Vocation

I rarely feel enthusiastic at the idea of large crowds. The thought of having to move through so many people induces a mix of uneasiness and dread. Last year, I distinctly remember walking to the Museum of Fine Arts with a group of students on World Series night. The sheer volume of people felt bewildering, and I was extremely glad to finally break out of the wave of people moving toward Fenway Park stadium.

Thinking back on that night, the strangeness of it all stands out vividly to me. Even though I’ve lived near Boston for most of my life, I had not seen such a large amount of people gathered in one place in a very long time. The newness of the situation felt intensely disquieting as I tried to navigate through the crowds.

Discomfort is an emotion I encounter regularly. Usually, it occurs in the context of social situations. At large gatherings, butterflies seem to form in my stomach when I try to socialize or meet people. If I speak in front of a large group of people, my legs start shaking, as if they had gained a mind of their own. My response to uncomfortable situations has generally been to avoid them. Given the choice between mingling with a large group or spending a quiet night at home, I generally choose the latter. When someone asks me a question I feel very awkward answering, I’ve noticed that I tend not to respond–and hope that the conversation somehow carries on.

While this avoidance strategy has made me feel more at ease in the past, I’m beginning to appreciate that this strategy isn’t very viable in the context of ministry. In service last Sunday, on Parents’ weekend, I faltered at one point when I read the psalm. Normally, I would have tried to push aside the unpleasant discomfort of knowing that I misspoke. As other people read during the service, however, I remembered that making a mistake is a learning experience. I had survived, and I even gained a bit of personal feedback for the future.

A close friend once gave me a piece of advice that I value greatly. He told me quite simply, “Always be uncomfortable.” I still have not fully appreciated what he meant, but my meeting with Soren did give me some insight. I was talking to him about reaching out to a student who came to Marsh for the first time. When Soren asked me what my goals were for this conversation, I was initially at a loss for words. I felt nervous, certainly, but the greatest fear came from not knowing where to begin and that the conversation could go badly.

This kind of fear is not one that can be avoided or circumvented like the World Series crowd. The possible discomfort and strangeness of a first encounter is important, especially in Interfaith ministry. For one thing, it prevents us from taking what we are accustomed to for granted. It also exposes our own vulnerability, that we don’t know what to expect. That vulnerability helps maintain an open mind toward other faiths and appreciate their understanding of the divine.

This past Wednesday, I attended an event on Arabic calligraphy. A calligrapher showed several images, explaining each word’s meaning in its intricate designs. Since I never took a course in Arabic, I felt out of place. One picture, though, stood out to me. It was an image of a star and the word for Allah. When the calligrapher explained that the name repeated over and over around the star represented Allah’s oneness, I was amazed. I had no idea how he made sense of the image, nor how other students understood the writing. Yet I could sense the intense beauty of the word and all the deep meaning associated with it. In that instance of discomfort, I felt just a bit closer to the students in that room, the culture conveyed in the word, and the divine embodied in its meaning.