Light in a Dark Place

“Isn’t there anybody else up there who could lead us? What am I doing following a Mexican through the Peruvian Amazon?!” It was nearly midnight, moonless and black, in the dense, tropical jungle of Peru. Just ahead of me, I could only faintly discern the bulky form of my friend Ernie Neria, a Mexican/American pastor from Vineyard Christian Fellowship of El Paso, Texas. With his flashlight, Ernie was leading the way, trying to find the trail back to the riverboat we’d left tied up along the Marañon River, a winding tributary of the Amazon. But the flashlight’s batteries were going dead, and its feeble beam was now so weak that we could barely see three feet in front of us. With such a weak light, everything looked the same, making it almost impossible to distinguish between the scarcely used trail and the rest of the jungle. We had been stumbling along now for more than 45 minutes, tripping over the exposed roots of trees, sloshing through water and mud, slipping, falling, at times even crawling, in a desperate attempt to find our way. Our clothes were now soaked with sweat, our shoes, socks, and blue jeans up to the knees were wet and caked with slippery mud. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed around us, many biting us right through our clothes. Were we ever going to get out of here, or would we end up as food for the myriads of jungle animals we heard around us, including the mosquitoes?

No matter what happened, it would be a small price to pay for the glorious experience we’d had over the last few days. Two days before, missionary friends had dropped us and our gear off in the busy, congested waterfront area of Iquitos, Peru. Finding our way to a huge Amazon River ferryboat that would carry us to our destination, we hurried on board and quickly tied our hammocks to steel rings welded to the ceiling for that purpose. There were eight of us from the Vineyard church in El Paso, as well as a couple of Peruvians. Throngs of dark-skinned Peruvians boarded with us, pressing in on every side as they also frantically strung their hammocks, everyone competing for a place before they were all taken. The rusty, diesel-powered ferry had finally pulled away from land and gotten underway just before sunset, with what must have been well over 500 passengers on board. Together we had watched the beautiful scenery glide by; the brown waters of the mighty Amazon rolling past us, reflecting the blazing last rays of the tropical sun, lush, green vegetation on both shores,  and a variety of dugout canoes and other water-craft. As the night wore on, I began making casual conversation with those around me, practically shouting to be heard over the roar of the ship’s engines. Soon I found myself telling of the purpose of our trip to Peru, and sharing about the salvation we had all received through “el Señor Jesucristo.” (the Lord Jesus Christ) It always amazes me how “third-worlders”  often seem so open and eager to hear about Jesus, while in the technologically advanced and materialistic “first-world”, many are so cold and  turned off.

Gradually, we had all fallen asleep. But just after 2 am, pastor José was by my side, shaking me awake, and instructing me to awaken the others and follow him. We unhooked our hammocks with considerable difficulty, and made our way, at times crawling over the bodies of the people below, to the bow of the ship, where a couple of crewmen were lifting the heavy wooden gangplank in preparation for putting us ashore. The big ferry was slowly pulling in to the bank of the river in almost inky darkness, a flickering kerosene lamp high up on shore serving as the only beacon to guide our pilot. After bouncing over the wooden gangplank, we watched the ferry pull away into the darkness, then turned to meet our hosts, a small group of Christians from the tiny village of “Nueva Esperanza” (New Hope) who had come down to the water’s edge to greet us. We were all so exhausted and groggy from having just been awakened that the last thing we wanted was to begin a worship service, but that’s exactly what our hosts had in mind! After handing each of us steaming cups of their strong, sweet, but very black coffee, one of their number brought out a crude drum made from the trunk of a palm tree, and in the flickering light of their lanterns they began to sing worship choruses to the Lord! Less than enthusiastic, we all made feeble attempts to join in as best we could. Finally, after what seemed an interminably long time, we were shown where to string our hammocks and mosquito nets, and we went to sleep under thatched roofs.

