I would love it if my memories were more like memories are in the movies. Movie flashbacks are whole scenes brought to life. Events replayed from different camera angles; close-ups for really special details or slow-motion shots to enhance dramatic effect. And in movies, memories are always rich and eventful and, usually, in order.

My memories, though? Their production value is abysmal. Everything is blurry. I never get a full scene. I’m lucky to get a quick flash of hours of filming all spliced together. Everything is jumbled. Sometimes I can’t even locate the memory I’m searching for – “We’re having trouble playing this title right now. Please try again later.”

What I would like to remember right now are some of my childhood Easter mornings. Sure, I can look back at pictures, but they just show children all grinning with their Easter baskets and then dressed for church. I want to remember the in-between part. The part where my parents, mostly Mom, corralled three excited children past the candy and into those Easter outfits and then into place for pictures. The part where we rushed out the door and headed to church to be there 15 minutes early because otherwise Dad thought we were late.

And then if I could remember the Sunday school teachers. I attended the same church – same congregation, same building – for my entire childhood. I feel like I could be put into that building blindfolded and still find my way around every square inch, but the actual memories of those classes…well, not so much. I know I had some great teachers, though, because I remember so many stories. And all the books of the Bible. One or more of those teachers must have printed those names directly on my brain, because I can not forget them. Memory is funny that way.

I would especially like to remember the first time I heard the story of the crucifixion and resurrection. Or more precisely, remember the first time I understood what those words meant. We had communion every week, so I’m guessing I heard the phrase, “death, burial, and resurrection,” approximately 1,003,014 times in my childhood. But when did I first understand what those words were actually saying? When did I first understand what I was being asked to believe?

A baby was born into this world, like millions and billions before, and like millions and billions after. But this baby was different from all of those others because this baby was God. He grew up in a tiny town. He lived his entire life without ever traveling outside a tiny region of the world. He spent a few years in ministry, performing miracles and telling people that he had come to redeem the world that he had created. He eventually made some people so fearful and angry that they convinced the ruling regime that he was too dangerous to remain alive. So he was killed by crucifixion, the brutal fashion of the day. And his body was buried, like millions and billions before, and like millions and billions after.

But he did not remain there. He walked out of that grave, and the timeline of humanity changed for all eternity.

When did I first understand that what I was being asked to believe went against all reason? Went against all knowledge that humanity had accumulated throughout history, throughout all of those other millions and billions of lifetimes? I would love to remember the first time I realized, but I cannot recall. I cannot remember when I first held the story at arm’s-length and really examined it.

I do remember the last time, though. It was as I sat here typing, thinking about the story of Jesus, trying to describe it in the plainest of terms, the most bare and yet audacious collection of events. Do I really believe that story? Do I really believe it enough to make that story the foundation of my life?

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.” John 11:25-27

I believe that you are the resurrection and the life. I believe in Jesus Christ, and him crucified. And that belief changes everything. Of course it changes everything. Of course it becomes the foundation of life.

I don’t remember the first time I heard the story. I don’t remember the first time I understood and believed the story. Maybe you do. Maybe you can remember. But the important part is, we know it now. 

Happy Easter to you all.