Waves of Isolation

I heard lonely horns and the rumble of passing trains

Though they were too far away
Just visiting ghosts and memories

I stood yesterday in a bustling market
I couldn’t understand or pull a word from the air
Not one that was meant for me

I tumbled in waves of isolation
Lifted suddenly,
Then dashed to sands

At the start I was anxious grasping...
Until I resigned, and
Just let it
Rumble
bustle, and
tumble

One Sunday, March 4th, 2018 in Madagascar...

This is a long post, but it was a wonderfully long day, with so much to remember!

...

Wow, what an interesting, busy, worshipful, heart-filling, and tiring day. It is Sunday night, March 4th. I should head to bed, but I want to write about it before I forget too much of it.

We began early: attending a 5:30 am service at the large Lutheran church in Ambovombe, Madagascar (pronounced ahmBOO-voombay). “Who gets up this early on a Sunday morning?” I wondered. Apparently, a LOT of people in Ambovombe do!

We were a bit late and it was near capacity, but—knowing that we were coming—three seats were saved for Meta, our friend Jama,

and me, right up in front of the preacher’s pulpit. That was at once welcoming, intimidating, and also humbling because--in such a full worship service--for what kind of people do ushers hold seats? I'm no dignitary!

The liturgy was familiar for the most part. I knew when we were singing the Kyrie, praying the Prayer of the Day, and listening the the appointed lessons. I liked knowing that my congregation would read those same lessons on the other side of the world some hours later. It was a connection from here to there, and many points between.

After Pastor Tody (pronounced “2-D”) read the gospel, he delivered a children’s message.

There were so many girls and boys that they were crowded up in front and down the aisles, while others simply stood up from their seats. Meta told me, “This is new.”

Then the sermon followed. I understood almost none of the Malagasy words. Nevertheless, I did my best to follow his gestures, cadence, pitch, and the congregation’s reactions. I tried to guess at what he might be saying. I realized in the moment that I would be doing this "attentive listening," without understanding, for a large part of the next 10 hours, and many times throughout this Madagascar trip. At some point in his message my wife, Meta, leaned over to gently let me know he was talking about sin.

I sensed that he was nearing the end of his (not unreasonably long) sermon. Then, with a nudge from Meta, I realized he was looking at the three of us and speaking IN PRACTICED ENGLISH! Woh! What the..?!, He gave us—gave me, really—a brief synopsis of his message in my language! I was one guy out of hundreds in that congregation, and he gave 3 minutes of his time to me? Who am I? Who would someone have to be for me to do the same for him/her? I was humbled, gently embarrassed, and very deeply moved. *(I should mention: Jama, our non-Malagasy friend and photographer/journalist, was also sitting with us for a good portion of this service.)

During the announcements, the assistant welcomed us in English as well. He welcomed us as representatives of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. They included us in their prayers. Again: that meant a lot!

The choir, directed by Mamabe (pronounced “MamaBay”), my mother-in-law, sang a couple songs, including “Do, Lord, Oh do, Lord, Oh do remember me,” again in English. I was delighted to join in, to be included and welcomed like that. Wow! My wife taught me a Malagasy word/slang for it, like when the country mouse goes to the city to visit his cousin. His jaw drops, amazed at the tall buildings and people around him: I am “tambawaksa” (pronounced tahmbah-WAHKsah).

In spite of such a large congregation, they offered Holy Communion at the altar rail, group by group with a short blessing for each. Most people grabbed a small silver cup for the wine as they went up, but a gentleman in front of us offered and insisted, through Meta, that I use his own personal glass cup.

Well, due in part to an interesting way that Malagasy congregations receive offering, the 3-hour service ran a bit long. I knew that we were also supposed to attend an 8:30 am worship service in my father-in-law’s home village, Sevohopote (Sehvoohoo-POOteh). 

I had been told that they were planning a few things for us, and that they realized we might be a bit late, so they would wait for us before starting. ...What? Again, that was so kind and welcoming, but I must admit I was unsettled and uncomfortable to have my presence affect the starting time for a community’s worship. However, Mamabe is also the choir director and a board member of that church. So, they needed to wait for her, too.

(Jama went back to the house, but Abdul joined us.) When we finally arrived I was so glad that the pastor had only paused the start of the service and his message—

already in progress—for the noise of our car, and commotion of our arrival to the cabin-sized church.

