“But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them.”
I was going through some old boxes recently and came across a letter from my dad that I’d saved. It was rare to get a personal letter from Dad; he typically used mail correspondence for things like car registrations or invoices. His letter contained a newspaper clipping of a brief article titled “the suspension of disbelief.” In his letter, Dad said, “I know that sometimes when you preach, you use the analogy of movies. I thought that the analogy of accepting faith much like you accept what you see in a movie was appropriate. PS enclosed is your new insurance card.”
The article begins with the premise that when we watch a movie, we know that what we see on screen is make believe. Superman isn’t really flying through the air, kids never actually go to bed without argument the first time you ask. We know it’s all an illusion or the story isn’t real, but if we don’t make the leap of faith to suspend our disbelief, we can never really enjoy the movie which often serves to help us escape the harsh realities of this world, and be transported to places where everything turns out OK in the end. Movies can sometimes be a way of giving us a little piece of heaven on earth.
It then makes the comparison to faith, and specifically, to believing in Jesus. Because truly believing in what Jesus taught and following in the way he lived can prove to be challenging. A person who seeks to secure their life in this world will lose it? But the person who refuses to be shackled to the supposedly desired things of this earth will gain happiness? The person who believes in him will live forever? After three days he will rise from the dead? Talk about asking for a willing suspension of your disbelief!
Now, I’m not certain that the unbelievable aspect of a movie is the same thing as the unbelievable aspect of faith. Because movies are things that we know for a fact aren’t real. And of course, with our faith, while we may not be able to prove it, we trust, we have faith, or maybe at least we hope, that there is truth in what we believe. We know that Jesus was a real historical figure, but as Christians we believe that he was also divine. That is a leap of faith. Believing what he taught us: that the meek will inherit the Earth, that showing mercy is the only test of a true neighbor, that no matter our sinfulness God always forgives and embraces the penitent, and that against all odds, God is always in the business of resurrection and new life: these are teachings that we believe to not just be nice words and ideas, but truth given to us from God.
And so while I might not agree with my dad that this analogy of Christian faith mirroring a cinematic suspension of disbelief is an appropriate one, I do think there is something to the idea that our faith requires grappling with what we find unbelievable.
There is already, right now, so much in this world that’s unbelievable. Misinformation and disinformation is rampant from fringe blogs all the way to the halls of our government. Politicians and pundits on both sides of the aisle skew facts to drive us toward the extremes of our outrage, creating a society where violence is now a feared result of disagreement. Legally protected residents of this country who have not been charged with any crimes are being disappeared from our streets without due process and sent off to what can only be described as concentration camps. Facts about our nation’s history of racist policies and the courageous people who rose up to oppose them are being erased from libraries, museums, and schools. There is unbelievable, unimaginable suffering in so many places, from Palestine to Sudan to Ukraine to places we’ll never hear about in our headlines. And on a day we celebrate the resurrection hope of Jesus, we lament that an unbelievable amount of harm and violence has been done and is still being done in Jesus’s name, as the heresy of Christian nationalism worships the golden calf of earthly power and domination: the same power and domination that Jesus continually rejected in his temptation by Satan in the wilderness, throughout his earthly ministry, and in his final hours of trial and crucifixion.
So when we consider the unbelievable evil and suffering around us, it is challenging at best to believe in who Jesus is and the transformative power of how he taught us to live. There is something about this faith in this Lord, that does require us to suspend our disbelief that through God, things could ever change for the better. To believe in Jesus as the resurrected Son of God is to hold on to the unbelievable idea that the evil, destructive powers and principalities of this world will not have the final say.
And so perhaps the most unbelievable thing we could consider is believing in a God who claims victory over certain death. That the loving and unifying power of Jesus is something more than a fool’s errand. There’s so much that’s unbelievable, it might be hard to believe that Jesus really could bring healing and salvation. It is much easier to believe, like the disciples, that it’s all an idle tale.
But what if we were the ones who believed it?
What if we believed, like Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and the other women at the tomb, in the possibility of good news? In the future promise of a healed world? In a world, like Isaiah promised, where the wolf would lie down with the lamb? A world where, like God, we too showed no partiality, where no one was oppressed, and all God’s children lived in justice, peace and dignity?
I know that this can sound a bit pollyanna, like wishful thinking, but there is a difference between wishful thinking and hope. We talk about resurrection hope because it is a choice we make, a way of living we practice, that is the only alternative to the world’s despair.
Today perhaps we look to these disciples to understand what that kind of faith and hope can look like. They saw the resurrected Jesus, and they saw the divine power that inspired the countless miracles of healing, the radical way he stood in solidarity with people who were suffering and marginalized and oppressed; that was what they saw. But what they received was their own transformation – they walked away, amazed. What if our believing in Jesus wasn’t only about his power to change other people, other circumstances, but his power to change us, and the way we live?
How would that belief, that hope, transform us – our relationships, our choices, our actions? How would it make more room in our hearts, and what would it make room for? What might it put to death in you – and what new life would grow in its place?
Could you imagine what this world would be like if it was full of people transformed by the faith, hope, and love that come from Jesus? Could you imagine the love with which you would see your neighbors – even and especially the ones you currently despise? Could you imagine the hope that folks would spread as they bought their groceries, ran their companies, picked their kids up from school, debated in the halls of Congress, worked the night shift, dropped off a meal for their elderly neighbor?
We all long for the new life that Jesus has promised. I don’t think any of us looks around and thinks that things are ok right now. The gift of Easter is the reminder that new life is possible – and it starts with us. The gift of Easter is that believing isn’t the end – it’s the engine that drives us. The gift of Easter is the invitation to be bewildered by an idle tale, and to let it transform your understanding of what is possible.
In Easter we celebrate the resurrection as a reminder that new life is always possible, even out of certain death. The resurrection story isn’t only about Jesus; it’s the story of each of us. Resurrection isn’t just a spiritual truth but a living reality that shapes how we engage with the world. We’re called to participate in the ongoing work of resurrection, to stand in solidarity with the oppressed and to advocate for the marginalized, especially when it’s costly. Because the gift of Easter is the reminder that the cost of this faith isn’t crucifixion, as much as the powers and principalities around us would like us to fear that outcome. No, the cost of faith is resurrection. It is living as if God’s resurrection power will always, in the end, claim the victory.
It might be unbelievable. But what if we believed it?
