Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

How excellent it is to say those words after a long Lent! And yet some, even when saying them, think, "Nonsense, absurd, impossible."

If we're honest with ourselves, we too may have thought such things now and then during an observance of Easter over the years, when we've looked beyond the chocolate bunnies and colorful baskets and brightly-dyed eggs to the gospel proclamation about what we're celebrating about that first Easter Day.

Nonsense! That is also the first response of the disciples when Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James and the other women told them the news. "(They) told this to the apostles; but these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them" is the way I just read it. But the New English Bible has it this way: "But the story appeared to them to be nonsense, and they would not believe them."

The women had come back, running, from the empty tomb. They were out of breath, excited, compelled to share the news. In their breathless excitement, they must have seemed possessed; and their words, for the disciples, confirmed this suspicion. Jesus risen?! They had seen him dead only two days ago. What could inspire such absurdity and nonsense?

The Greek word for "Nonsense" is a medical term meaning the babbling of an insane mind. Luke, the author of this gospel, was a physician; he knew what kind of babbling this was. He had seen it before. It didn't make sense.

The disciples were hard-headed folk. At least some of them had witnessed the crucifixion, and they knew for certain that Jesus had died, was buried, and that his grave was guarded by soldiers and sealed with a huge rock. Against these hard facts, why should they believe the babbling of these women? "Pure nonsense," as the Jerusalem Bible has it. "An idle tale." A fairy tale. Sheer imagination. Absurd!

We too are, if not hard-headed, then at least rational people. And everyone knows that being rational is the essence of being human—at least that's what our culture and some philosophy would have us believe. "Cogito ergo sum." "I think, therefore I am."

Our reason tells us that an experience of life after death is at best highly questionable and at worst, totally absurd.

Our grief would have us think this when a loved one dies. It may be easy or appear to be feasible to believe in the resurrection, in a church decorated with flowers, among others who profess this faith. But when the long struggle of someone we love comes to a painful end in a dark room, and our hopes are dashed, then it's a different matter.

Our anxiety challenges the resurrection when we await the news of whether that biopsy tissue was malignant—and when we approach major surgery. There is always the possibility that something will go wrong.

Our sense of discouragement and depression challenges any thought of resurrection when nothing seems to go right, when tasks or griefs pile up, when there seem to be no getting out from under it all. Our lives and the world constantly tell us that such a hope is irrational, unrealistic, idealistic, and totally absurd.

But, truly, is it?

Let's be honest. How much of our lives are based on nonsense? Isn't it pure nonsense to value material things so highly that we spend most our lives on them, when we can't—after all—take them with us? Isn't it absurd to put so many other things before the Sunday gathering of the Church, and yet want to go to heaven, when the community of Christ is what heaven is all about? Isn't it ridiculous to spend so much on ourselves and to give little to others and to God, as if putting ourselves first could ever make us happy?

Isn't it nonsense to harbor resentment or nurse a grudge when we know that a word to the one who has offended us is the first step to reconciliation? Isn't it grossly absurd to talk about others when our sins are equally as great?

Easter faces us with the question: What makes sense and what is absurd in daily life? When writing to the church at Corinth, Paul describes the gospel as "nonsense to the Gentiles," yet he went on to say, "But for those whom God has calledthis message is Christ, who is the power of God and the wisdom of God." Not the power of the mind or the wisdom of humanity, but the power of God, and the wisdom of God. Isn't it worth at least an honest effort to find out what this power and wisdom are all about, especially in the face of our own non-sensical lives?

After all, the whole of the Christian Church is built on just such nonsense! The resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is that which validates everything else we believe. Easter, the chief festival of the church, celebrates this "pure nonsense"—the experience of the presence of Jesus Christ beyond the grave.

After all, the apostles came to see it differently that same day. What Peter at first called "nonsense" he later preached as the central truth of the gospel. What the apostles called an "idle tale" later became primary for their faith. When they chose someone to take Judas' place, they agreed that the prime qualification should be that they be a witness to the resurrected Lord.

There is a kernel of truth in the resurrection that the world fails to see, and yet knows, if it only had the time or the inclination to look more deeply. That truth is that victory comes out of defeat.

Life does not come after death but life comes out of death. Weakness comes first and strength flows from weakness. Sorrow precedes joy. Easter follows Good Friday.

The principle is illustrated by Mary Magdalene in the text. When she comes to the tomb, she weeps because she thinks that someone has stolen the body of Jesus. But her tears of sorrow turn into tears of joy when she recognizes the risen Lord as he calls to her. She comes to an empty tomb. Out of death has come the victory of life.

Colleen McCullough got the title of her best-selling book, "The Thornbirds," from a legend about a bird that sings only once—and more sweetly than any other bird on earth. From the time it leaves the nest, it looks for a thorn tree and does not rest until it finds one. Siging among the savage branches, the bird impales itself upon the longest, sharpest thorn. Dying, it rises above its agony to out-sing the lark and the nightingale. The world stills to listen, and God in heaven smiles.

Out of tears of loss and defeat comes joyous victory.

Isn't it always at those moments when we feel that we can go no further, when we are on the verge of giving up, when there seems to be absolutely nothing more to be done, when there appears to be not a thread of hope left—that we suddenly and unexpectedly experience a surge of energy, a way out, a solution, a word that lifts. We often hear in the midst of adversity that "this too shall pass." There's wisdom in the worldly bit of comfort. Victory comes out of defeat. Life comes out of death.

The babbling of the women to the apostles on Easter, about an empty tomb, turned out to be not the absurdity of an insane mind, but the revelation of an inspired heart. We would do well to do some babbling about what occurs this day ourselves!

In fact, it may help us to realize that the day on which these women excitedly speak this good news to the disciples was really Monday in their week. It was a work day. Saturday was the Sabbath, the day of rest and worship. Their Sunday was a work day like our Monday. So it was, in effect, on a week day that the women witnessed to the empty tomb.

One of the greatest challenges to Christianity is to bring Sunday's faith into Monday's witnessing. The criterion that the disciples chose in finding a replacement for Judas should also be our prime qualification—that we be witnesses to the resurrected Lord. The nonsense of Sunday's gospel is to become the truth of Monday's witness.

Whatever our questions about how much sense this resurrection makes, I suspect that down deep we all know where the answers lie. Wherever we might find evidence of the truth of resurrection, there is only one place where it makes a difference-and that's in our lives. The answer to our questions about the truth, is in living the truth-in being Christians.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer's memorable statement from prison comes to mind: "The church must not underestimate the importance of human example (which has its origin in the humanity of Jesus and is important in Paul's teaching); it is not abstract argument, but example, that gives its word emphasis and power." That is the kind of witness we need to be on Mondays.

In the words of the hymn that comes later:

Oh, fill us Lord, with dauntless love;

set heart and will on things above

that we conquer through your triumph;

grant grace sufficient for life's day

that by our lives we truly say:

"Christ has triumphed! He is living!"

Alleluia!

Were we to become "little Christs to our neighbors"; were we to act in justice and love, seeking the god even of our enemies; were we to treat others as we would be treated; were we to live in honest concern for others, the resurrection of Christ would be proclaimed indeed-re-enacted without our even mentioning his name.

That which seems to be absurd is profound. It becomes this day our salvation. May we all come increasingly to know the victory that comes out of defeat, the strength that comes out of weakness, the joy that emerges from sorrow, the truth that issues from nonsense, and the Easter which always follows Good Friday.

Alleluia! Christ is risen! Amen.