Low Sunday. That's what some pastors call the first Sunday after Easter. It can be a real letdown after the high-flying energy of Easter. The pizzazz and pomp, the crowds and color have receded dramatically in the rearview mirror. Low Sunday, and the relentless return of the Sabbath.

Several years ago, I subscribed to The Joyful Noiseletter, which introduced me to a fresh way of approaching the Sunday after Easter. It promoted an old Easter custom from the early centuries of Christianity. Ancient believers would mark the week following Easter with parties, practical jokes and picnics as "days of joy and laughter" to celebrate Jesus' resurrection. This included "Bright Sunday," the Sunday after Easter.

As a pastor, I liked the sound of Bright Sunday more than Low Sunday. Even better was the rhetorical flourish of calling the day "Holy Humor Sunday." This custom of sharing Easter comedy, joy and laughter had its roots in the way early theologians told the biblical story of God's rescue plan in Jesus.

The thinking went something like this: The devil thought he had beaten God at his game by having Jesus crucified, but God got the last laugh by raising Jesus from the dead. "Risus paschalis — the Easter laugh," the early theologians called it.

So one year we decided to give Holy Humor Sunday a try at our rural Mennonite congregation. After explaining the background of the idea, I stepped onto the pulpit high dive and jumped into space.

It seems that a certain Sunday school teacher quizzed her class of youngsters about the meaning of Easter. One boy quickly raised his hand: "It's when big bunnies lay eggs." The teacher scratched her head. "I'm afraid not." A girl confidently declared: "It's when we buy lots of flowers and eat lots of chocolate." The teacher frowned. "No, that's not quite right."

"I know, I know," a third youngster shouted. "Easter is when Jesus comes out of the tomb. ... And then if he sees his shadow there will be six more weeks of winter!"

When I hit the punch line, I happened to glance at Sister Mary Showalter, a senior saint of 80-plus years, clad in simple garb, sitting in the second pew. She giggled, dropped her eyes and shyly covered her mouth with her hand. I often think of Mary on the Sunday after Easter and smile. There really is something liberating, healthy and holy about Risus paschalis — the Easter laugh.

Actually, Jesus didn't see his shadow. His resurrection brilliantly illuminated the whole cosmos in a blinding blaze of light. Since that first Easter, it's the devil that is afraid of his shadow.

Many Christians in the first centuries after the birth of the church delighted in telling the story of Jesus Christ as an epic tale of victory. The crucifixion and resurrection were a divine drama of wild love and passionate courage. Amazingly — beyond dizzying imagination — the slaughtered Lamb was transformed into the liberating Lion of Judah. Easter became a kind of Independence Day of the soul.

"When He had disarmed the rulers and authorities, He made a public display of them, having triumphed over them through Him" (Colossians 2:15).

The Easter laugh of Bright Sunday does not deny suffering or pain. Nor is it a frivolous escape into fantasy and self-deception. Rather it looks the ugly in the eye and still believes that God decisively wins in Jesus Christ. God has shown who is stronger and more clever at the game of life and death. That victory is something worth celebrating with hopeful mirth and laughter.

Maybe we can laugh, even in hard times. There's a story about a Lancaster County hair salon that instituted a new policy. The policy was neither secret nor advertized. One day a Presbyterian pastor came to get a haircut. After it was done, the proprietor told the pastor, "In these tough economic times, we don't charge pastors for a haircut." Expressing gratitude, the pastor left. The next day, a vase with seven red roses showed up at the salon doorstep.

Something similar happened a week later when the monsignor from the local Catholic parish stopped by for a haircut. Again, no charge. The next day, a sampler box with seven chocolate flavors showed up at the salon.

A Mennonite pastor came by not long after. The haircut done, the owner shared the good news — the policy is free haircuts for pastors. The next day seven other Mennonite pastors showed up at the salon!

Religion and church often carry a dour-faced reputation. Yet the Sunday after Easter is a great day to exercise our muscles of faith in jubilation and laughter. The joke is on the devil; Christ is the Victor; the cosmos rejoices. Time is now rolling God's direction.

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The Rev. Dr. Mark R. Wenger is director of pastoral studies for Eastern Mennonite University at Lancaster.