You Don’t Get to Say “Happy Easter” Like That

Earlier this morning, Donald Trump posted an Easter message laced with rage and scapegoating. I won’t repost it here. It weaponized faith—to divide, to fearmonger, to dehumanize.

I won’t meet that with more noise. Instead, I’m choosing to respond the way Easter asks us to:

Not with power, but with presence.
Not with fury, but with something quieter—and stronger.

This is what I wrote in return.

You Don’t Get to Say “Happy Easter” Like That

You don’t get to say Happy Easter
after a list like that.

After spitting venom with a smile,
after wrapping barbed wire in a bow
and calling it a blessing.

Easter isn’t a weapon.
It’s not a podium or a punchline.
It’s not a wall.
It’s a stone rolled away
so the forgotten ones could rise.

The table was set for sinners,
for doubters,
for the ones who ran.
Not for the loudest voice in the room
shouting “Me first!”

The miracle wasn’t thunder.
It was stillness.

It was a body broken
and a love that said,
“I see you—even now.”

You talk about criminals.
He dined with them.
You scream about borders.
He crossed every one.
You hoard power.
He gave it away.

You use His name
to divide and condemn.
But He used it to whisper,
Forgive them. They don’t know.

So maybe start there.

Not with blame,
but with bread.

Not with fear,
but with a hand open wide.

Not with vengeance,
but with the quiet truth—
that even you are loved.
Even now. Even still.

If this moved you, I hope you’ll share it—not for attention, but because grace needs a louder echo than fear. Let’s remind the world what Easter really means.

Feel free to repost, quote, or pass it on—softly, steadily, widely.