When I was four, I remember hearing the story of Jesus’ resurrection in school from a friend (my family are nonreligious or faitheists for the most part). I raised the possibility that the ‘resurrected’ Jesus or the ‘crucified’ Jesus may have been an impostor and that someone had taken the body so that no one would find out that it was an impostor (yes, I did think that hard — I got Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys as bedtime stories and got so interested that I started reading them myself all the time).
The response? “It was Jesus! No one could look like Jesus!” I let it go. I didn’t accept it, but I realized that if they were going to say that they’d just say it again even if I objected.
That kind of dishonesty makes me wonder how believers live. I can understand the happiness, but I don’t see how that’s supposed to outweigh the dishonest feeling all the intellectual gymnastics would cause.