Part of what it means to be human is that we remember things. In December we remember much—family traditions and practices, the Christmas Eve service with the Sunday school children, the laughter and tears for times now gone. As Christians we also “re-member”: We joyfully welcome back those who haven’t darkened the door of the church for 11 months.
When the swallows return to Capistrano each spring or the monarch butterflies make their way to Mexico in the winter, their remembering is more the gracious gift of the Creator than an act on their part. God inscribed such memories in instincts for survival. But we humans remember different things in different ways.
I remember what I ate for dinner last night. But I don’t have any emotional attachment to this fact nor any enduring sense experiences—unless the food was so spicy it kept me awake.
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