ELCA Global Mission: Circles of History

January/February 2010

“Here,” said Kristine, Olaf and Ragna Carlson’s granddaughter. “Wear this for a while. Perhaps it will inspire you as you remember our story.” And remember I do, as I now gaze at the simple silver bracelet she put on my wrist.

Kristine: Grandmother was a nurse. She ran an informal dispensary on the porch of their home in Madagascar. While she went along as a wife, she served in her own way as a medical missionary for almost 20 years. Though she was able to help and save the lives of people in Madagascar, she wasn’t able to save the life of my grandfather.

Grandfather, a traditional missionary pastor, contracted malaria as so many missionaries—and Malagasy people—did and still do. When he died, my grandmother buried him on that island and became a single mother to six kids, stranded on a faraway African island in the Indian Ocean.

It was 1941 and a war was on. German U-boats were circling the Atlantic Ocean. My grandmother needed to decide. Should she risk the lives of her children and try to navigate those waters to come home to the United States? Or should she stay?

One day, when a ship headed for Boston came through, she knew what she needed to do. Saying a final farewell to her husband’s body, she boarded the ship with her children, and they came home.

Grandfather lies buried in a missionary cemetery in Fort Dauphin, along with other missionaries who died in service. His grave overlooks the Indian Ocean.

When the family landed in the United States, my grandmother had no pension, but she managed to make her way to Northfield, Minnesota, where she worked as a nurse and put her children through college. “Get your education,” she said to us grandchildren, because, for her, being a nurse meant having a livelihood.

“I have a number of these bracelets,” reflects Kristine, “each a gift with its own faith story. I wear them everywhere—in bed, in the shower. In airports, I get wanded all the time by security, and they say, ‘You wouldn’t have to go through this if you took off your bracelets.’ I’m willing to put up with it. These bracelets connect my story to my family’s missionary journey.”

In 1920 in Fairview, Montana, my grandparents, Olaf and Ragna Carlson, were at a Bible study. They read a passage in Romans 10: “And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’”

They finished their devotion, they looked at one another, and both knew that God was calling them to be missionaries in Madagascar. So they packed up, took baby Oliver to Paris, and began language study.

It was a costly move. Following Jesus took my grandfather’s life . . . but he willingly gave it. And I grew up with a sense of the cost of discipleship.

It is a sadness my family has lived with for generations, as the journey was one of tremendous cost. But the journey has also been one of tremendous joy. Joy in the vocation that our family has had.

“These bracelets connect my story to my family’s missionary journey, but they also connect me to the people of Madagascar.”

Madagascar is the third poorest country in the world. Life is hard there. People work hard. These silver bracelets remind me that, though they live with so little, they are so rich. The silver often comes from old silver coins and sterling spoons that they melt down.

So lovely, the bracelets are a way to have and express beauty in the midst of difficulty. The bracelets are worn by both men and women in Madagascar, and they wear arms full of them, if they can afford it. They wear them for a while, and then they give them up.

The bracelets are their commodity and economy. They may use them to pay for a child’s education or for health care. These bracelets are their dowry. If my daughter were marrying, I would trade bracelets for food and her wedding dress.

Wearing them makes me feel connected to the women of Madagascar, some of whom die in childbirth and some of whom mourn children who die at a very young age.

Madagascar has become a regular part of my world now. Over the years, my family has often had people from Madagascar visiting in our homes, and this has made the world seem small and interconnected.

“I received my first bracelet as a child. When I was in grade school, my cousin Margit returned home on furlough and gave it to me. I put it on, and I have worn a Madagascar bracelet ever since.”

Life for missionary children wasn’t easy. My father, Roald, was born in Madagascar in 1925. As a missionary kid, he went to live in a home for missionary children in Fort Dauphin, where he went to school. He would see his parents twice a year: a short-term vacation and a long-term vacation. And, they would serve six- or seven-year terms before going on furlough, a long break, together.

Madagascar missionary work touched my whole family. Cousin Margit, who gave me my first bracelet, was the firstborn of Uncle Oliver and Aunt Gene, also missionaries. Margit today is a jeweler who works with gems from Madagascar.

“My second bracelet was given to me on my confirmation in Bethany Lutheran Church in Brooklyn, New York. Confirmation bracelets have now become a part of my story; my sons, nieces, and nephews all have Malagasy confirmation bracelets.”

