I don't talk about it very much, but one of my great adventures while in seminary was being invited by the sponsoring convocation of a missionary in the Diocese of Western Tanganyika in Tanzania. The invitation was extended to me to take supplies with a small team for the missionary and for the bishop there.
I think one of the reasons I don't talk about it is because it's one of those things that I've really not made a lot of sense of. For instance, arriving in Nairobi was a challenge in and of itself, just all the changing of planes and such, and then driving across Kenya to Bujumbura, being held at the border for over eight hours so that we couldn't cross into Tanzania until nighttime.
There were animals I'd never seen before in my book of African animals crossing our path while we were there at night. Then finally getting into the diocese, it was just very different than anything I expected. One of the things I encountered was a cross on display in the compound that was sent to them by the Coventry Cathedral Community of the Cross of Nails. That very same cross was on the mantelpiece at Camp McDowell in Winston County, Alabama.
My world was confused. It was a very interesting experience.
After waking up from jet lag at the hotel in Nairobi those first days, there was a solicitor in the lobby of that hotel who said, "I give you a discount for a safari in the Nairobi National Park."
A discount? That worked. As a seminarian, that sounded pretty good.
What I didn't realize was that he was a cab driver every other day. He just thought it would be a nice way to get some business. So the small team got into the cab and drove off into the wilds of Nairobi National Park. There was a terrible sound under the car, and it turned out to be a flat tire.
The driver got out of the car and said, "I change the tire. You watch for lions."
I'm here to tell the story, so you know how it turns out.
Later, he took us to the marketplace where his brother ran a booth, and he insisted that I needed this carved wooden plaque that had the word karibu on it. That's K-A-R-I-B-U.
I asked him what it meant, and he said, "Well, in your country it means, 'Come on in.'"
But as I spent my two weeks in Kigoma, in the Diocese of Western Tanganyika in Tanzania, I learned that it was much more than "come on in."
It's true that when someone would come to the door of your lodge and knock, and you said, "Karibu," it meant, "Come on in." But it meant more than that, as I learned from the bishop in conversation. I started hearing it in encounters at church. I started hearing it in encounters with the children in some of the impoverished neighborhoods nearby.
Karibu was the sort of thing that said, "Hey, it's me." Karibu could mean, "Hey, it's you. Let's get together." Karibu could mean, "Are you doing anything interesting?" And you might say, "Karibu," which means, "Let's be a part of it together."
The bishop explained it this way. He said, "It's as if you're saying to that person, 'I know you, and I know what you need.'"
Interestingly, Mama Rosa, the bishop's wife, said, "That's ridiculous. It doesn't mean that. It means, 'I see you.'"
Which is sort of the same thing, isn't it?
I know you. I know what it is you need. I see you.
Karibu.
Welcome.
Be seen. Be known. Be welcomed.
In today's Gospel, Jesus said, "When you welcome someone, you welcome me."
You know what that makes me think of? It makes me think of that passage in Genesis when God created humankind in His own image.
That's really quite a leap for some of us, because that means that we, that I, am made in God's image. I don't have a long flowing beard. Well, I have a scraggly beard, but I don't have the image of the Renaissance God sitting on a cloud.
But I do know that one aspect of God's nature that I share is a desire to be in His created world.
I love to go outside. Y'all probably don't know this about me, but I started collecting little trees that were growing on fence lines. I'd put them in pots and start pruning them. You know what that's called, right? Bonsai.
I have sixty of them at home, and I take care of these little plants. For some reason, I haven't killed very many of them. Well, I've killed plenty of them, but I still have plenty.
It's not just nature; it's that creative process. It's the involvement with shaping these little trees into what better bonsai artists might refer to as bringing out the potential of a tree—letting it speak to you.
I'd like to think that I do listen.
Well, that just sounds weird. I listen to trees.
But I pay attention, and I notice, and I like to see what it is they need me to do. Sometimes they just want me to ignore them, which I'm pretty good at too.
Being created in the image of God can mean a number of things. Each of us, in our individuality, living into what God has created us to be, might mean that we are really good at numbers, or really good at sports, or really good at art, or really good at helping other folks, or really good at coming together and organizing stuff.
Or, in Duncan's case, he's a darn good preacher, isn't he?
The gifts that we live into reflect the image of God in which we are created.
That presents an opportunity. That opportunity is to recognize in ourselves that image—to look, to see, to discern: How is it that God has shaped me in particular? How is it that God has shaped you uniquely?
My favorite funeral passage, of course, is the one that says, "In my Father's house are many mansions. I go there to prepare a place for you."
He knows you. He knows who you are and what you're good at. He also knows pretty well what you're bad at. He certainly does in my case.
But isn't it interesting that this unique nature that is ours is an image of God?
So Mama Rosa, the bishop's wife in Kigoma, in the Diocese of Western Tanganyika in Tanzania, laughed at her husband and said, "Karibu is really saying, 'I see you.'"
When somebody comes to your door and you say, "I see you," maybe—just maybe—it's an opportunity to see the God in them, to see what it is they are gifted at, what it is they bring to that relationship, what it is they bring to the world.
When Mitzi and I came here a year and a half ago, it's been so wonderful.
And I'm going to sell Heavenly Hosts to some of the younger generations, because you do not know what you're missing.
We've got a room full of God at those Heavenly Hosts. Am I wrong?
We have a room full of people who want to be together, who want to share who they are.
In church on Sunday morning, that's a little trickier. We're mostly just facing this altar. We're coming together. But the minute we have an opportunity to interact, you have an opportunity to reflect the image of God within yourself and karibu—to see the image of God in others.
That's an awesome responsibility.
Frankly, sometimes we don't do such a great job because we see what we want to see, or we see what we're taught to see, or we see the labels that surround people we encounter in our daily lives.
What we see is not God, but what we put on people.
That can often get in the way of relationship, of community, or, I'll just say it, encountering God.
Jesus has already said it in today's Gospel: "When someone welcomes you, they welcome me, and when they welcome me, they welcome the One who sent me."
There you have it. There's the Gospel.
When you answer the phone and say, "Hello?" you might have God on the other end of the line.
It's an opportunity not only to recognize what God has blessed you with, but to recognize what God has blessed others with—an encounter with God.
I think that is really magnified when that encounter comes as a surprise to the other person.
Jesus said, "When you give a cup of water to one of these, the least of mine, you give it unto me."
I don't know if Constance Rogers has called any of you yet, but she schedules the Meals on Wheels deliveries, among other places, just north of here in that neighborhood along Lower Wetumpka Road.
It's a very interesting neighborhood.
Here's my experience of that. I feel so holy going there with this meal, saying, "This is for you."
But what I encounter is somebody saying, "Son, are you lost? You've never done this before, have you?"
I find myself in a place where they have something to give to me. It's not so much me giving to them.
So I commend it to you. Volunteer here or there, and watch out. You may very well encounter God.
But you have to be open to it. You have to be willing to say, if you don't mind, karibu—K-A-R-I-B-U.
You might just see God when you go to offer that cup of water to one of these, the least of mine.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.