gospel – Grace. Truth. Coffee.

On The Road

November 18, 2020November 18, 2020onebouchard

This classic post first appeared on my blog close to 10 years ago. It seems timely today so I am resurrecting it here.

Oh the irony. I remember all those times I drew comparisons between following God’s plan and driving on the highway. How many times have I told people that when God wants you to exit, there will be signs? If you miss them, there will be more chances. Just stay alert.

Nice metaphor as long as your car keeps cruising along. I never counted on a breakdown. I suppose we rarely see those coming. Now it’s apparently broken beyond repair. No mechanic in sight. It’s sickening to think of how much work I’ve put into it, too. Making it shiny. Putting gas in the tank, polishing the chrome. This was my pride and joy. It got me where I needed to go.

So how do I keep cruising down the highway? Well, I’ve still got feet. So I keep walking that highway. It’s the direction that’s important, right? As long as I kept pushing myself up that mountain, everything would work out, just a bit more slowly than I had planned.

The road wasn’t made for walking, so I branched off. I saw a sign. I knew I was supposed to head into the woods. In fact, in retrospect I thought it was a blessing that the car broke down. I would have missed this lovely path entirely if I had continued at 60 miles per hour! I told myself I was grateful I decided to walk.

Oh, but my legs ached. They screamed. I’d been pushing so hard. Tired, hungry, and thirsty, I cried out, “God where are you?” I never could have uttered those four words from the comfort of the air conditioned car. Now they were all I had left. Still, I kept trudging along. I knew that if I just worked hard enough, I would find what I needed. I’d find Him.

The forest provided no relief. The cool shade became a chilly darkness. Between the critters and the exhaustion, it felt like there were enemies everywhere. Adrenaline provided the nourishment my body craved, pushing me forward. Lost and utterly alone, I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I kept repeating “I can do this. I can find Him.” I can’t tell you I believed it, though.

To call it a clearing would be generous. There was a space ahead where the shadows were weighed less. I didn’t know if it I could make it, but I decided that was my destination. It would all end there. It was all I had. As I got closer, I saw a bench. It was old and worn, crafted from an ancient tree.

I plopped down harder than I meant to. The pain shooting up my backbone from my tailbone was the final insult. I was done. I found the end of myself. I sat with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. No words were on my lips, I was well past anything resembling coherency. I interlocked my fingers behind my head as it sank lower, almost to my knees. The warmth of the salty tears streaming down my face didn’t do a thing to ease the shadowy chill.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I was too far gone to jump. Whoever it was, he could do whatever he wanted. I was done. I felt him circle around and plop down beside me. The hand became an arm across my shoulders, attempting to comfort me. That arm became two, pulling me close. He held my head to his chest, like a father does a son who just lost his first pet. I could feel his tears on my neck as he gently whispered, “I’m here. I’ve got you. Now and forever, my beautiful son.”

“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33

Bottles, Boats, and Beliefs

March 1, 2019February 28, 2019onebouchard

Then those who were in the boat worshipped him, saying “Truly you are the Son of God.”
Matthew 14:33

This little verse is easy to skip over. The 5,000 had just been fed, Jesus just walked on water, and Peter boldly stepped out of the boat. It’s easy to focus on the miracles and miss the meaning and message.

Our week in Aracaju started with a walk. The warm ocean breeze had us blissfully chatting and praying as we went. It was nice to be away from the stifling Oklahoma heat. As we turned onto the next block, a chill overtook us.

Groups of men were gathered in front of a few houses. The street was full of empty bottles and loud music. The men were obviously quite drunk. It was 9 o’clock Sunday morning. Although we couldn’t understand their comments, I was suddenly extremely aware of the fact that I was the only guy walking along with five women. Trust me, I’m hardly the one dude any lady would want to rely on in a throw-down.

After a few years of promising economic growth, Brazil was in a downturn the year we visited Aracaju. As jobs were lost and hardship set in, people found comfort in whatever they could grab. The men we wandered into were unfortunately typical. Hardship led to addiction, which also led to abuse. Families were fractured. Each moment spent in drunken numbness have tragic ripples for eternity.

“If it’s you, command me to join you,” Peter said. Jesus said, “Come.” (Mt 14:28-29)

The miracle of bread was not enough. Walking on water was not enough. Peter still wasn’t sure. Who was this guy? Teacher? Miracle worker? Could He be something even greater?

To the men on the street, we offered what we had: prayer and truth, hope and light. But those numbed by the distractions of this world simply can’t hear. Intoxication is denial. In numbing the pain, everything else is shut out as well. In forgetting about the harsh, real-word they lived in, these guys closed themselves from the invitation of Jesus, “come.”

