Artwork by Aron de Chaves, Spanish & Portuguese Synagogue, Creechurch Lane, London, England

 

Of all my high school classes, speech terrified me the most. In my youth, I had a speech impediment that some described as both creepy and comical. Imagine a cross between 1960s actors Peter Lorre and Marty Ingels. In private preparation for my public speaking debut, I read and re-read the Exodus narrative where Moses is given the divine mandate to address the people of Israel. Critical to my immediate need was the part where he complains to the LORD. “O my Lord, I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor since thou hast spoken unto thy servant: but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue,” (Exodus 4:10 KJV). I figured, “If God helped Moses, think of what God could do for me. He had to deliver God’s people from Egypt, defeat the Pharaoh’s army, and write the Bible. I only have to speak for five minutes to a crowd of kids that can’t even drive themselves to school.” God’s promise to be with Moses helped me conquer my own fear of public speaking. My chosen topic was medical ethics. Their reception was tepid. I had focused so much on the sound of my voice that I missed the opportunity to say something meaningful for my fellow students.

I think communicating with people of other faith traditions could have similar pitfalls. It was certainly true with me. My first encounters with interfaith dialogue were a little messy. I knew enough to get in trouble, but not when to be still and listen. Memory fades, but the embarrassment of my failure to communicate left deep scars. In retrospect, I believe I tried too hard to be clever, charming, and relevant. Instead, I came off as ignorant, rude, and worse yet, patronizing. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.  

It would have been great if I had an Aaron by my side to interpret and smooth things over. Compared to Moses, Aaron was fluent in the dialect of the people of Israel. He shared their history, customs, and beliefs. In many ways, he was the perfect interlocutor. He faithfully stood by the side of Moses whether they were addressing Israel or Pharaoh. The only hiccup happened when Aaron went into the idol business. My takeaway is that he was not fully converted to the exclusive religion of Moses. He may have said to Moses, “Hey, dude. I was off the clock. The people wanted a golden calf, so I gave it to them.” Amazingly, after his fall from grace, he was still the best qualified for the job. This point could be good news for congregations where “saints and sinners” are in conflict. Sometimes the best qualified for a task might be the person who does not share the same worldview as that held by the majority. The optics of this may be unsettling for rigid idealists or others accustomed to judging. In the case of Aaron, his momentary lapse from the true faith did not disqualify him from service to Moses and his community. In fact, his rough-hewn approach to leadership may have made him more authentic. His persistent humility and commitment to his task made him indispensable. It could have gone the other way. If he had proven too much of a saint, he may not have survived the night. He could also have been considered a rival to Moses. No one knows.

Those of us who live and move in academia and religion frequently benefit from “Aarons.” They are the expert interlocutors of religion, race, and culture who teach us the nuances of diversity and the dangers of micro and macroaggressions. When put to the task, they can prove highly effective agents for assisting administrators, spiritual leaders, and teachers who need to navigate and function in an increasingly diverse world. At my college, we have diversity officers who take on this role for our students and staff. Unfortunately, there is a dearth of such people who can do this for interfaith groups.

To those who would aspire to engage in interfaith work, let me offer a bit of advice. I have learned that authenticity and humility are highly valued by most parties interested in dialogue. Religious education is important, too. Learn all you can about your neighbors. Be careful not to discount the role of Aarons, polished or rough. They are necessary for bridging the gap of understanding in interfaith dialogue.

The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect the view(s) of The United Methodist Church or any other employer or institution.