My formation by Madagascar has become intertwined with my formation at Bethany Lutheran. Though this urban congregation was struggling, it has been truly remarkable in my life. We were small in number—so whatever gifts you had, the congregation wanted them! And because we were small, we were creative: at Christmas, wise men weren’t always boys. I got to preach as a teenager. Because young people were given public leadership, the congregation has produced many pastors. In fact, there are many daughters of the congregation in ministry.

The congregation I now serve, Christ Church Lutheran in Minneapolis, reminds me of this place, as we have children reading the lessons and serving as assisting ministers in worship. We didn’t have a word for it back then, but it was truly inter-generational, as elders knew the young people, and young people felt cared for by the elders.

“This big bracelet, my third bracelet, was given to me in college by my parents. My father had returned to Madagascar to do research for a degree he was working on. This one is like a bracelet that my Aunt Gene used to have. Dad knew I always coveted Gene’s bracelet, and so he brought it back for me.”

Aunt Gene was a Madagascar missionary, too. Like Grandma, Aunt Gene also had a medical dispensary on the porch. She was a physical therapist.

She was truly amazing to me. She knew how to kill chickens, pluck them, and cook them. And she knew how to sew clothes.

She always made things beautiful. Even in a missionary home with rats and bats, she always had flowers on the table!

“I got this fourth bracelet from my husband and sons when we went to Madagascar a couple of years ago. My congregation, First Lutheran Church in Fargo, North Dakota, was supporting a Madagascar pharmacy student in Fargo. Members of my congregation joined us.”

I will never forget this journey. My father and I stood at the grave of his father, buried there so many years ago.

We met children and grandchildren of people who were served by my grandparents.

I will never forget meeting one of the elders of the church where my grandparents served. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for your grandfather who brought us to Jesus. Your grandparents brought light.”

Of course, though Jesus was already there long before my grandparents came, this was such a powerful moment for me. It reminds me of a favorite Bible passage that says, “Let the eyes of my eyes see. Let the ears of my ears hear.” That’s what my grandparents helped with: opening eyes to see what was already there.

At that moment, I couldn’t help but remember that Romans passage which inspired them to become missionaries in the first place: “And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’”

“I have this group of three bracelets that I wear, one for each of my sons. I will give them away to their future life partner someday, and the missionary story will be passed on.”

My sons were deeply affected when they visited Madagascar. After they saw Malagasy children living in the streets, they would eat just a little, pack up the food, and share it with begging children.

My two oldest sons were 14 and 11 when we visited Madagascar; they are now in their 20s, and I don’t think that either of them has purchased new clothes since this journey. Their wardrobes now come from the clothing exchange at Holden Village. This encounter with poverty affected them profoundly.

“This last bracelet is not from Madagascar! It was given to me on the 25th anniversary of my ordination by my congregation, Christ Church Lutheran in Minneapolis, with the hope that it would have a similar symbolic value. I never take this one off either. I am always wearing Christ Church.”

Madagascar has made me a pastor. What drove my grandparents was love for Jesus and for the people of Madagascar. That’s the bass note in all of this. When I tell my story, I always say that I’m a grandchild of missionaries. My father was also a Lutheran pastor; my mother was on the Global Mission board for many years.

When I was growing up, Brooklyn was a mission field in the United States, and it’s why I have a heart for Christ Church Lutheran today. It’s a Lutheran church in the heart of Lutheranism. Yet it’s surrounded by an unchurched community.

My ministry is about reaching out to people who don’t know the story of Jesus. How do we help people to see the light of Jesus which is already in our midst?

I really do love that passage from Romans: “And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’”

Madagascar has also driven another personal passion for ministry. Because malaria took my grandfather’s life, I work to fight malaria. I have been working for years on a mosquito net project.

“I have a stash of bracelets for future grandchildren,” smiles Kristine. “These bracelets symbolize a profound family story, faith tradition, and global vision. Passing on the bracelet is passing on a great big story!”

Like my grandparents, I learned to speak French. What languages do we need to learn now to tell the story?

The Rev. Twila Schock is Director for Global Mission Support. The Rev. Kristine Carlson is pastor at Christ Church Lutheran in Minneapolis.