"Hemispheres Embrace," by Madelyn Herman Busse with "Swedish Haiku" by Bishop Allan Bjornberg

Rocky Mountain Synod - Madagascar 2000
Companion Synod Visit

Hemispheres embrace
Underneath a Southern Cross
Consecrated space

This last July, 20 people from the Rocky Mountain Synod accompanied Bishop Allan Bjornberg on a Companion Synod visit to Madagascar. Men and women, clergy and lay, youth and adults, African and Euro American we were bonded to one another and to our brothers and sisters in Christ in the Mahajanga and Antsiranana Synods of the Malagasy Lutheran Church.

This was the third RMS group to make a Companion Synod visit. Previous groups traveled in 1992 and 1996. This trip allowed us to take new and significant steps in developing a deeper level of understanding and partnership.  Group members moved beyond official meetings and celebrations and were able to travel to many small countryside churches, engage in small group discussions with pastors and other leaders, and experience life in the community.  All of us, travel group and synod are richly blessed through this relationship!

Effervescent song,
A revelry of praising,
Certain, sure, and strong.

The Malagasy Christians gifted us with their hospitality and effervescent songs of praise. Worship and shared meals were the centerpiece of our visit. A typical Malagasy service can last up to five hours and is filled with exuberant, harmonious hymns. The gathered community includes those who have walked 12 and 15 miles on foot and pastors who also travel on foot or on one of the bicycles which were a gift from RMS. To watch each one process to the altar with their offering is a sacred movement of worship. Those who have no money to offer bring offerings of food for an auction which becomes part of the worship.

Banana, lettuce,
Mandarin or basket bin
Will you buy a breath?

We don't understand the language, but we are joined in heartfelt worship. The liturgy and love of Christ penetrate our lack of common language and we are one.

Songs I cannot know
Sung in languages of praise
Understand my soul. 

We are humbled by the generous meals prepared for us by the women who squat in front of small fires outside the church. 

We rejoice with the students and faculty at Betela Seminary as together we share the joy of the first lights illuminating the chapel and homes as a result of the solar lighting project funded by the gifts of the people from our synod.

We are awed by the Toby's (too-be) - healing communities where those who suffer come to live in a community of faith and healing. They are cared for by the "shepherds" who engage us in a powerful service of healing.

Spirit sad? Bile bad?
It's Toby or not Toby,
A question of faith.

We offer you photos and images from our trip. Those who traveled are eager to tell the story and are available for presentations and teaching. Our synod Global Mission Committee will communicate information regarding future projects through which we can support our companions as we continue this journey of faith which joins us.

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"In the Hands of God," by Erin Dunlavy
            The two questions I have been asked most often since returning from Madagascar are “What did you eat?” and “Were you afraid?”  The first question isn’t difficult to answer.  We ate a lot of rice and chicken.  We drank bottled water.  There were usually croissants for breakfast.  If we went hungry, that was our choice.  But was I afraid?  That question is more complex.  The short answer is “yes.”  But if I were to be honest, I would have to say I am afraid a lot,  everyday.   I am afraid of not having control of my own life.  Now isn’t that a strange thing for a Christian to fear?  Aren’t we supposed to believe that we are in God’s hands?  Maybe I just haven’t gotten that far in my faith.  But regardless of where I am in my faith, Madagascar moved me. 
            Pastor Jim Gonia had warned us that things would not go as scheduled in Madagascar.  He wasn’t joking.  Our flight from Antananarivo to Mahajanga  was a forty five minute flight that took almost three hours what with waiting in the terminal for the flight to be called, and then sitting in the plane on the tarmac waiting for a mechanical problem to be fixed.   I was feeling pretty impatient.  I had a book with me, and I read to pass the time, but I still felt frustrated.  And then we arrived in Mahajanga.   I was amazed. 
            There was this gathering of people who were all so happy to see us.   They weren’t angry with us for being late.  They had waited for us with a certainty that we would arrive;  they greeted us with nothing but kindness and love.  They didn’t seem frustrated with circumstances outside of their control.  They merely did what they could to make the circumstances that already existed better.  These people were living the serenity prayer.   They sang and danced for us, and with us, and as I stood there and looked at all the faces with their welcoming smiles, my head was filled with thoughts of my own lack of gratitude.   I had been so concerned with being late, my precious sense of schedule being broken.  That was a turning point for me.   Suddenly, I was being given the gift of a vision of what life might be like, if I could be a little bit more like the people dancing and singing before me. 
            When I let go of my expectations of how things would be, released my agenda, and accepted that this time in this place was out of my control, everything seemed more right somehow.  My small group took three days to reach Antsohihy, and then our van broke down just as we were headed home.  I spent a day feeling miserable with a sore throat and bathroom anxiety.  There were lots of times we weren’t certain where we were going or what to expect when we arrived.  But it was all okay.  It was better than okay.   All of these experiences were real and they were mine.  I wasn’t in control  of what was happening to me.  Yet, I didn’t feel out of control, because I had relinquished my need for it.  What I could control, like my own attitude, I did.  It was a hopeful surrender and a feeling of trust like I had never known.
            The truth is, I fear being unable to control my own life and yet, even here at home, it is rare for me to feel like I am in control.  I suppose a person could use that lack of control as an excuse for why her life isn’t going according to plan, “Well, it’s out of my hands.”  What I witnessed in Madagascar was not that sort of hopeless resignation.  Instead I saw people who had a confidence and a faith in their place in the hands, and as the hands of God.  It is contradictory, but it is true.    
            In this country we cling to the illusion that we control time.  We have calendars, palm pilots, organizers,  watches and clocks in abundance.  All ways of determining what our priorities are and what or whom is worthy of our time.  Time is different in Madagascar.  It is a land of paradoxes.   They do not value the watch and the clock as we do, but I have never known people to value time more.  The Malagasy use time to be in fellowship and friendship with one another.  Time is not measured in minutes or hours but in the quality of the connections and friendships formed.
            Our last night in Mahajanga as we headed to the airport, our van was filled with people, baskets, hats, backpacks, as well as feelings of sadness at leaving our new friends and anticipation over rejoining the rest of our RMS delegation back in Antananarivo.   Pastor Claudias, a teacher from Betela Seminary who had translated for us and become a good friend, noticed I had my backpack on though we were in the van.  He told me to take off my backpack.  Then he told me that many sermons in Madagascar are inspired by this idea:  Why do you hold onto your burden when you are being carried?  In his gentle way, Pastor Claudias reminded me again of the lesson I had started to learn when I had arrived in Mahajanga the week before.  It is a lesson I will continue to learn throughout my life, one I will need to remind myself of often.  We are in the hands of God.  We are the hands of God.  There is work to be done.  Weary travelers are searching for a place where they will be welcomed with smiles of kindness, songs of joy, and a confidence in their arrival.  Sometimes we are called to be the greeters.  And sometimes we are called to reaffirm our witness and proclaim our acceptance as travelers being called again, into God’s hands.