Resurrection in the Age of Outrage
Easter lessons for a nation teetering on the edge—and why I still have hope
Hey friends,
First off, Happy Easter to all of you who celebrate. Whether you’ve been here since day one or just recently joined this little Substack community, I’m truly grateful you’re here. We may not always agree, but we show up—thoughtful, curious, even angry sometimes—and that’s something rare these days. It’s a kind of fellowship in the best sense of the word. So thank you.
Now, I know not everyone here shares my Christian faith, and I deeply respect that. The strength of this community lies in its diversity—not just of backgrounds and beliefs, but of perspectives. So when I talk about Easter, I don’t expect everyone to receive it the same way. Still, I think there are some universal lessons we can all draw from the season, regardless of where you land spiritually.
Easter is, at its heart, a story about a savior that loves us, but also broadly about redemption. About sacrifice. About the triumph of hope over despair. It’s not about some glossy, pastel-covered illusion of perfection. It’s about pain and betrayal, injustice and fear—and the insistence that, even in the face of all of that, something better is possible.
Sound familiar?
Look around at the political environment we’re living in. The outrage economy is booming. Outlandish lies are sold as truth. People who stand for integrity are treated like enemies. Extremism isn’t creeping in anymore—it’s holding the microphone and selling merch. And if you’ve tried to stay sane through all of it, maybe you’ve felt like giving up a few times. I know I have, often actually.
But here’s the thing about Easter: it reminds us that the darkest moments aren’t the final word. That sometimes, when the whole world looks like it’s falling apart, that’s exactly when something new can be born. Not easily, and not without cost. But born nonetheless.
So here are a few Easter lessons I’m carrying into this wild moment in American history:
Truth matters, even when it costs you. Pilate asked, “What is truth?” and then washed his hands. That question still echoes in our politics. But truth isn’t optional. It’s foundational. And it’s worth fighting for—even when it means standing alone.
Resurrection doesn’t come without suffering. Progress, reconciliation, healing—none of that happens without pain. But the pain isn’t the end of the story.
Community is powerful. Jesus didn’t rise and then go live in solitude on a mountaintop. He returned to his people. He reminded them what love looks like. That’s our job too, especially when the noise of division gets deafening.
As we move into another election season that promises more chaos, more fearmongering, and more tests of our moral clarity, I want to leave you with this: Don’t lose heart. Don’t give in to cynicism. Don’t think your voice doesn’t matter.
The insanity may be loud—but it’s not permanent.
Change comes because people decide it’s time to build again. To speak up. To care more about country than party. To see the humanity in the people they disagree with.
Easter tells us that even when all seems lost, there is still a path to hope.
Let’s walk it together.
With gratitude and belief in better days,
Adam


Thank you Adam. I am proud of all of us for choosing not to be like Pilate and wash our hands when we see cruelty and unfairness. This year Easter has meant a lot more than usual to me. Seeing people choose to spend their holiday weekend out protesting injustices felt very appropriate 💐💕
Adam, this is precisely the balm we need right now. You’ve reminded us that Easter isn’t a sugar‑coated truce with reality but a rallying cry: even the darkest betrayals and the deepest wounds can give way to renewal, in a political climate that prizes outrage over honesty, your insistence that “truth matters, even when it costs you” cuts through the noise like a beacon.
I especially love your point about community—that resurrection isn’t a solo act. It’s a reminder that none of us can weather this storm alone. When you talk about returning to our people, you’re challenging us to rebuild solidarity brick by brick: sharing uncomfortable truths, listening across divides, and refusing to let cynicism win.
So here’s to refusing Pilate’s hand‑washing. Here’s to leaning into the discomfort of standing up, speaking out, and insisting that our better angels guide us forward. The chaos may roar, but as you say, change only blooms when we choose hope over fear—and walk that path together. Thank you for leading us toward better days.