Easter Time used to mean a lot to me. I was once a Christian. I would pray every day and I believed in a creator, the Lord. I felt pain when I imagined the journey of Christ as he carried the cross, just a man who was burdened with all of our sin. The son of God. The one who had been sent as a saviour, to teach us all and to inspire. I would imagine him stumbling in exhaustion, beaten, thirsty, in pain. The crowd watching, soldiers kicking him, officials indifferent to his religious importance, the wealthy and commoner screaming, yelling, tormenting him. As he fell, I imagined a beggar going...
















