"So, Mommy did God die?" The question came from the backseat, from five-year-old Finny, early morning, on our way to the YMCA. I had one and a half cups of coffee in me, and still felt like I could easily take a nap if given the opportunity.
"No, God will never die. But, Jesus died and then three days later he rose from the dead."
"How did Jesus die?"
"Well, some people killed him." Lame, incomplete answer. He's five. How much do I say?
"Why would they kill Jesus? He's the best!"
"Because they didn't agree with what he was saying."
"I'm gonna kill those people!"
"Well, Jesus wouldn't want you to do that. He would want you to forgive them. Remember that song we sing, Amazing Grace? Well, grace means that even bad guys get forgiven. Even when you do something very wrong, if you ask God, He will forgive you. That's how much He loves you."
"So, Jesus is alive now?"
"Yes, he's alive and he rose up to heaven to be with God."
"So if God is his father, is God Joseph?"
"That's a great question. You know how God took a piece of me and a piece of Daddy to make you? Well, God took a piece of Mary and a piece of God to make Jesus and then, Joseph acted like his father on Earth, while God was his father in heaven." I realized how unbelievable it was as I said it.
"That's confusing."
"Yeah, it is confusing."
"So, where is Jesus now?"
"He's in heaven with God."
"Will we die?"
"Yes, we'll die and then we get to live in heaven with God and Jesus."
"Is heaven on Earth?"
"No, it's better than Earth."
"I can't wait to see God, but why do I have to wear a dress in heaven?"
"What do you mean?"
"At school when we see pictures of angels, they have dresses on."
"Oh, well, I'm not sure what you'll wear in heaven, but I bet you don't have to wear a dress if you don't want to."
"Oh, ok."
And then before we could go any further, "Let's stop talking about this." It came from three-year-old Charlie, who was trying to follow the tangled ball of string I was unwinding.
"Yeah, we can stop talking about this. The most important thing is that you know God loves you very much and he forgives you."
Small morning. Big questions. And my answers always seemed to sell it short. It sounded ridiculous. It sounded like fiction. Man born from God, dies and rises from the dead, loves the people who killed him, expects us to try and do the same.
It sounded implausible to me...how did it sound to a five-year-old?
Every year, I grieve at Lent. I cry when the cock crows. I cringe at the beating, the blood, the thorns, the nail holes. It's so violent and horrifying. Too gory for me, let alone a child. I hang my head when I hear, "My God, why have you forsaken me?" I feel the disappointment, the anguish, the suffering of my God who was man who teaches a greater love than we, small and flawed, seem capable of.
And I wonder, as I describe it, did this really happen? Did this man really rise? Did these miracles really happen? Did this story, passed down and translated over and over again like a giant, centuries' old game of telephone, really happen the way we proclaim it?
I give my fiction-sounding answers like fact to Finny, who absorbs them and accepts them and begins to form his own belief.
And I have no proof. I concede that it doesn't make sense, that it is, in fact, confusing, that it could very well be misinterpreted, misconstrued.
And yet, this incredibly implausible story fills me, makes my cup run over. I have no proof and yet against all my arguments to the contrary, I believe. I weep. I fill with light.
God came down to earth as Jesus. He spoke his truth about love, forgiveness, and compassion. He was persecuted, died and was buried. And on the third day, he rose again and ascended into heaven to be seated at the right hand of the Father.
And at the end of the story, just like Finny, I often have more questions than answers and yet I come back to hear the story again and again because I'm struck by the hope behind its implausibility. That even if I placed the nail, even if I hammered it in, even if I crucified my God, His love is greater than my sin. His embrace is bigger than all of my disbelief. And I don't need any more proof than the way my heart fills when he holds me in the palm of his hand.
As implausible as it sounds, nothing feels more real than that.
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