Pastor Todisoanjanahary Alphonse Jean de Dieu preached. Little ones and some adults stared at me and at Abdul sitting next to me with his camera. Again, as she had been doing all morning, my wife slipped me some ariary (money) to put in the offering, and she gently warned me to watch my head on the low beams as we went up to put our money in the baskets.


Several choirs sang and danced, directed again by Mamabe, adults, a youth choir, and a children’s choir. At one point Meta told me that they were singing a welcome song to us: “Welcome to you from far away,...” with solos. What lovely and sincere hospitality!

I was asked to share a few words, while Meta translated. I don’t remember exactly what I said now, except how grateful and honored I was. Also, I talked about my own congregation that would be waking up hours from then for their Sunday worship, and how good it was to be a part of the spread of the word, from here to there, joining from opposite sides of the world. Meta then said some words on our behalf and left a donation for their altar and ministry.

God bless that young Pastor! 

Since a car hadn’t come to pick us up, we stopped over at my father-in-law’s homestead, which he still owns and rents to some of his family. This is where Meta had spent part of her childhood doing chores and climbing trees. The aunts, uncles and cousins spread a mat on the ground for our short visit.

We then continued our walk toward home, watching for the car, passing ox carts, and meeting people on the way, many that Meta knew. We stopped at one group of small rough buildings (more relatives) where there were coconut trees. With their permission, Meta, climbed a wooden ladder in her Sunday skirt to twist off a group of three coconuts. 

We were nearly home when the car finally met us. It was Boba (pronounced: Boobah, his nickname), Meta’s long-awaited brother from Tulear!

Well, after teasing him for being so late (which was kind of ironic), we had time to eat lunch in town. The next church service wasn’t until 3pm. It was Papa Sambo Paul’s (Meta’s father’s) church in Ambovombe. We stopped briefly at the house to pick up Jama, and for lunch we went to a place where Boba assured us that the turkey and rice was one of the best in the area. He was right! After we sat out front and ordered our lunch, Meta got a nearby street-hawker to bring his basket of oysters. So for several of us, our appetizer was a bunch of fresh-shucked oysters with a local handmade hot sauce, sakai, they called it.

Another street hawker came by with two live chickens, and Meta recognized him as a high school classmate. She introduced him as the smartest in her class in math and science. She offered him some of our turkey and rice, but he declined. She slipped him a little money. Ultimately, he was able to sell his chickens to the hostess of the cafe.

On our way home Meta received a phone call, and she had to quickly return to her home (which is also where Nofy i Androy is housed). UNICEF representatives were making a surprise visit to learn more about Nofy i Androy, and how UNICEF might partner or help answer some specific needs.

While she visited with them, I went upstairs and noticed Mamabe was eating some of the cactus fruit I'd wanted to try, and Meta’s other brother, Paubert, peeled a half dozen for me. He showed me a very traditional way to peel the skin with his knife without touching the flesh of the fruit, so that he could serve it clean and with deference to a guest. As he peeled, Paubert also said how grateful he was that, along with our clothes, gifts, and school supplies that we brought to Madagascar, we had included his newly purchased radio equipment which was going to help him launch his a radio station and recording studio. He also spoke about how happy he was that Meta and I were led to each other. I will not forget his sweet words and kind accents.

However, as the time crept along, I again started worrying that we would be late for the next service. I had been told that I was expected to say a simple greeting and blessing at this church as well, so I was embarrassed at the thought of Papa Sambo Paul sitting in his own church and holding our empty seats. I went downstairs to eavesdrop on the UNICEF conversation to see if it sounded like they were wrapping up.

Outside the room, some of the Nofy i Androy girls were waiting, and I thought Meta might like to briefly introduce

a few students to the UNICEF reps. So, I poked my head around the curtain, and with my horrible French said, "Excusez moi? Some of the NiA girls are waiting out here. I didn’t know if you might like them to join?” The look I received wasn’t exactly annoyed, but I could tell that I wasn't being helpful, ...I quickly disappeared.

When it was already after 3pm, I asked Meta’s family about the next church service, and how long it would last. At that point, I was told it would last from 3 to 5pm, but that the Pastor wouldn’t preach until about 4; so, it was fine to be late.

I thought it might be helpful to both remind, but also let Meta know they had a little time to talk, so--apologetically--I interrupted the UNICEF meeting to let her know that I would go ahead and join Papa Sambo Paul at the next church. 

