The New Church

His name is Varisoa (Good Rice), he's 26. He called me over to have a look at a strange bump that had appeared on his arm and his concerned face looked to me for an answer. I bent down to take a look and a small vein was gently pulsing below his bicep, "It won't stop Marisely." I did my best to explain to him the workings of the heart and the veins throughout the body. I explained to him that it's his pulse and showed him where else he could find it. As I was measuring my pulse and feeling for his he looked to me and said "See Marisely, I told you God created us."

The church bell, the rim of an automobile tire, starting sounding at 7 as the Lutheran pastor fervently banged away. As the congregation started milling in around 10, Varisoa was the first to arrive. By 11 the one-room school house was filled with church-goers, most of whom were under the age of 15, 6 of whom were adults and all of us were wearing our best, the same clothes we wore to the ball the night before.

The history of churches in Belitsaka started in the late 90's when a lone Catholic priest built a one-room church on the edge of town. Every Sunday the priest convened over his congregation to preach God's word. His followers were apparently never more than 10, but the onlookers, people peering in the windows watching everyone pray, ran 50 deep. As most prayer watching goes, the same hymns lost their novelty and the prayer peepers stopped showing up. Within a few years even Christmas had lost its glimmer and the priest had a hard time getting his congregation to arrive. Increasingly fed up with his lack of followers the priest stripped the building of its tin roof and plank pews and moved to the next village over. Over the next few months the building was stripped of its salvageable building materials until nothing but the cement floor was left. Belitsaka had lost its first and only church.

This time it started with a quiet Lutheran pastor and his chance passing through town, realizing there is no church in Belitsaka. My neighbors welcomed him into their home, fed him and gave him a place to sleep. The elder looked to me and said "Marisely, there is someone in town that has come to make us pray." And shot me a quiet look of "isn't that cute…"

Nowadays the congregation's numbers seem to have risen, if even only with children and the prayer peepers rarely come. It seems clear to me that there are believers in Belitsaka even if Varisoa is the most dedicated, and given the pastor's subtle mixing of traditional customs and beliefs into his sermons, I think that this church may have more of a chance at success.

As for me, I'll go.