Oasis Light    |    綠洲亮光

I once heard a sermon by Pastor John Chao about a wonderfully designed, ancient cruciform baptismal pool. As believers descended into the pool, it symbolized being crucified with Christ; as they rose from the water, it signified rising with Him. This was more than a clever design—it was the physical manifestation of Truth.

Easter is the day we commemorate Christ’s resurrection from the dead. Many choose to be baptized on this day, using the act of "rising from the water" to allow this truth of "passing from death to life" to become a life we can—and must—experience.

Looking back at my own baptism, I understood Jesus’ love and knew He died for me. Yet, the profound mystery of union with Christ—dying, being buried, and rising together with Him—remained beyond my grasp. How could a common sinner like me cross time and space to be nailed to that same cross and resurrected alongside Him? 

Having received a sprinkling baptism, I only remember the inexplicable joy of that moment, as if I had been given a brand-new life. Though my external world remained unchanged, I was renewed within. It was only later, through relentless reflection and the refining fires of life, that I began to decipher the mystery of Romans 6:3-5:

"Or don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly also be united with him in a resurrection like his."

I realized that our "status" of union with Christ is accomplished the moment we are baptized into Him; however, the "reality" of this union must be experienced, drop by drop, in the crucible of daily life.

Whenever circumstances arise where worldly logic, personal fragility, and God’s teachings collide, we find ourselves in Gethsemane. We undergo the process from struggle to agony and to ultimate surrender. Walking this path of the cross often brings misunderstanding, contempt, and even humiliation. The impulse to defend oneself, the urge to strike back, thrashes in the chest like a trapped wild beast. Those who stand by the truth often become targets of scorn. As John 3:19 says: "Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil."

When the world nails us to a cross of judgment and accusation, the silence is so heavy you can hear your own heart breaking. In that moment, you might even wonder: Is this truly worth it? Or do I actually want to give up, but simply lack the courage?

Yet, though tears of grievance blur the eyes, He—nailed and scarred—remains visible in that darkness. His silence miraculously comforts the broken soul. We are not alone. "Dying with the Lord" is not a sacred ritual; it is offering oneself as a living sacrifice, nailing 'one’s own will' to the cross.

When we learn to be silent like Jesus, letting go of our own control and expectations—when we surrender our anxieties, fears, and hopes entirely to God and stop trying to climb down from the cross—an unexpected, even inexplicable peace begins to descend. It does not arrive with the blare of trumpets; it is like the first faint, clear ray of sunlight on a morning after a storm. "Rising with the Lord" is no longer just a doctrine; in such experiences, it becomes a fact. The circumstances remain difficult, the accusations still exist, but I am no longer the same. The shattered parts within have, by some miracle, been fused back together. Light quietly leaks out through the cracks in life.

In this process, the sin within our flesh is no longer merely suppressed—it is dying, bit by bit. Simultaneously, the life of Christ is waking up within us, bit by bit.

The Cross is never the finish line.

If we stop there, we do not yet understand God’s handiwork. Or perhaps, we simply do not dare to believe in the Resurrection.

Only by enduring death and burial does the Resurrection cease to be a dogma or a slogan and begin to become the very undertone of our lives. That resurrected life is no longer enslaved by sin or defined by the world; instead, it slowly takes shape within us, bearing the likeness and glory of Christ. That courage—to be able to dance even with scars—is the true mark of a new, resurrected life.

This journey of sanctification is indeed painful, but pain is never the conclusion. 

Resurrection is the ending God has prepared for us.

Easter is not merely a day of remembrance; it is an ongoing fact:

The life that once died on the Cross is now living within us.

And it shall live unto total victory—regardless of how we feel right now.