That we were even there was a miracle. A few dozen Okies traveling thousands of miles to talk about Jesus with the people in an overlooked neighborhood of an overlooked town? There’s no logical explanation. Many people we met wanted to hear about the United States. They’re eager to talk about Michael Jordan or Barack Obama. They ask if we’ve met Brad Pitt. But when we tell them about Jesus, many shake their head and take another swig from the bottle in the brown paper bag. “He might have been a teacher, or even a miracle worker. But that’s all.”

Jesus calls: “come.”

Peter steps out of the boat. He accepts the invitation into so much more. That’s where we find this often overlooked verse. They’re back in the boat with Him, but now something has changed. They worship Him. Jesus knows that only God is worthy of worship. The disciples know it, too. Jesus does not stop them, though. Given this confirmation, they find the words that match their actions, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

We prayed for those drunk men. We prayed for every neighborhood around that chapel build. The warm ocean breeze returned and accompanied us most of the week. Aracaju is a beautiful town. Children were playing beneath cashew trees on most streets. The last few days we were there, house after house after house that we visited all came to know Jesus. We saw miracles, but never lost sight of the message or its meaning. And we worshipped.

Everywhere we go, we see the same pattern. Some marvel at the miracles. Some mock them. And some accept the invitation Jesus so graciously give, “Come.” And they worship.

A Great Light

February 1, 2019February 1, 2019onebouchard

The people living in darkness have seen a great light…
Matthew 4:16

Of all the imagery used to describe the call of our Creator, my favorite is darkness to light. This motif moves me to look at where I’ve been and where I am while looking ahead to what is to come.

Imagine sitting in a windowless room. The door is shut and there are no obvious sources of light, although a murky twilight fills the room. A life lived here may feel complete. Having never glimpsed a sunrise or a starry night sky, you would never long for the beauty that only light can reveal. Surrounded by others in the same state, you would not necessarily be lonely, even if you feel incomplete. You never hear anyone describe trees or puppies or Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Everyone you know is in this darkness together, assuming this is all there is. On some level would you feel a nagging sense of discontent? Would your gut long for more? Would your soul cry out to be filled without even knowing what you lacked?

One day a stranger arrives. He describes a life that is at the edges of your comprehension. Unimaginable yet plausible. Although his tales of flowers, waterfalls, blue skies, and mountain peaks sound intriguing, they also sound bit fanciful. You wonder if it could be true…Is it possible to see in full the things that are currently only imperfectly imagined? Is there more in creation than what we realized?

This metaphor has limits but the spiritual analogy holds. Darkness leads to hopelessness and resignation. Not knowing what light looks like leads to searches for fulfillment in a thousand things that can never satisfy and were never intended to. Living in spiritual darkness, we seek relationships, material things, or indulgence to fill the void. As we repeatedly come up empty, we slide into desperation or denial. The only two obvious paths are either more vigilant efforts to fill ourselves up (i.e. try harder) or to settle into a state of reluctant acceptance (i.e. lowered expectations). We think our only options are to define our own meaning or deny that meaning exists.

It’s into this desperate hopelessness the glimmer of our Creator’s light shines. Perhaps a light comes on in the next room and leaks under the door of your dark room. A warm, inviting glow breaks through the dreariness saying “come and see.” Do you stay in the familiar darkness or move toward the light? In Matthew 4:6, Jesus quotes Isaiah 9, who is in turn speaking of Jesus. From the beginning, God has been reaching out to us. He calls us with and into a great light. The Prince of Peace brings the fullness of what God foreshadowed from the beginning.

The town of Itabi (eee-tah-bee) is a small and lush town nestled among rocky hills. Having lived there for years, most of the people I met are blind to the ever-present beauty. Through the eyes of an outsider, each overlook and slope full of precariously balanced rocks are simply spectacular. The perspective residents share are of being overlooked and forgotten by the world. Many feel resigned or even condemned to a life that is less than that of people in the “big city.” The good life is more than elusive, it’s unobtainable. We met many people who had turned to alcohol to numb the dreariness of mere existence. Many had been neglected or abused by those who had selfishly sought meaning in life through power, control, and indulgence. There were intricate, tangled webs of abuse cycles from which no one seemed to be able to break free. It was remarkably similar to how people are in my home town. Everywhere, people are seeking satisfaction and comfort in places that can only bring deeper darkness.

But life doesn’t have to be like that. We are called out of the darkness and into the marvelous light. Immanuel means “God with us.” God Himself comes to us, breaking into the darkness with light. The Creator enters Creation, stepping into the muck and darkness that can consume us. Through Him, the Gospel brings good news to all of us, everywhere. In Him we can find peace. We can find rest. We can find joy.

Two years ago God used our little mission team to bring this good news to a small town in Brazil. Lives were changed. Eternal destinies were secured. These experiences in Itabi continue to ripple throughout my mind as they echo throughout the world. God’s light is calling to every person in every people group everywhere in the world. The invitation is open.