Catholic writer G.K. Chesterton used to say that he didn't really know when he was born. He had to trust his mother's word that it was on May 29, 1874. After all, he pointed out, he didn't remember being there.

Like most people, I don't remember my birth. We can be forgiven this lapse, of course, since we could barely hear or see, and our brains weren't fully formed enough to store fixed images. We know it was painful and frightening from what we've seen or experienced from other births.

It must be quite terrifying to be thrust from a world of comfort, with all our needs met, into a totally new environment where we are dependent on others to meet our most basic needs. So most of us enter this new world kicking and screaming, afraid to leave the dark comfort that we knew - unaware if the new reality we are entering is friendly or not.

Easter Sunday is such a time. The first followers of Jesus are heartbroken that their leader has been killed. For them, it was the end of a world of tremendous promise, if not of comfort. Christ had given them meaning and inspiration, and seemed to herald a new age for the Jewish people.

But all that seemed lost when Jesus was crucified like a common criminal, left to be a footnote in the crowded history of Jewish rebellion against Roman occupiers.

This bleak scenario, of course, did not turn out to be the case. A new world was being born that day, a world few had dared imagine. As with human birth it arrived with uncertainty, loss, fear and agony. And like human birth, it ends in joy.

Some of us may not be able to see joy right now. Some of us may still have broken hearts from our own personal losses, and we often struggle to believe that a new world awaits. Easter Sunday tells us that it does - that the love of God is stronger and more powerful than any dark force that afflicts us. We may still be screaming in fear and frustration at the new reality that has been thrust upon us. The warm and welcoming embrace of God will one day calm our fears.

When the disciples find the empty tomb, they are stunned and confused. Indeed it will take centuries of creeds and councils for the church to comprehend all that Easter Sunday means. What looked like the end turned out to be the beginning. What looked like the worst possible outcome turned out to be the best possible outcome.

Fortunately, it is no sin to be confused. So we can be patient with ourselves as well, as we try and figure out how to follow Christ in our own lives. What feels like death may in fact be birth. What feels like the end may be the beginning. Pain and fear may give way to certainty and peace.

We may not remember our birthdays, but that doesn't mean we can't be glad we're alive.

Bill Peatman writes from Napa.