There’s a reason not a lot of people live in the Amazon. The world’s largest rainforest is also one of its most aggressive physical environments—certainly the most aggressive I’ve ever experienced.
After flying on a puddle jumper into a remote village, a small group of us walked down to the Amazon River, where a couple of long, motorized canoes awaited us. We climbed in, each of us carrying a small backpack with filtered water bottles, miscellaneous snacks, a change of clothes, and a small camping hammock.
We started down the river with a couple of indigenous men who would be our guides and become our friends on the journey, and we soon found ourselves walled in by dense undergrowth and towering trees. Occasionally, a clearing opened to reveal homes nestled together on the riverbanks. The dwellings were made of plaster with metal roofs. But as we traveled deeper into the interior, any signs of village life became few and far between.
Once deep in the heart of the rainforest, we arrived at the starting point for our trek. Our guides beached and secured the boats, then we hoisted our packs and started walking.
Entering the Amazon
Within seconds, we were swarmed by more species of biting and stinging insects than I knew existed. And those bugs were hungry! I wore long pants and a long-sleeved shirt, but somehow they still made their way through my clothes to feast on my flesh. I’d been told to spray a lot of DEET on my clothes, which I’d done with the utmost care, but evidently, these bugs eat DEET for breakfast.
The bugs were a nuisance, for sure, but I was far more concerned about the jaguars and venomous snakes I’d read about in preparation for this trip. Were they hiding in the thick brush, just waiting to strike? The indigenous guides (who, by the way, were trekking in sandals and shorts, often without shirts) tried to encourage us. “Don’t worry,” they said through a translator. “The most dangerous animals sleep during the day.”
That was comforting—during the day. But it didn’t exactly alleviate my anxiety about the night, when the jaguars and snakes would be most awake and I’d be least conscious, dangling in a hammock like dinner on a platter.
After hiking for hours through the forest, we arrived at our campsite and hung our hammocks between trees. (With tarantulas and other critters crawling around, the ground wasn’t an ideal place to sleep.) When it was time to retire for the night, we climbed into the cocoons of our hammocks, pulled mosquito nets over our bodies, and cinched them behind our heads. While I was thankful for the protection from the bugs, I knew that net wasn’t posing any threat to a jaguar.
As I closed my eyes and prayed against jaguar hunger, I discovered the sanctifying experience of simply falling asleep in the Amazon. Lying there in the pitch-black dark, you can’t see your hand in front of your face, but you can hear everything—and the Amazon comes alive at night. You hear rustling above and below, the whines, buzzes, and clicks of insects nearby, and the lunatic roaring of howler monkeys in the distance. I prayed one prayer over and over again until I fell asleep: “Oh God, please get me through this night.”
The following morning, I woke with boundless gratitude for daylight breaking through the trees. I’d made it, and so had all my fellow travelers. An hour or so later, we were on our way.
Learning About Jesus
Each day, we hiked, and each evening, we sat around a campfire with our guides—truly amazing men who call the rainforest home. Together we ate noodles cooked over an open fire. To the soundtrack of crackling wood and the jungle life all around us, these men shared fascinating stories about their families, their ancestry, and their way of life in one of the most remote places on earth.
One night, after we’d listened raptly to their tales, Bieto, one of our guides, asked me whether I had any good stories to share. I was glad to oblige, and I told them four short stories from Mark 4–5 about how the Creator of this rainforest had come to the world as a man named Jesus and how he had power over nature, evil spirits, disease, and death.
The following night around the fire, another of the guides, Luan, recalled the stories I’d shared. “When you were telling those stories,” he said, “I had an unusual feeling inside, like my heart was beating out of my chest.”
When you were telling those stories, I had an unusual feeling inside, like my heart was beating out of my chest.
“These stories have that kind of effect on people,” I said. Then my fellow trekkers and I took turns sharing the larger story of the Bible—the good news of how Jesus lived a sinless life, died a sacrificial death for sinners, and rose from the grave in victory over death.
On the last night of the trek, Bieto spoke up again. “When you share these stories about Jesus, I feel like I have a dirty heart. Is there a way my heart can be made clean?”
“That’s the good news about Jesus,” I said. “The reason he came was to give us a totally new heart.”
That’s when Luan said words I’ll never forget. “These stories about Jesus are so good,” he said with wonderment. “And they seem so important. I just don’t understand why we and our tribes and all our ancestors before us have never heard them until now.”
Cause of Gospel Poverty
Consider Luan’s question: Why do you think approximately 3.2 billion men, women, and children like these men and their families have never heard the good news of Jesus?
My contention is simple. While many factors contribute to “gospel poverty” in jungles, villages, and megacities around the world, one of the primary reasons—if not the primary reason—that billions of people remain unreached by the gospel is that the global purpose of God has always faced resistance from the nationalistic people of God.
The global purpose of God has always faced resistance from the nationalistic people of God.
From the nation of Israel in the Old Testament to the early church in the New Testament to the current church in the United States, people of God have continually desired the preservation of their nation more than the proclamation of the gospel in all nations. And just as generations of God’s people before us needed to do, God is calling us to place less priority on our beloved home country—a country that will one day fall—and more priority on a global kingdom that will last forever. Not only is doing so urgent for billions of people in need of the gospel, but it’s also necessary in order to overcome sickness in the church.
It’s time for us as the people of God to recalibrate our priorities and realize our purpose. Whether you’re a student, a senior adult, or anywhere in between, it’s right to praise God for the gifts he’s given you and me in a country that has freedom, resources, and opportunity like no other in the world. It’s good to pass on these gifts to the next generation of Americans. Yet it’s infinitely more important, satisfying, and unifying to give our lives to passing on the good news of Jesus to the Bietos and 3 billion others whose eternity hinges on hearing and believing the gospel.
The Gospel Coalition