For my "free write" exercise today, I decided to use the obvious inspiration. This is what I remember...won't swear it is the absolute truth, but it's as close as I can get.
My family did not go to church on Easter Sunday. It was too crowded and my father's parking spot would not be honored by those who didn't know it was his. He might not get his pew either...second row from the back and he did not want to do the "Meet & Greet" with hypocrites who showed up only for holidays. Rather than be rude and disgruntled, Easter was a day off. I was grateful because my parents thought Easter dresses were silly. "Just an excuse to show off."
My second grade Sunday School teacher explained Easter was about Jesus dying and then living again. I knew about this. "The same thing happened to my Uncle Walter." The teacher stood still for a moment. She smiled the trying-to-be-nice-when-you-want-to-yell smile and said I must be mistaken. I gave her my not-backing-down-because-I-am-right look I had mastered from dealing with two older brothers. "It's true. I heard my parents talking about it. You can ask my mother." My mother came to pick me up from class and was mortified. The car ride home was an interrogation of what I heard, when I heard it, how I misunderstood what I heard, and warnings about what happens to children with ears too big for their brains.
Maybe because of my promise to pay more attention and stop living in my dream world, I finally understood Jesus died on the cross. I had seen the pictures, but didn’t know why He was up there. He was killed because people who were like the police thought He did something bad, but they were wrong. His dead body was put in a cave and then, when no one was around he became alive again and escaped. He went to see friends and His mom, but He couldn’t stay because He was really dead and had to live in Heaven. He was good and loved everyone and so should we. That was Easter.
I didn’t know what bunnies had to do with any of this.