A misty, rainy day greeted us again on Christmas Eve morning as we crawled out of the tent. Funny thing though; it made the boys wish for snow and me wish for sun! With Christmas Eve on a Sunday, we hit the jackpot with opportunities for worship!! The 9:00 Sunday morning service included baptisms, several offerings, and a formal introduction of us, the missionaries. There were about 3 hours between that service and the afternoon one, starting at 3:00, which included confirmations, communion, and again, several offerings.

After that service there was practice for the evening service/party which was to start at 9:00 pm. The youth group and the children’s choir practiced their songs for the evening event. Both groups had dance steps to go with the numerous songs they planned to perform. Being in our “living room” and it raining as it was, we didn’t have much choice but to sit and watch. The children also practiced the dramatic portrayal of the first Christmas, with one woman retelling the story and children acting out the parts. Ben and Jeremiah participated as well. Ben was a wise man and Jeremiah a shepherd. It was very touching to see them being a part of such a familiar story in such an unfamiliar place. “This,” I thought to myself, “will be a Christmas they will never forget!” And one which I will not forget as well. There were the three wise men; Ben, at 10, standing a full head taller than either of the others who were also 9 or 10 years old. There was Jeremiah in his nice clean “church shirt,” long pants, and tennis shoes. There were the other shepherds in their tattered shorts and shirts, barefoot. The clothes were most likely the ones they had been wearing when they ran away from the fire. Most people had nothing but the clothes on their backs. Yet there they were laughing and enjoying themselves in spite of the circumstances. I have to ask how well I am able to do that.

We were told the Christmas story would be one of the first things on the program for the evening. Good thing, since Jeremiah is usually asleep long before 9:00. We waited for the service to start but in spite of a packed house, nothing really got started until way after 9. By then we had given in to Jeremiah’s request to go to bed and I had taken him to our tent and stayed with him there. It wasn’t long after everything got going that Ben was drooping as well so Doug also brought him to bed. Unfortunately, we missed most of the big celebration, even though we heard it through half-awake ears until past 4 am.

How those same people could walk back to their distant shacks at such an hour, only to return again for a 9 am service on Christmas Day morning was really beyond me!! It’s true that most of them didn’t make it AT 9:00 for the 9:00 service, but by the end of the service it was actually a full-house. Earlier that morning the Lutheran pastor had walked back to a neighboring village where he lives and from where he serves this church as well. So it was up to Doug to conduct this service. If he had had his ‘druthers, he would’ve kept this one short, but the pastor had asked him to do a “teaching” as his sermon so Doug taught on the Lord’s Prayer. And it wouldn’t have been a service without the exact same liturgy that had already been used twice the day before and would be yet again that afternoon. So Doug dutifully led the congregation through it all, again.

After the liturgy and sermon, we proceeded to the multiple offerings, multiple announcements, and even a “vokatra.” This is common in Lutheran churches throughout the year. It’s essentially an auction. People donate food items; raw, cooked, or live, and people bid on them. Money for those purchases goes into the church’s fund. This vokatra didn’t last long as there were only some dry beans and green onions for sale. They announced though that they would have a bigger vokatra at the afternoon service.

It was also decided that the Christmas Story would be done at this service since they had not wanted to do it the night before without our boys. Doug had even told them to go ahead without us when he realized our boys wouldn’t make it, knowing it would be easy to find a replacement for Ben’s role as a Wise Man. Nothing doing! They had waited for us. So we scrambled to find Jeremiah’s “shepherd’s crook” and Ben’s gift for baby Jesus (I think he actually carried a box of nails!) and they performed it on Christmas Day morning.

By that afternoon we were feeling a bit “churched out” and had not had a chance to do any exploring together since Jeremiah’s and my arrival. We took advantage of a reprieve in the rain and headed out, hoping to make it back for the end of the afternoon service. We hiked along the path that Doug and Ben had taken to go into the rain forest and meet the lumberjacks. We didn’t get as far as they did though before we felt we needed to turn around and head back. Along the path we collected as many different kinds of leaves as we could so Ben could put them in an album. We marveled at God’s incredible imagination in creating the world and sang “This is My Father’s World.” Not your typical Christmas song, but this wasn’t our typical Christmas.

