On the Road to Fianarantsoa II

The Road to Fianarantsoa Continues

The next day we continued our journey toward Fianarantsoa for the installation of a new coadjutor bishop. As we drove from the Diocese of Port-Bergé toward the capital of Antananarivo, the landscape slowly began to change. The hot, flat lowlands gradually gave way to rolling green hills and the quiet mountains of the highlands. With each hour on the road, the air grew cooler, bringing welcome relief from the flies and oppressive heat of Port-Bergé.

Bishop George began each day’s journey with the rosary, and it gave a peaceful rhythm to our travels. As we prayed, placing the joys and difficulties of each day in the light of the mysteries of Christ’s life, I found myself reflecting more deeply on my own mission here in Madagascar. Lately, I have been especially drawn to the mysteries of the Incarnation and the birth of Christ, the first and third Joyful Mysteries. Christ, though He was God, chose to empty Himself and enter fully into the poverty and fragility of human life:

“Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:5-8)

MEP missionaries don’t have a distinct spirituality in the way the Franciscans or the Dominicans do. We live and work primarily as diocesan priests, and what unites us is the mission itself. Over the centuries, however, MEP has been deeply marked by an incarnational spirituality: just as Christ emptied Himself and took the form of a servant, we too are called to empty ourselves and enter fully into the lives of the people to whom God has sent us.

This means more than simply working in another country. It means allowing ourselves to be reshaped by a new language, a new culture, and a new way of life, without losing the core of who we are. We are called to walk with the people we serve, following the example of Christ, who chose to dwell among us.

I think the most difficult part is looking at the sheer vastness of it all. The language, the complexity of the culture, and the constant poverty and need can make it hard to know where to begin. At times, the task feels overwhelming. In those moments, I often think of my grandfather. He used to tell us, “Just one day at a time.” Each day we simply do what we can and at the end of the day, we can offer that small work up to the Lord. After all, it is His mission.

The Installation

Two days later we arrived in Fianarantsoa. Bishop George stayed with the other bishops who were present for the occasion, and I was again welcomed by a junior seminary.

I must admit that one of the more disorienting things I have observed since my arrival in Madagascar has been that the Church here already seems firmly established. This may sound strange, but what I mean is that everywhere I have gone I have encountered Malagasy priests, seminarians, and religious sisters and brothers. In taxis and marketplaces, I have met many Christians, and the churches have been full. It’s wonderful to see such a vibrant and growing Church. Yet at the same time, it’s not always immediately clear what role a missionary society like MEP should play here.

The Diocese of Fianarantsoa has around 190 priests and about 220 seminarians in its major seminary which forms priests for 5 dioceses. I’ve been told that the dioceses on the high plateau are among the most developed, but it has still given me pause. It has led me to question whether there truly is a need for MEP here. I had always imagined that once a parish was functioning well, once a Church was self-sufficient, the work of the missionary was done. Am I not seeing things clearly? Or maybe I’ve had an idealistic vision of the mission? Those questions stayed with me as I arrived for the installation.

Source: Episcopal Conference of Madagascar. (December 14, 2025). Installation of Mgr Jean Nicolas Rakotojaona, Coadjutor Archbishop. eglisecatholique.mg

The installation was a grand affair, with hundreds of priests and faithful in attendance. There were too many people to hold it inside the cathedral, so the diocese set up a large outdoor stage. As Bishop George was near the altar, I found myself quite alone. Most of the other priests seemed to know each other and chatted easily among themselves. For my part, I did my best to smile and to greet those around me, but I didn’t get beyond a simple “Salama”, hello.

After the Mass, I was walking back up the hill towards the makeshift sacristy when an older Malagasy priest stopped me and began speaking to me in French. “Who are you?” he asked. In truth, I was glad to finally have someone to talk to. “My name is Fr. Andrew,” I replied joyfully. “I just arrived in November, and I haven’t started learning Malagasy yet.” He looked at me and said, “We don’t need you here.” Then he turned and walked away.

Of course, I thought of a hundred good responses later that evening, but in the moment, I was so shocked that I was left speechless. More than that, he struck a nerve; with just a few simple words, he exposed my fear and my doubt, and it hurt. After all, I thought, perhaps he is right. Perhaps they don’t need me here.

But another word rose gently from within my heart, the words written on my ordination invitation: “Where you go, I will go; where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people…” (Ruth 1:16)