Many people celebrate Easter with bright colors, family dinners, and posts that say “He is risen.” But what if you don’t feel that joy? What if you’re not even sure you believe anymore?

I wrote this piece as a personal letter—a poem—to Jesus.
It’s not polished theology. It’s raw honesty.
And maybe that’s what faith needs sometimes.

When Jesus Feels Distant

If Jesus Christ is real, we should be able to communicate with him. But it’s all theory. People say they ‘feel inspired’ by him—even I do.

I don’t hate Jesus. But I don’t know how to follow someone I can’t find.

It’s extremely difficult for me to feel sincere or believing when I attend Christian denominations or different churches. Sometimes it feels like everyone else is pretending better than me.

Because of Easter, and seeing everyone say “Happy Easter,” I decided to write how I really feel.

There’s no man I know that I could write and ask more about Jesus. But if Jesus was real—if he is real—I could certainly write to him.

A Letter to Jesus

So instead of praying, I wrote a letter.
Maybe that’s the only way I can be honest.

Dear Jesus:

What can science not explain? You. And perhaps it someday will.

Logic errs and time erases long-held theories, religious beliefs, and the wisdom of Solomon.

The advancement of human civilization seems a reoccurring miracle—or tragedy—I cannot tell.

‘God,’ or the spirit that carries wisdom and knowledge, seems to take ahold of men in all different places, belief systems, and religions.

But more, it seems to strengthen those people’s belief systems, no matter how illogical they might be.

Why is Christianity not also in that class? Is Christianity defensible solely on a logical stance,

Or is it mysterious and intangible, and with it accompanies the same wisdom and spirit of other religions?

Is not the application of your wisdom, whether it be turning the other cheek or returning good for evil— far more beneficial than the unsubstantiated grasp on a mysterious being?

Doubt and Faith

They say you walked on water,
Conquered all my sins
But I feel left without a father—
A silence deeper than the winds.

Was it you that saw my sorrow?
Bitterness that broke my soul?
Or is religion blinding, borrowed
Hope I’ve clung to just feel whole?

A bygone Savior they remember.
I cannot sing a sailed-on song.
But my heart is still an ember,
Flickering where you might belong.

Jesus, how can I forget you?
All the good and bad you’ve done.
As a warrior, I fought for you—
But the war was never won.

Did you tear my heart in passing?
Weren’t all my youthful thoughts to you?
Cherished memories, now harassing—
What was pure now feels untrue.

They said ten thousand trumpets sound soon.
All I hear is silent plea.
Is reality a veiled monsoon,
Or just your voice forsaking me?

If you saved me from the ocean
Or from storms of deep despair—
Why do I still feel so broken,
Calling out to empty air?

Thank you is my silent token.
Jesus, don’t forsake me now.
I’ve been cut, but not yet open,
Still reaching with a shattered vow.

Long, hard days are not rewarded.
Prayers are met with doubtful skies.
And though my faith feels worn, distorted—
I still search your hands for signs.

Reality was all I needed.
I thought you might be the circumference—
A quiet force, unseen, completed,
Encircling all I couldn’t sense.

Now all I ask is that all my labour,
Seeds I sowed in fertile ground,
Were not in vain, but held some favor—
That something sacred still be found.

Jesus, if there’s no one just like you,
Show me how to be a friend—
Not just in light, but through the shadows,
Even when the dark won’t end.

My heart cannot recoup its losses—
Is imagining you a better end?
A balm to soothe the pain it crosses,
Or just the ghost I call a friend?

Why I Wrote This

I don’t know if Jesus is listening. But I know I needed to write this. Not even to understand. Just to say what I couldn’t say out loud. Just to be heard, even if only by the silence.

You would also enjoy this article: The Tyranny Of The Moral Mind

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