Introduction

Friend, take a deep breath. The God who raised Jesus Christ from the dead is nearer than your next heartbeat. He is not reluctant. He is not distant. He is ready—ready to speak life where you’ve heard only the rustle of regret, ready to steady trembling hands and tired hearts. I think of a baptismal pool in a quiet church, water calm as glass, a towel draped over a railing, and a saint-in-the-making stepping slowly down the steps. A hush falls. The room holds its breath. And in that simple act—under the water and up again—heaven’s headlines are declared: the old is gone, the new has begun. What looks ordinary becomes holy, not because of the water, but because of the Wonderful One who meets us there.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” It sounds severe until you realize what dies: not your God-given personality or your cherished relationships, but the tyranny of sin, the claim of shame, the lie that you’re still chained to who you used to be. Christ calls us not to less life, but to real life. The invitation is not to try harder but to trust deeper. Not to make a few moral adjustments, but to receive a new identity. Could it be that the change your heart craves is not a New Year’s resolution but a resurrection reality?

Romans 6 sounds like thunder rolling over the hills after a long drought. Paul doesn’t hand us positive thinking or a pep talk. He hands us union with Jesus Christ—tied to him in his death, tied to him in his risen life. If you have trusted Christ, then what happened to him defines what is true of you. Your past may protest. Your feelings may fluctuate. But the gospel is sturdier than your moods and mightier than your memories. You have been brought into Christ, wrapped in his righteousness, and welcomed into his life. So when the enemy points to your failures, point to the empty tomb. When your conscience replays old scenes, remember the cross has already rendered its verdict: paid in full.

Let’s be honest: some of us walked in today with heavy labels hanging around our necks—“angry,” “anxious,” “addicted,” “ashamed.” Jesus doesn’t hand you a marker to scribble over those labels; he hands you a new name and a new nature. He doesn’t patch up the old; he makes you new. Imagine waking up and hearing the Father say, “You’re mine, and you’re alive in my Son.” Imagine stepping into Monday morning with a clean conscience and a clear commission. What if the habits that have haunted you don’t have the final say? What if the tomb is not only empty but effective in you?

I think again of that watery moment. The person goes under. It’s quiet. Then they rise, water cascading like a crown, faces shining, the church family applauding, some wiping tears they didn’t expect. Why? Because we’re witnessing grace at work, Jesus at work, resurrection at work. And that is not theater. That is truth. That is our story—yours and mine—if we are in Christ. So let’s listen to the Word that tells us who we are and what we have in him.

Romans 6:4-11 (KJV) 4 Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. 5 For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection: 6 Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin. 7 For he that is dead is freed from sin. 8 Now if we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him: 9 Knowing that Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him. 10 For in that he died, he died unto sin once: but in that he liveth, he liveth unto God. 11 Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Would you pray with me?

Father, thank you for Jesus—crucified, risen, and reigning. Thank you that in him we are not who we were. Open our ears to your voice and our hearts to your truth. Let the beauty of Christ’s death and resurrection be more than words to us—make it the power that reshapes our minds, heals our wounds, and strengthens our wills. Where sin has shouted, silence it. Where despair has settled, lift it. Where apathy has crept in, awaken us. Teach us to reckon what you have declared: that we are dead to sin and alive to you through Jesus Christ our Lord. Fill us with the Holy Spirit. Give us fresh faith, holy courage, and obedient love. In the strong name of Jesus we pray. Amen.

United with Christ in Death

Union with Jesus means his death counts for us in a real way. Not only as an example. As a shared event that God counts as ours. The cross then is not far away. It reaches into our past and names us as people who already died with him. This is how God breaks the back of the old life. He joins us to his Son so that our story is tied to his.

Death language sounds heavy. It is honest. Sin does not fade with time. It demands payment. Jesus stepped under that weight and carried it to the end. When he breathed his last, the bill was stamped “paid.” God does not split the bill with us. He gives full credit to the work of his Son. So the person who trusts him stands under a finished sentence. The court is quiet. The case is closed.

Death also means an end to a rule. Think of a boss who no longer has your number. Sin used to call the shots. It ordered our hands, our words, our wants. Death with Jesus severs that line. The old master can still shout. It has no badge that can force us to obey. That shift is deep. A new power begins to train our hearts. Desire starts to change. Habits begin to loosen. A new way of life takes shape from the inside out.

This union is not a feeling we work up. God made it real when he joined us to his Son. Faith receives it. Faith counts it true. Faith learns to say, “I died with him,” even on hard days. Then the mouth and the mind and the body begin to move in ways that fit that truth. The Spirit helps us. He brings the death of Jesus into daily ground. Old patterns lose their grip. New steps grow steady.

Being placed under water in baptism pictures this. Burial has a feel of finality. Something ended. A chapter closed. That sign is public and plain. It says we were carried with Jesus into death and brought out with him into life. The water does not cause the change. God already did the work in Christ. Yet the sign matters. It marks us before others. It reminds our hearts when we forget. It says, “That old life is in the ground.” The body goes under. The body comes up. The same person stands there. Yet a different claim now rests on that life. The old bond has been cut. A new way has begun.

Paul also speaks of the “old self” being crucified so that the “body of sin” would be brought to nothing. He is not talking about parts of us that make us human. He is talking about the person we were under sin’s sway. The cross strikes at that old center. The “body of sin” means the way sin used our actual bodies to carry out its orders. Hands that grabbed. Eyes that wandered. Mouths that hurt. Crucifixion brings that regime to an end. The goal is clear. We would no longer serve sin as slaves. We do not need a better mask. We need the old master fired. The cross does that. Then our same bodies become tools in a new service. Eyes can notice need. Hands can bless. Words can build. The cross makes that switch possible.

Paul says, “the one who has died is freed from sin.” This is court language. A death satisfies a sentence. The law releases the person from the charge. In the same way, our death with Jesus releases us from sin’s legal claim and sin’s slavery claim. Sin still makes offers. It can promise pleasure. It can whisper fear. It can bring up old files. It cannot present a warrant. It cannot unlock the cell. Freedom is real, and it fits real life. Temptations come. We answer from a new address. We belong to another. We are free to say no because we have already died to sin’s old demand.

Paul then calls us to “reckon” ourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ. Reckoning is a choice of the mind that takes God’s word as the truest word. It is the daily math of the heart. Add up the facts of Christ. Count them as your facts. Say it in prayer. Say it in the face of the pull you feel. Say it when you get up and when you lie down. The act of reckoning is not pretend. It is cooperation with grace. It trains the will. It guides the body. When anger rises, you speak to it as a thing without authority. When fear presses, you answer with the oath God has sworn in his Son. When old shame climbs back, you hold up the death of Jesus as the verdict over your past. This is how “alive to God” begins to look like something you can see. It shapes what you do with your time. It leads your choices around screens and food and money and sex and power. It brings your week into the light of the cross and the empty tomb.

Raised to Walk in Newness of Life

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