Shortly after breakfast the next morning, our Peruvian companions began to round up the villagers for a meeting. We all made our way over to the small concrete block building with a dirt floor that served as their meeting place. Upon entering, we sat down upon the hand-made wooden benches inside and the service soon began. It started with a long worship time, led by the same young man who had played the tree-trunk drum the night before, and accompanied by loud, boisterous clapping and singing.  After at least 30 or 40 minutes, one of our missionary friends was asked to preach, and he shared a lengthy message, with a prayer and ministry time afterwards. Ah, but this was only the beginning! When the prayer time was finally finished, more worship began! And after that worship time, I was asked to preach, which I did, another full-length message with altar call and prayer time afterwards. This was followed by more worship, and still more preaching, till each of us had preached that wanted the opportunity. When these Peruvians get the chance to have church, which isn’t that often, they take full advantage of the situation, enjoying all the worship, prayer, and preaching or teaching they can receive!

Finally, the service was over, and we took some time to eat a late lunch and rest. But it wasn’t a long break, for a difficult task still lay before us. After packing up our belongings, we headed out single-file into the jungle, leaving the Amazon behind on our way to another village, situated some three hours away on the banks of a different river. Night was falling again and we were beginning to get worried when at last we came out of the tangled undergrowth into the clearing where the village of “Bola de Oro” lay; a small cluster of thatched huts, huddled together against the vast, untamed expanse of the Amazon jungle. The villagers were friendly, offering us a strange looking, dark green drink which we were told was made from sugar cane, and showing us where to leave our belongings and hang our hammocks. After bathing, eating together, and having a brief time of worship with the believers there, we got ourselves into our hammocks for some well-needed rest.

We arose stiff and sore the next morning, and slowly got ourselves ready for breakfast. One thing had us all somewhat concerned — our missionary friends from Iquitos were supposed to have come to this place by means of their own battered riverboat the night before, but they were nowhere to be seen! Not having any options or knowing what else we could do, we just waited around all morning, telling jokes in Spanish and English, chatting among ourselves, and eyeing the river anxiously. Finally, around noon-time, we heard the muted roar of a boat’s engine from somewhere downriver. When we saw the familiar shape of the “Jubilee” round the bend just downstream of “Bola de Oro”, a cheer went up from all of us — they had made it, and we had a ride back!

As the boat reached the riverbank, and the engine was shut down, we discovered with surprise that 14 unexpected passengers were on board. “Who are these folks?” we asked, and were soon surprised and delighted as the Peruvian brother who had driven the boat explained what had happened. “Well, as you are obviously aware,” he said, “we didn’t make it here last night! We had some problems with the engine and were forced to pull over to shore several hours downriver of here to try and fix them. We were in the middle of nowhere, far from any sign of human habitation, and we stopped there only because we had no choice. But while we were working on the engine, a couple of these men suddenly came out of the jungle, to ask us what we were doing there, and what we needed! We informed them about our problem, and pointed out that we were almost finished with the necessary repairs. They were curious as to where exactly we were headed, so we told them of our plan to come here and conduct Christian services or meetings. ‘What’s a Christian meeting?’ they asked, so we explained briefly. Then it occurred to us to ask them if they would like to come along and see for themselves. ‘Yes’, they said, ‘we would like that, but could we invite some others from our village as well?’ Of course we said yes, so they went to the village and brought back all these others you see now, …and here we are!” What a delightful surprise, what a “divine appointment,” and all was the result  (apparently) of an accident, a problem!

In no time we had called everyone from “Bola de Oro” together and had begun worship. Bearded and long-haired Ernie, no formal choir director he, stood dressed in tee shirt, shorts and tennis shoes as he led us in beautiful, Spirit-anointed worship with an old guitar. The Spirit of God came in such a tangible way that suddenly the Peruvian pastor, José, changing the planned order of service, stood to his feet and began to conduct an altar call, inviting the people to receive Christ.  I was asked to take those desiring salvation, a group of 12-14 people, aside for prayer, which I did, first giving them some words of explanation and exhortation before actually  praying with them. Meanwhile, the other brothers continued with the rest of the congregation, and soon a similar-sized group was off to another side with Ernie, where they, with lifted hands, began one by one to receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit! What a sight for an evangelist’s eyes to see — two separate groups of 12 or 14 people, one group getting saved and the other being filled with the Holy Spirit. As a popular commercial used to say, “It doesn’t get any better than this!” And yet, it did,  because the day still wasn’t over!

