If I were the Devil, I wouldn’t destroy Easter—I’d simply replace it.

I wouldn’t wage war against the resurrection—I’d just distract from it. I wouldn’t argue about theology or try to convince the world that Jesus didn’t rise—I’d just make sure no one had time to care.

I would start small. A little bunny here, a few painted eggs there. Nothing too alarming, just enough to soften the edges. I’d turn the focus away from an empty tomb and onto full baskets. Away from a blood-stained cross and onto pastel-colored candies. I wouldn’t need to deny the truth, I’d just drown it in chocolate and sugar.

I’d make Easter about something else—about family, about springtime, about brunch. None of these things are bad, of course. That’s the trick. They’re good. Pleasant. Harmless. But harmless things, when given first place, become the very things that harm the most.

I would make people comfortable. Not convicted. I’d fill their calendars with egg hunts and their hands with candy, so they have no room left to grasp the weight of grace. I’d make Easter so busy that the resurrection became an afterthought. A nice story. A nod in the direction of faith, but nothing that lingers too long or changes too much.

I’d make it all about a feeling, not a fact. A season, not a Savior. A holiday, not a holy day.

And when Easter Sunday comes and goes, I’d watch with satisfaction as the crosses are put away, the hymns fade into silence, and life goes on as usual. No transformation. No trembling. No awe. Just another day, another tradition, another celebration emptied of its meaning.

If I were the devil, I wouldn’t take Easter from you.

I’d just make you forget why it mattered in the first place.