One of the most moving images of resurrection I have ever seen is not a Christian picture, but a Jewish one.

Just outside of modern Jerusalem, on a high hill called Mt. Hertzel, is the Yad VeShem, the Israeli Holocaust Museum and Memorial. Visitors to the complex are greeted by a long walkway lined by a row of trees. The walkway is called the "Street of Righteous Gentiles." Each tree honors a Gentile person who assisted the victims of the holocaust in some way.

Off to the side of the Street of Righteous Gentiles, not far from the entrance, is the Children's Memorial, a building that appears to be largely underground. Its down-sloping entrance is designed to look like the long, narrow entry to the gas chambers through which 1.5 million Jewish children passed on their way to death at the hands of the Nazis. Over the entrance are stone candles of varying lengths, each one snuffed out prematurely.

Visitors move silently through the close walls of a tunnel into a larger but darker area where haunting pictures of the innocent victims flash upon the walls. A subtly lighted pathway leads from there into an even darker area, a room lit only by six small perpetual candles. The walls and ceiling of the dark room are covered with mirrors, however, so that the candles are reflected all around, like so many stars.

A quiet voice in the background recites the names of those who died: "Janina Kuzma, age 14, Warsaw; Madia Novak, age 3. . ." As the narrator calls out the names, the reflected light of the candles reminds the visitor that the light of the children's lives has not gone out of the universe.

Visitors leaving the Children's Memorial discover the exit to be as wide and upward as the entrance is narrow and descending.

The spreading pathway leads to an open area overlooking hundreds of new high-rise apartments where thousands of Jewish children live and play with their families. "This is our revenge," the guide says, with feeling. "The Nazis thought they could exterminate us, but here you see where many thousands of Jewish children run and play. This is our resurrection."

It is a powerful symbol. For those who have no hope of a personal resurrection, it is the only comfort against the darkness of death - the realization that one's hopes, dreams and contributions to the world will live on in the memories of children.

But for those who believe the words of Jesus, there is a greater and more personal hope, the living hope of a new and eternal life in the very presence of God.

Until that day, Jesus calls believers to live in His presence by going where He goes - going where children are hurting, where people are lost, where hope and help are in short supply.

Life is not meant to be hoarded, but shared.

The hope of resurrection is not limited to a tenuous existence in the memories of children, but is grounded in the example and in the promise of Jesus Christ.

Easter is not just an excuse for buying new clothes, eating too much chocolate and getting an extra few days of vacation.

Easter is the heart of the Christian hope. May more of us have heart enough to share that hope with others.