I’m a bit behind on my posts due to both the busy schedule and some internet challenges, but, no worries…. I’ll catch up. First I want to tell you about the church I attended today in the village of Ambohimalaza. (Pronounced Om-boo-he-mah-lah-zah) This village is home to the descendants of the Malagasy royal family. An ancient wall, built centuries ago in the time of the King, still stands in the village. I’m told that the reason the wall remains standing is because the builders mixed egg shells into the mud bricks for strength. Whatever they did, it worked.
The road into the village is deeply rutted, so we park the car, walk the rest of the way and finally turn into the wooden gate. Ibrahim tells me that they are building a new church slowly, bit by bit, but this is the place they call home. Plastic sheeting in a variety of colors protects the congregation from direct sunlight, but not so much from the rains that now come daily. The tiny interior is divided by a brick column that holds the roof up, The congregation sits on narrow, rough, wooden benches and the dirt floor is broken up by a center pathway made up of broken tile pieces. In the front of the church, a table draped in a lambaoany displays a colorful map with the words, I Love Madagascar; a wooden podium stands on a raised brick platform.
As worship starts, my eye is naturally drawn to the handmade bamboo capo strapped on a guitar. Last night, as we were driving through town, I watched a group unload their equipment from the back of an open truck into the street, obviously arriving for a gig in a downtown venue. Old amplifiers and pieces of this and that held together by tape and wire, but they make it work. Musicians in every nation always seem to find a way using whatever it is they have at their disposal. This young man and his bamboo capo is no different.
Cathy pulls out her flannel-graph materials to teach a bible story to the children, but the truth is, everyone loves it. For the volunteers with blistered hands, who spent countless hours cutting out hundreds and hundreds of these characters – this is why it is worth it:) After she finishes, I sing a worship song, share a few thoughts, then Pastor Herisoa stands to speak.
This young man who speaks French fluently and is learning English, is currently learning to read the New Testament in Greek in his seminary studies. He spontaneously responds to my message with scripture after scripture after scripture, encouraging the people, driving home the point of the compassion of God and the hope for new life in Christ. He takes to the blackboard to illustrate what he calls the narrow way, emphasizing that it is not an easy way – and we all have troubles in life. But he points out that before we trust in Jesus we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders, struggling to walk on our own two feet. He quotes Matthew 11:28 and 29 – no bible necessary: Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. The pastor dwells on the directive to learn from me, encouraging his people to read the word, meditate on it, and above all, obey the word. He tells them we must follow Jesus and obey God’s word if we want to grow and want the church to grow. Nothing fancy and no special affects needed – just truth and an old blackboard.
I glance at the people to see how they are taking all of this in. They are fully engaged, some taking notes in tattered copy books with pencil stubs, others clutching well-worn Bibles. The only child making a sound in the church is an infant who happily burbles away in her mother’s arms. The children seated on the benches don’t need to be entertained or shuttled off to another room – of course, there is is no other room – this is it. They don’t disrupt the meeting – that wouldn’t be tolerated. They listen, quietly and I’m amazed to see, attentively. Like their parents, they seem just to be grateful to have a church to call home.
Pastor Herisoa finishes and a man stands to read scripture from Matthew 6: And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet i tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you? So do not worry saying What shall we eat? or What shall we drink? or What shall we wear?…your heavenly father knows that you need them.
These words take on a very different flavor when read in this context. Several in the congregation wear the free tee-shirts distributed by all the candidates in the last presidential election. Skirts, shirts, pants and shoes are in tatters. Hunger is apparent in the sunken faces and tightly drawn belts. They take comfort in the words – our heavenly father knows that you need them.
Once again I am impressed at how truly good the Good News is to the poorest of the poor. I reflect on my own western church experiences. It’s a scathing assessment, but, believe me, I start with my own heart. How many of us grumble because church is not meeting our personal needs or expectations? We drink our Sunday morning coffee and gather around tables packed with food, filling our plate multiple times, without thought. We judge the worship leader by whether or not we like the song selections and then settle into cushiony chairs to judge whether or not the pastor is on today. We fidget, hoping the speaker is not long-winded so we don’t miss our Sunday afternoon activities. This, of course, does not reflect all western church experiences but, if we’re honest, most of us will admit that we have been there/done that. While the church is out here in the nations, sitting for hours on rough benches in steaming heat, dressed in rags and hungry for food, but more hungry for truth and dependent on God’s power and each other for survival. A scripture painted on the blue and white plastic that serves as a wall catches my eye: Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another…
Now it is time for some unfortunate church business. A man stands to tell of a thief who came to his house to take the money from the offering box. His young daughter was home alone when the drunken man first entered, demanding the money.He is known to all the village so I won’t say more, but the man standing at the podium apologizes to the church for fighting with the thief and for only being able to save a portion of the offering – $8.00. Ibrahim leads them through a discussion on what is to be done and then they ask me to sing again. Once again I sing In Heaven’s Eyes, explaining the meaning of the lyrics beforehand. When I finish the song, I tell a story and encourage the church to pray for the thief. They all nod their heads in agreement – God can rescue any life.
Our time together ends with pictures and handshakes and smiles all around. We walk the uneven road back to the car and drive the 25 km home to Ambataroka. We pass rice fields with grazing cattle and streams where people wash their dirty clothes. A man follows a herd of ducks, keeping them in line with a small broom. In an adjacent field, a large group of men gather to gamble on cockfighting, a regular activity. In one congested road people spill out of busses to attend a festival at a local Catholic church. A woman in front of the gate sells rosaries and small statues of Mary and Jesus from a rickety table while others around her sell various foods and trinkets. I snap as many pictures as I can of people selling vegetables and meat and clothing and flowers on the bridge and in the street markets. These people work so hard for so little, And if they sell nothing, their families do not eat.
A snake oil salesman with a megaphone hawks his wares as crowds press in to buy his miraculous tonic that will cure every disease known to man – and in only fifteen minutes. I pray the words spoken in church this morning over the people as we pass: Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.
