The sterile scent of hospital-grade antiseptic still lingers in my memory, a ghostly reminder of those final moments by my father’s bedside. One year ago today I witnessed as his labored breaths, once strong and reassuring, had faded to whispers, each one a fragile thread connecting him to this mortal coil. As I stood there, bearing witness to the inevitable march of mortality, I felt a profound sense of wrongness – as if the very fabric of existence was being torn asunder.

Here I stand today, beneath the tropical sun of Ecuador, my feet planted firmly in the cool, rushing waters of a river teeming with life. The air is thick with joy and anticipation, a stark contrast to the somber corridors of my recent past. Before me, a line of believers prepares to step into the waters of baptism, their faces alight with the promise of rebirth.

Death, in its finality, seems to mock the very essence of our being. It’s a thief that steals not just life, but meaning and purpose. As my father slipped away, I grappled with the cruel paradox of our existence – that we are beings created for eternity, yet bound by the constraints of time. The wrongness of death is not just an emotional response, but a spiritual intuition that echoes the words of Ecclesiastes: “He has put eternity into man’s heart.”

But today, as I witness these baptisms, I’m reminded of a profound truth that transcends the grave. Each person stepping into these waters is enacting a beautiful metaphor – a willing surrender to a symbolic death that leads to new life. As they emerge, gasping and dripping, they embody the promise that death, though it may claim our mortal bodies, has no dominion over our eternal souls. They are following Jesus, the one who knows the path of death and is the way of life. 

The river, in its ceaseless flow, becomes a poignant symbol of the Christian journey. It speaks of cleansing, of washing away the old to make way for the new. But more than that, it reminds us of the Jordan River where John baptized Jesus, marking the beginning of a ministry that would ultimately conquer death itself.

As each new believer rises from the water, cheers erupt from the shore. It’s a celebration of life, yes, but more profoundly, it’s a defiant shout of victory over the specter of death. In this moment, the words of the apostle Paul ring true: “Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”

This juxtaposition of death and rebirth, of sorrow and joy, is not a contradiction but a completion. It’s the fulfillment of a promise that runs like a golden thread through the tapestry of Scripture – that God, in His infinite wisdom and love, can bring life from death, hope from despair, and joy from mourning.

As we stand on the banks of this Ecuadorian river, we’re not just spectators to a religious ritual. We’re witnesses to a profound spiritual truth – that in Christ, death is not the end, but a beginning. The grief that once threatened to overwhelm us becomes the fertile soil from which new hope springs forth.

Dear reader, perhaps you too have stood in death’s shadow, feeling the weight of loss and the sting of separation. Know this: the same power that raises these believers from the waters of baptism is at work in you. Your grief, though real and valid, need not have the final word.

I invite you to reflect on your own journey through loss and renewal. Can you see, even in the midst of sorrow, the seeds of new life waiting to sprout? Can you trust that the God who brings springtime after winter can bring resurrection after death?

Let us, then, stand firm in this hope. Let us celebrate each victory over death, whether it be in the waters of baptism or in the quiet resilience of a grieving heart that chooses to believe in the hope of Christ’s resurrection. For in Christ, we are more than conquerors – we are participants in a divine drama of redemption that transforms even our deepest sorrows into songs of joy.