Proper 24, Year B, RCL

“In the name of the one God, creator, redeemer and sanctifier” Amen.

Several of you in the congregation have commented to me about having read my article in the September Magpie newsletter. As a result, I found that we have something in common besides being Episcopalian. The love for travel has emerged as another common bond. Swapping travel stories during a recent potluck dinner was insightful and a delight for me as well.

While preparing for this sermon, it occurred to me that some of the sick and shut-ins have learned more snippets about me than many of you here in the congregation because there is more time to talk. Most of August, which was when I began my position here, was spent doing pastoral care visits with Rev. Bob Carlson. I continued doing these visits after he left us. I love pastoral care. In fact, it is one of my passions as a ministry. You never know what you can learn from someone. The beauty of these visits is not only the sharing of the Eucharist but also building relationships with one another within the faith community of St. Margaret’s. For instance, one of my fondest visit was with one of our sick and shut in who is from Wales. I knew Gwynn is a Welsh surname. However, I never knew it had a meaning. She informed me that my last name in Welsh means “white.” Well, upon hearing this, our eyes locked upon each other as we roared with laughter. I always wanted to visit Wales. My future trip to Wales has moved up several notches on my list of places to visit thanks to her.

Today being the newest member of your clergy staff, I would like to continue to tell you more snippets about myself by sharing some of my experiences that affected my spiritual and personal growth in the early 1980’s. Many of my travel experiences challenged me as a Christian while I reflectively searched for my purpose in life.

To be honest with you, I had no idea these experiences were the beginning of an ongoing process for future service as a vessel for God’s purposes in my life. God was preparing me in many ways I did not see or accept at the onset of the possible reality of ministry as a vocation. Nevertheless, God always has the last word because it is God’s will and not mine. We always pray for the will of God to be in our lives, “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” in the prayer taught to the disciples and to us as the followers of Jesus.

We are challenged everyday to be the followers of Jesus in a world that globally seems to thrive by standing on a foundation built with power, greed, capitalism, and oppression. God thinks of us as stewards entrusted with all that has been placed in our hands to care for and to manage during the course of our lifetime. We have a choice as to what kind of steward we will be in our lives.

I can think of a couple of travel stories where God has shown me how to be a servant for him and has shown me the “Holy presence” in my life and in others where I least expected. Please come on a journey of discovery with me for a little while.

In the rural Serehule village of Gambisara in The Gambia, West Africa, I stood in front of a clinic, which became my daily work place as the rural village health extension worker. This village is where I lived as well, among Muslim villagers for two years as a Peace Corp volunteer (PCV) in the early ‘80’s. Gone were all the comforts of modern facilities (electricity, indoor plumbing), familiar food, language, and customs. I was an experiment for Peace Corp (PC) being the first volunteer posted here. I certainly was the first African American the villagers had seen. I was the first Christian who lived among the 4500 Islamic villagers. The fact that I was a woman also added another dimension of differences. I found myself now living in a very traditional Islamic village lead by devout Islamic elders and village leaders. However, on a whole, the villagers embraced me as their stranger.

This was not the case for others who came to the village to work. In previous years prior to my arrival, English was not allowed to be taught to school aged boys who studied in the village Koranic school supported by Mortimer Qudafi. The village elders did not allow the Gambian government teacher, sent to the village, to disembark off the bus that carried him. He was ordered to return to the capitol city, Banjul.

Oh yes, there was power and prestige visibly present by the “head honchos” of the village. This crew included my adopted father, Alhadji Sungkung Duckuray, who served as the aged village chief’s right hand man. Alhadji had the responsibility of my welfare because I was a guest and stranger in the village.

This is why upon the first day of my arrival; his family name of Duckaray was bestowed upon me. Initially, the villagers thought I was already Muslim since my birth name Caron, sounded similar to the Islamic holy book, the Quran. I am known in the Gambia as Isatou Duckuray, a traditional Islamic name. Each PCV in the Gambia receive Muslim names from their adopted family in an elaborate traditional village naming ceremony. This helps to ease the language barrier often encountered. Therefore, I became the American adopted daughter of a man who has high position and rank in the village of Gambisara.

On behalf of the chief, Alhadji managed all of the village affairs, which included the social, economic, and governing decisions made. Alhadji heard all problems and concerns brought to him by fellow villagers and strangers such as me in need of any kind of assistance whether it was pertaining to food, money, shelter or family. Alhadji is a man of stature who at the sight carried a certain presence and respect as the village ruler. Everyone in the village recognized him as a leader. I saw him as a servant leader. I learned about servant leadership from him. Alhadji is also a steward of maintaining and building relationships with those entrusted in his care in the village.

