Last month, it was a wedding in which I embarrassed both myself and at least a dozen others.  I’m still on a roll.  This month it was a funeral.  Oh, when will I get it right?
 Funerals are even more couched in tradition and taboo here in Madagascar than weddings are, because a people who believe with everything that is in them that a dead ancestor wields more power than even God, is terrified of offending that dead relative or the thousands that have gone on before.  There is grief in abundance at a Malagasy funeral, but there is also fear.
          Sunday morning worship had just finished.  A representative group of the Ambohijanahary congregation ran out before adult class started.  We headed to town to meet up with the representative group from the Ankadivato congregation to attend the funeral of Liva’s mom.  The day before we had made a visit to Liva’s home to view the body and give the customary speech of condolence to Liva’s family and to leave our offering of money to help the family with the funeral expenses. There are no funeral homes in Madagascar.  Liva’s own family lovingly and fearfully prepared the body for viewing and for burial right in their own home.  The main room of the house was emptied out.  The body was washed and dressed (in the deceased’s wedding clothes) and placed on low tables that pointed in just the proper direction.  The head faced just so, or the ancestors would be displeased.  The body was draped with netting and lit candles sat at the head and foot of the table.  Chairs for the family members to sit on were placed just so beside or in front of the body.  Our group entered the room in a certain order.  We stood facing the family, a set speech was given with a response from a designated family member.  An envelope of money was handed from us to the family by the youngest adult women in our group.  We filed out and the next group of visitors entered to repeat the process.
          The family sat up with the body all night.  Early Sunday morning the netting was removed from the body.  A thick fringed piece of off white silk material was wrapped carefully around the body with the fringes hanging from the head and feet.  Seven cords of silk were ceremoniously run underneath the body to each point where they would be tied to hold the silk covering in place, the first just below the feet, the second at the ankles, third under the knees, and so on until all seven cords were in the proper place and tied with seven knots each.  A hundred other rituals, which I will probably never learn and which even Malagasy argue over, were carefully completed in order to appease the ancestors and the deceased. 
          It was a very hot and sunny Sunday afternoon as we accompanied the family out of town to the family tomb situated near the village where they own farmland.  None of us had eaten since breakfast.  We were one car in a motorcade of minibuses that carried the family and the body (placed fully wrapped for burial in a temporary coffin for transport) to the tomb.  The family tomb happened to be a long way from town over rutted muddy footpaths, hardly enough for a car of bus to traverse.  By the time we reached the village it was mid afternoon.  The body was moved into the old crumbling brick church building and the mourners filed in and found seats on dusty, rickety, unstable pews.  A rather long memorial service followed and then the burial procession made it’s way up a rather steep dirt path heavy with weeds to the family tomb which had been opened earlier in the day.  The sun still shone hotly.  Mourners encircled the tomb and another rather long ceremony of prayer mixed with frequent references to blessings from the ancestors took place. 
          Designated members of the immediate family carried the wrapped body (minus the coffin) into the tomb to be laid on a stone slab beside the bones of another family member who had gone on before.  All members of the immediate family went into the tomb to say their final and very personal farewells, but the funeral was not over yet.
          When the family exited the tomb, they climbed to the roof of this house-like burial place for the dead and proceeded to give a long eulogy and speeches of thank you to all mourners who attended the services. 
          Funerals make me even more nervous than weddings.  When one rather foolish and stupid foreigner makes a mistake at a wedding the living family is embarrassed, but a faux pas made by one foolish and stupid foreigner at a Malagasy funeral involves a firm belief that curses from the dead will surely ensue. It was late afternoon.  I was extremely hot and hungry and very tired of struggling to understand Malagasy speeches.  We had a long way to go before reaching home where my children were waiting for me.  Nevertheless, I stood near that open tomb while the speeches were finishing and congratulated myself on making it the whole way through this funeral without making a stupid mistake. 
          I let my attention drop for one measly second.  I happened to look up and saw what looked to me like all the mourners raising their hands, so I raised my hand too.  The first thing I heard was a giggle and then I felt a sharp jab in my ribs.  It was Dinand, a brother in Christ, standing next to me who elbowed me.  Elia, a sister in Christ was giggling almost uncontrollably while Dinand hissed in my ear, “Why did you raise your hand?” 
          “Because everyone else was raising their hand,” was my wilting reply, as I realized that I have yet again made a stupid mistake.
          “Well!” he said half laughingly and half exasperated with me, “You just blessed the dead!” 
          I did it again.  Thankfully, I didn’t offend the dead or even the living family.  I did exactly right in their eyes, but this time I was guilty of a greater offense.  I didn’t set a very good Christian example.  I know God is covering over this mistake too as I continue to learn about Malagasy culture for His sake, but sometimes I wonder how long He will put up with foolish, weak me.

          Claris stood up at the end of adult bible class a few weeks ago just before closing prayer when the teacher asked if there was anything anyone else wanted to add.  She blushed and stammered and then asked for a minute to gather her thoughts and sat back down.  The class waited expectantly and then Claris stood again.  “I’ve decided to be baptized,” she said.   Immediately, almost before we could react to Claris, her husband shot into the air with a smile as broad as Main Street.  He did a little two step, clapped his hands and said, “Can we sing a song before we do anything else?”  Claris’ husband Jean Baptist is a new Christian and he was just overflowing with joy at his wife’s announcement.  He insisted that we sing a song called The Lightening Has Struck.  I found it difficult to get through that song, giggling a little at his choice of titles.  The church rejoiced with Claris, but before a prayer closed the class, five others also stood up and requested baptism. 
          Jean Baptist carried his 5 children from their home and lined them up along the lake to watch their mother put on her Savior.  The five others were also baptized, two couples and an elderly gentleman, and the new church in Ambohijanahary rejoice that already they are having a part in planting yet another congregation that will eventually meet on the orphanage land as soon as we get the house finished.  In the meantime, both small groups are meeting together, with half of the people traveling quite far to worship and learn more of His Word.

• Pray that the Malagasy people will be able to harvest their rice and that the rice will not be destroyed by the recent flooding.
• Pray for the Malagasy people as they struggle with the many traditions like those of burial that continue to bind them so tightly.
• Please continue to pray for the new Christians that are worshiping at Rivo’s home with us.  Pray that they can grow strong and be good examples for their children.
• Pray that the children may learn to trust and love our Lord and Savior as much as we do.
• Pray for us as we continue to serve and try to understand the Malagasy ways better, so that we may become effective tools in His hands here in Madagascar.