I once listened to a four-year-old tell the entire Easter story in about five minutes. She had been given an egg carton at Sunday School filled with 12 plastic eggs. Each egg popped apart and held small things that the teacher had inserted. This precious little girl opened them one by one for me and explained the objects inside such as a blade of grass that signified the palm branches and a tiny felt cut-out of a coat, both objects thrown down as Jesus entered Jerusalem. There was a plastic donkey like the one he rode in on, a piece of bread from the last supper, a thorn from his crown, a nail that they used to "pin" him to the cross. She continued on explaining in simple pre-school English ten of the eggs. I listened to the perfect story from a child who doesn’t even read and write yet.
When she got to the eleventh egg she showed me a stone and told me of the rock that was rolled away from the tomb. I had already guessed that the last egg would be empty, as the tomb was. She opened it slowly and with great expectation. The animation on her face showed hope and mystery and awe as she revealed the empty egg. She whispered the grand finale with more skill than a practiced actor: "Jesus died for US, so we can go to Heaven, too."