Nothing took place without his permission. Out of respect to him, I sought his permission to begin a women’s gardening project supported by an USAID grant I wrote. I needed the chief to allocate land to some of the village women for the garden. Alhadji did not approve of his wives to participate. He felt women congregating together would lead to their laziness and interfere with their daily work and family tasks. However, three weeks before I was to leave for the states, he confessed to me that he thought the garden project was a good idea. He suggested that now I could do something with the men. I had to tell him it was too late with regret. I had waited two years for an invitation to work with the men on a needed project they would identify to undertake.

However, I worked with women whose lifestyle was of a lower socioeconomic status within the village caste system. These were the slave families; however, the husbands fully supported their wives working with me. The garden thrives today yielding extra food and income for them. Usually, they escort me to see the gardens upon my return visits to the village.

I was shocked to learn there were poor families owned by the richer families in the village. Alhadji owned a slave family. One day I was struggling to do my laundry and one of Alhadji’s wives informed me that he would send someone to me to do my laundry. Macheeta showed up at my door demanding to take my laundry. We became good friends. I gladly paid her because washing clothes was not an easy task. The slave system there was more like an indentured service system. Alhadji was responsible for the welfare of his slave family too. These families lived in mud brick homes vs. the huge cement homes the richer families resided in like Alhadji. I made it a point to regularly weekly visit Macheeta where the slave families lived in the old part of the village.

It was not always easy living in this village. After one month, I was over -whelmed with village life. I cried out, “ Lord why am I here in the middle of nowhere in this hot broiling sun where the food is not good, the fish man was run out of town over a price dispute, and I do not eat beef and babies die here often?” I glanced at the faces of the mothers who had walked miles to bring their babies to our well baby clinic and saw my answer. I saw my answer in the face of a smiling baby who caused me to break traditional cultural rules when I ran with him in my arms to the clinic for treatment of Malaria while his mother chased after me. I refused to wait to seek permission from the father because they had already lost one son to the illness. He would have died like his brother. It was a risk I had to take. The father thanked me for saving his son before I left to return the states.

I volunteered for Peace Corp to share my gifts as a public health educator and have an impact on the health care delivery system in an underserved county. However, my understanding of whom I was as a Christian became clearer as I lived and worked in Gambisara. I had no church to attend but rather practiced devotions on Sundays in my own round hut. At Christmas, I arranged for a meal to be prepared for my family and then taught them the meaning of Christmas while carols played on my cassette tape another volunteer had given me. Several of my Peace Corp friends would converge in my home as well.

We learned from each other as we shared our faith practices. I witnessed my Muslim neighbors and adopted family live out their faith practices daily by taking care of each other collectively. I was a benefactor of their generosity. We are our brothers and sisters keeper.

We as a faith community are entrusted to each other and are stewards for relationship building for the mission of the Church. In 1984, I returned from living in my village with a thirst to become an active Christian instead of continuing to be an inactive pew Christian as I was before going to The Gambia.

At St. Margaret’s we continue our service through stewardship for all that we are entrusted with from God. John Barry reminded us of the wonders of creation and animals. Chris Beal and Martha Jenkins spoke of our invaluable relationship with Dr. Madrid and the medical clinic in Honduras. Anne Figgie shared her mission experiences in South Africa as she sought our continued support.

Since I began at St. Margaret’s, much of my time has been spent being involved with another one of my passions in ministry, which is outreach and mission. In today’s Gospel, Jesus informs the disciples and us that he “came not to be served but to serve.”

Today, at St. Margaret’s Jesus reinforces us not to waiver in striving to continue to be stewards by faithfully giving our time, talent, and gifts. There are numerous opportunities to serve the church and the community through the various ministries from which to choose from for your active participation while we reach out to our brothers and sisters within this church and in our community. To this end, following the 9 AM service we had our Mini Walk for “Charlie’s Place.”

Let us pray:

We bring to you O God all of our resources which you have generously given us. We offer you to you our lives. And, our dollars. And our love. And our loyalty. And our skills and talents. And our devotion. And our time. We ask that all of our gifts be of service in the ministry and mission of St. Margaret’s for the Church through Jesus Christ our Savior. AMEN. (copied and adopted from Homiletics/October 2006,p. 61)