Easter’s proximity to April Fool’s Day this year — plus a sermon yesterday mentioning how an agnostic might think that Jesus’ disciples hid his body to build the case for resurrection — makes me ponder faith, naivete and what it means to believe.

As the mother of a teenager I’m accustomed to defending my church-going behavior. It’s not hedging bets, not really, but at some point I think we choose to believe.

This may not be faith. But it’s close enough for me.