However, once there, we found that--while some people were in pre-service Bible study--the worship had not started, and would not start until about 4:30pm, and that Pastor Jacky was in his study praying before his message. If I wanted, maybe I could meet with him. I could find out more clearly what he was expecting me to say or do. The (secretary?) outside his study, said he was still in prayer, and I tried to make it clear that I didn't want to interrupt, I could come back just before worship. However, they insisted that I wait. Eventually, I was led to his study. Through Paubert, as my interpreter, Pastor Jacky told me that he hoped I would bring a brief message and testimony during worship. I answered that I didn't want to take up his worship time, and that I would just bring greetings and a thank you. He answered that he really hoped I'd say more, and assured me that someone would be there to interpret. So I said, "Sure. I can do that!" Then I thanked him for letting me interrupt him, and asked if I might lay hands on him and pray for him, which he accepted.

So, again, Paubert and I walked home. By this time, the UNICEF meeting had wrapped up, but now Meta was interviewing the Nofy i Androy girls, in small groups. For the last time, I interrupted Meta to let her know we still had more than a half-hour before church. At that point, I'm lucky that laser beams didn't shoot from her eyes from all the interruptions! 

We finally entered the last of the three churches, and on time! I discovered that in this congregation men sat on one side, women on the other. Meta joined the women, and I took my place in the second row, next to my father-in-law. Dear Paubert sat behind me. As we sang the opening hymns, some of which had familiar tunes, I peered over to Papa Sambo Paul's hymn book to hum and bumble along. 

Pastor Jacky finally entered, stepped up to the podium, and began to preach on Abraham. Suddenly, I felt someone plop down next to my left side, and I was (happily) surprised to discover my wife! Then, I was worried

that we might cause a problem, having crossed that gender line. When she saw my look, she whispered, "I am to be your interpreter." Ah! Okay.

I have to tell you how sweet it was! especially coming from Meta. 
- First of all, I love my wife's voice, her expressiveness and accent; it's just beautiful. 

- Second, Meta doesn't like interpreting. She's a teacher by heart, who knows that a person learns by listening and trying, not through interpretation. Moreover, interpretation is tiring, and it keeps you from being able to really digest for yourself what the speaker is saying. So, it meant all the more that she crossed over to do this for me. 

- Third, after so many hours of listening, and not understanding, to hear whispered bits and pieces of what was being said from the podium meant everything. I had been doing my best to be respectful and engaged. I listened, watched their lips, and practiced picking out individual words from all those long strings of syllables. But after so many hours of being surrounded by people with their attention on me, but not being able to verbally connect, I was feeling pretty isolated. Throughout the day, I was deeply moved by each pastors' welcome, by familiar hymn tunes, by Paubert's kindness, and now by my lovely Meta's whispered voice. In the sands of all the Malagasy syllables and words, her whispered English was like gulps of fresh water that revived my spirit, and that finally linked me to Words of scripture, grace, and inclusion. That moment was more like worship than any other. 

After his (relatively short) sermon, Pastor Jacky invited me up. Meta again came alongside to interpret. I didn't exactly give a testimony, but I encouraged the people to do three things: 1) Stay open to the Spirit's leading. A few years ago I would not have imagined being in Madagascar, and sharing worship and faith with Christians on the opposite side of the world. 2) Support the Whole Body. As Paul said, "The eye cannot say to the toe, 'I have no need of you,'" just so, various church groups can celebrate and use our significant differences without dissolving into petty arguments. We need each other for the sake of the whole. 3) Encourage and pray for Pastor Jacky and his family. Prayers, notes, and drawings from children uphold and strengthen us. We experience God's grace through these kinds of things from our congregations.

Then, I stepped down, but Meta remained to give her testimony. I no longer had an interpreter to know what she was saying. I could tell it had something to do with me, and people were laughing. hmm. 

Later, she told me that she talked about how God answered some of her prayers in an unexpected way when we were led to each other, and how she wasn't at the first too sure about dating me, especially since I am a pastor. 

Paubert also provided his own testimony about how God had sustained him when a cyclone destroyed his house and work some years ago. Since then, some out-of-the-blue answers to prayer brought him back from the brink, so that he has been able to rebuild much of what was lost.

Later this Sunday night, as several shared dinner in a nearby hotel and restaurant (owned and run by another of Meta's relatives), I reflected on this incredibly tiring and fulfilling Sunday. I decided to write it all down, as much as I could remember, so that I would not forget at least this one full day out of all the rest of the days that I am spending here in Madagascar. 

This country, too, has become part of my "home" and family. 
Thank you, God.