As we walked back to the village church, there was a deep sense that Christ is alive. We worshipped again at nine o’clock in the sanctuary. The children had spent the night sleeping on the sanctuary floor. There were two coconuts on the communion table, each with a new sprout growing out of it, a potent sign of the hope we were celebrating. The singing was joyful as the men, the women, the youth, and the elders each sang a different Easter anthem. After the sermon we went to the church’s garden and each planted a flower. The church elders then handed out eggs to each worshipper. We traded our eggs and shared the peace of Christ.

I went to Taiwan in 1996 as a Presbyterian Church USA mission coworker after seven years as the pastor of Black Mountain Presbyterian Church, just down the road from Montreat in the North Carolina mountains. I remember that when I met with the church’s pastoral search committee and one member asked me how long I would stay if I were called, I replied with an answer that seemed the most outlandish thing I could imagine: "I don’t know God’s will. I could be on the mission field in five years!"

It turned out to be seven, and I was on my way to Taiwan, a small leaf-shaped island hanging just one hundred miles off the south coast of China, to begin studying Mandarin Chinese.