The day begins at 5:00 am as I rise to pray, prepare a sermon and finish packing. I was supposed to travel to the south yesterday but postponed my flight to Toliara specifically to encourage my friend Pastor Theophile and his congregation this morning. I yell through my open window to Cathy that I’m too busy to eat breakfast this morning but will see her after church for our trip to the airport. At 7:50, I answer a knock at the door with a mouthful of toothpaste, toothbrush in hand, expecting to see Cathy. Instead I find two people I don’t know, requesting prayer. Like so many here, they are facing a desperate situation and prayer is their only hope. I excuse myself to wipe the foam off my face, spit and come back to pray.
It’s hard to know at times if people are truly coming for prayer or hoping for money from the American. But most of the prayer requests here have been sincere and this woman and her son are no exception. It’s a request that can’t be fixed with money – they need God to move on their behalf. ( which, by the way He does, the following day)
At 8 am, Theophile is at my gate. A taxi delivers us to the bottom of a high hill and we begin the steep climb to his church up a narrow, shack-lined passageway. Fly-covered sausages hang from ramshackle shops. The fragrance of fresh bread from a countertop basket cuts through the pungent mixture of urine, sweat, rotting meat, alcohol, and smoke – the odors of crowded slum life. Children stop to stare as I step over a dead mouse and dodge a sudden splash of water. A man bathes in the middle of the alley, pouring buckets of cold water over his head. All around him people are yelling and fighting. What a perfect place for a church.
I’m feeling the burn of the climb and the already hot sun when the wooden church gate mercifully appears on the right. Immediately the atmosphere changes. Like every Sunday, the congregation has already been there for some time – kneeling on the concrete floor, heads bowed over wooden benches, praying. The presence of God is so tangible, so sweet that I stop breathing for a moment. This is holy ground.
Theophile walks me into an unfinished building next to the church, explaining that it is meant to be a place for classrooms, community outreach and a small place for him and his wife to live. However, three years ago a wealthy woman appeared with court papers claiming that a few meters of the land the church is on belongs to her. While land disputes are common in Madagascar, this one took the church by surprise and immediately stopped all construction and forward movement. Theophile, a dear friend that we have known since 1999, has always been a man of faith and vision. But even he admits that he has battled discouragement over the last three years of litigation – and there is still no end in sight. While I won’t go into the details of the case, I will say that it’s a battle that will need to be won in the spiritual realm – because that’s really what this is about.
Inside the church, the singers take their place on stage and the place erupts in praise and worship. Throughout the morning the weight of God’s presence only increases. By the time I stand to preach I really have nothing to do but ride the wave and get out of the way. The service ends with a powerful time of prayer and we can sense the discouragement break and fresh faith rise.
I’m looking at my watch, concerned about missing my flight, but Theophile has one more thing to do before we leave. He asks his congregation for an offering for the Mikea people in Anjabetrongo – which shocks me and brings tears to my eyes. While rich in the things that matter, his is a poor congregation, economically speaking. But in ten years since we started the Mikea project, this is the first time a Malagasy church has asked to contribute to the mission. The worship team sings a joyous song while, one by one the smiling church members file to the front depositing all they can into a colorful basket. Everyone gives and cheerfully. I thank them and assure them that every ariary will go directly to buy maize for the Mikea family of Fandahara in the week ahead. My heart is full as Theophile and I start our steep descent and hunt for a taxi to take me back to Ambataroka – so grateful that I was able to spend this morning with the family here and bring encouragement to my dear friends. I also leave determined to help bear the burden in prayer until the court case is resolved. Who will join me?