When all finally came to an end there in “Bola de Oro,” we loaded everyone up on the old riverboat and headed back downstream. After all, we couldn’t leave all those people there, they had come up on our boat and they had to be taken home as well. On the way, these new believers asked us if we would consider coming to their village to do what we had done in “Bola de Oro.”  “Is the Pope Catholic?!” No evangelist worthy of the name could possibly have passed up such an opportunity — we had to do it!

So it was that some hours later Ernie and I found ourselves swatting mosquitoes as we waited with the rest of our group in the cabin of the Jubilee for our new found friends to return and guide us to their village. We had tied up to the shore at the place they had indicated, and they had left us, saying they would go to the village and get the people ready, then return for us. In true Latin form, they didn’t arrive until late — maybe 9 or 10 pm. We were already so tired we were beginning to have second thoughts about this whole idea, in fact, we seriously doubted they would ever return at all. But suddenly, there they were at the river bank, calling for us to accompany them. So, like true soldiers of the cross, we headed up the path in the black of night, slogging through the mud to the village they called “Nueva Vida” (New Life — of all names!) Our guides had only the ever-present kerosene lanterns, (a round aluminum canister with a small wick in the center and no glass) with which to illuminate our path, but having lived here all of their lives, they had no difficulty in getting us to our destination. When we arrived however, Ernie groaned under his breath as he whispered to me, “I knew it, no one is even here!” We were taken to one hut and left to wait on the elevated planks of the rough floor while our guides went off to call their fellow villagers to the “meeting.”  Much to our surprise, the people actually came, slowly filing in from several different directions in the blackness of the night, winding their way to us, like strings of fiery pearls, by the light of their lanterns. What a sight to see the entire village turn out at 10 pm or later, to hear a message from some foreigners they had never even met before! What a privilege it was for me, and what a thrill, to be the one chosen that night as the first preacher of the gospel in that remote place! And preach I did, with all the enthusiasm and power I could muster, God graciously coming through with anointing from on high as well. It was a beautiful time as I preached Jesus Christ, and Him crucified, to a circle of bronze Indian faces, shining in the flickering lantern light.

When we finally wrapped up with a prayer time for the people and their needs, Ernie and I both felt that satisfied glow that only those who have been used of God can understand. Our guides offered to lead us back to the boat, but wanting to spare them the long trek at that hour, and confident that we could easily follow the trail ourselves, we declined their offer, insisting that we would be fine on our own. What a serious, potentially fatal mistake was that decision! Two Americans, totally unfamiliar with the terrain, wandering alone through the Amazon jungle, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, without even a decent flashlight to guide us! Visions of lying submerged in water all night to escape the mosquitoes, or covering ourselves with mud flashed through my fatigue-wracked brain. I could easily imagine us being lost in the jungle for days or weeks, maybe never coming back at all, or maybe being bitten by snakes or eaten by other wild creatures. But if I had to die, I could think of no better way to go than doing what we had been doing — serving God, preaching the gospel, helping lost people to find their way “home” to eternal life. That Holy Spirit “glow” was all over me, and I felt happy and satisfied even as I struggled along what I only hoped was the path. We were in the will of God, and we would be all right, no matter what happened.

I really thought we were lost.  Several times we had gotten off the path, and it seemed possible that we were no closer to the river than when we had first set out. But as we passed between the trunks of two trees and tromped through some tall swamp-grass , we suddenly became aware that the jungle had opened up before us. It took a few seconds for our eyes to perceive the change, but when they did, we realized that we were looking at the river, and there, darkly silhouetted against its backdrop was our boat! The voice of a friend called to us from the darkness, “Ernie, Warren, is that you? Where have you guys been, we’ve been waiting so long for you?!” We’d made it after all! Wearily but happily, Ernie and I washed the mud off our clothes in the river, then crawled aboard the boat and into our mosquito nets to sleep.  It had been a very long day, but oh, so fruitful and so satisfying! Surely this was what missions trips were all about! We had encouraged and taught Christian believers in remote places, we had seen the power of God come to saints of the Amazon jungle, and we had been used of God to bring “new life” to an entire village of that same name. Yes, it had been difficult and even dangerous, but the God who had originally “found” us when we were lost in the darkness of life, far from His true path, the God who had called us to preach about Him as the Way, the truth, and the Life, that same God had also guided our steps through the dark night. He had truly been a Light for us in a very dark place.