Unfortunately we arrived back in town just as the people were streaming down the hill to leave the church. It was disappointing, but when we later calculated the total number of hours of services between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to be about 20, we didn’t feel so guilty missing some of it. Doug explained to some of the people that our custom in many places in America is to have one service on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas Day, with each service lasting about an hour. That, he explained, leaves time for celebrating with family. What he didn’t say was that part of that celebration is always the opening of presents that has become such a huge part of our western culture’s Christmas. Hearing about our custom of so little time in church surprised them. They explained that they didn’t celebrate Christmas as families at all, but rather did that for New Year’s. So celebrating in worship is the whole deal for them. That IS Christmas!

We knew we would have our own sort of Christmas celebration when we got back home to Tana, at least opening the presents sent by grandparents, but we tried to add a couple of our own traditions in Manakana as well. On Christmas Day morning we tied a Christmas stocking on the flap ties of the tent and had one present for each boy. Ben got two recorders since he had just been learning to play the recorder at school. Jeremiah received a Malagasy musical instrument made out of a dried squash. Ben and I later practiced Christmas songs together on the recorders, since I have learned how to play along with Ben. We also kept our tradition of “milk rice” for Christmas Eve supper. We invited the pastor to join us with the warning that we ate what would seem like very strange rice. He happily joined us and politely ate the rice, but I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t take seconds as I’m sure he would’ve done had it been “normal” rice. We also had some lefse along that I had made, even though it was really not good lefse at all. As Doug and the boys said, “Bad lefse is better than no lefse at all.” At least it added to what feels like our traditional Christmas.

In between services we found it interesting to talk with the crowd of people hanging around in the church. Amazingly, they all disappeared as soon as it was meal time, but other than that, our “living room” was a buzz of activity and conversation. One such discussion revolved around an aerial photo of the village just after the fire. It was hanging on the wall of the church, with each burned house numbered to act as a guide for rebuilding the village. Children and adults alike eagerly showed us where their house had been (see picture). Again, the reality of all they had lost was hard to totally comprehend. During those “down times” Ben and Jeremiah were also quick to grab the soccer ball and play a quick game near the church, even if it wasn’t a full-fledged soccer game. They easily had a crowd of kids ready to join in on whatever form the game took. For the most part, our boys were also good about helping with dishes and getting ready for meals. We all had to work together to get everything done. It felt like we were back in the old homesteading days, just like the book I had along to read about a young woman living near Medora on a ranch in the late 1800’s. The similarities were amazing!

As Christmas Day drew to a close, we felt incredibly blessed to have had this experience. The helicopter was scheduled to come the next day and bring an end to this adventure and these new friendships. That is, IF the weather cooperated. As many people expressed their best wishes for our trip back and goodbyes that afternoon, one couple asked to talk to us alone. Beaming with pride, they offered us a gift as thanks for our time with them in Manakana. We waited through the traditional “kabary” (a kind of speech one makes at special times, including the giving and receiving of gifts) before reaching into their basket to retrieve the four eggs they were offering. It was truly a gift from the heart and a huge deal for them. We were deeply touched and appreciative. Like the widow’s mite, they gave so much of what they had and we felt guilty receiving it. But of course we didn’t have a choice but to receive it with joy and use it with gratitude.

Later in the afternoon another woman, after already saying goodbye, returned with a woven basket she had made especially for us. She apologized that it was so small and said if she’d had more time she would’ve made it bigger. In my opinion, it was just right. And of course thoughts of production possibilities with Manna raced through my head as I asked her more about the basket and its production. Obviously transportation would be the biggest challenge to working with producers in such a remote village, but one could not question if there was great need. After all, it is here that most women don’t think about any other life than giving birth to one baby after another until their body can’t do it anymore. It’s here that many people can’t afford any vegetables or fruit that aren’t growing wild. It’s here that we see 10 year old children’s teeth rotting or missing (see picture). It’s here that people still live in fear of the curses of ancestors and struggle to appease them. So I stored that one away as something to think about later.

As we all headed into our sleeping bags shortly after dark, we wondered if this would be our last night to sleep in Manakana. I had stood overlooking the green hills stretching on and on, the thatched roofs that remained below, and knew that this was a place many tourists would love to be. To see the hills without a single electric line or road to “modernize” the landscape. To experience the life of a Malagasy village, struggling with the normal challenges of everyday life in Madagascar, including that of burned down houses. To witness the resiliency and strength of the villagers ready to rebuild their village. To ponder the future of this village and thousands of others like it, imagining what simplicity and charm would be lost if and/or when modernity finally knocks on its door. And wondering as well what challenges could finally be alleviated should that occur. I fell asleep still pondering and then dreaming about these thoughts.