomb. I refuse to leave my unbelief. This is not the way it is supposed to be. While others resign themselves and walk away, I remain. I will not leave until all christs are resurrected. Until we rise again on Easter morning.

Easter is protest. Resurrection is the biggest Fuck You ever given. Today is a summoning into unbelief. Refuse to believe you are less than. Refuse to believe there is no way out. Refuse to believe whatever lies you were told. Refuse to believe your body matters less than your soul. Refuse to believe there is anything that can move you away from the arms of Love. Refuse to believe injustice need persist. Refuse to believe a christ must be killed. Refuse to believe death has the final say.

She is risen.
He is risen.
They are risen.
We are risen.

We are risen, indeed.
Alleluia, alleluia.


  • Amy (she/her) is one semester away from completing an M.A. in Counseling in Kansas City, where she lives with her husband and two kids. She is a proud Episcopalian, passionate about issues of race, sexuality, reproductive justice, and mental health, an occasional blogger at www.amyecongdon.com, an Oregonian at heart, and quite possibly Madeleine L’Engle’s biggest fan.

  • Grace (she/her/hers) is a senior, studying Secondary Education English at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana, but her heart for people extends beyond the high-school classroom into the arts. Grace is a musician/song-writer (@over.whelmedbygrace), aspiring to decolonize worship music as a Korean-American in the Church, through theology and practice.