So last Sunday, I’m sitting in our main campus chapel, live-streaming a contemporary Christian service on my cell phone. A young, charismatic black preacher exhorts the congregation to “fight from a place of Victory, the Victory that Jesus has already secured for us all through his death and resurrection,” in the face of life’s greatest challenges and struggles. That congregation shouts back “Amen!” and raises their hands in praise. The call and response is backed by the improvised soundtrack of a world-class pianist on the Steinway we reserve for special occasions.

People say it’s good to get outside your comfort zone. Sure. Suffice it to say, I can’t even see my comfort zone from here.

First of all, I’m not Christian. The core teachings of my religious tradition are about acceptance, nonattachment, and saving yourself through a disciplined mind. I’m about as lily-white as it gets, too, and have deep respect for but little experience with non-Anglo-centric church traditions. I’m the dictionary definition of introverted (I scold car horns and loud children). I’m almost tone deaf and appallingly short on rhythm. I’m skeptical of the entire social media movement—but especially as it relates to religion.

So, how did I get into this? I had every opportunity not to do this. Nobody came into my office demanding we hold a contemporary, multicultural Christian service. Nobody told me when I signed up to become a Buddhist chaplain that part of my job would be to make church happen at a tech school. And if someone had walked into my office and demanded that, I would have told them the truth—I’m not remotely qualified to do any such thing!

But I saw a gap in our services and a need. I checked in with trusted colleagues, and they echoed my suspicions. I asked for their help, and they stepped up. Together we built something none of us knew how to build alone.

The greatest challenge has been managing my own anxiety and discomfort. Even now, I struggle to put that discomfort into words.It boils down to this: I’m standing on the edge of a vast chasm, my feet firmly planted in my intentions, and I’m prepared to jump, not knowing what the impact will be on the other side.

Expertise is the ability to align the impact of our actions with our intentions. When we operate within our competency, we intend for X to happen, and X happens. We understand the necessary cause-and-effect relationships. When we operate beyond our competency, we intend for X to happen, and we could get anything from A to Z instead. The relationship between cause and effect is a vast unknown chasm.

Within that chasm were all my unanswerable questions. How do I ask about the desires of distinctive cultural subsets of the college population without reifying segregationist attitudes? How do I look after the needs of students of color while being inclusive of all students? How do I recognize and value difference while tearing down racist hierarchies of human worth?

I think that’s where a lot of people get stuck. We don’t dare admit ignorance. We don’t dare admit we don’t know how to do this. We don’t dare admit we might screw this up horribly before we even begin. I know I’ve been stuck there many times!

It would be much easier to say this isn’t my job. Nobody ordered me to do this. So I’ll stay here in my office and plan a new meditation program or write a journal article. At least until the next great chasm shows up.

But I didn’t want to be stuck there again. I wanted to learn to do better.

I settled on a facilitation model. I gathered together a trusted cohort of staff from different areas and said “I know squat about this. You are the experts. Tell me what you need and want. Tell me when I’m asking the wrong questions. Teach me the right questions.” And they did. And together we did this thing. And it worked.

So last Sunday, I found myself smiling and swaying along to the praise and worship and calling back with a “whoop-whoop” of my own now and then. I soaked up the positivity and hope in the pastor’s message.

In the post-event survey, 100% of participants said they enjoyed the event, 85% said they’d come again, and 35% volunteered to help us organize the next one.

I can’t even see my comfort zone from here, but you know what?

The view is just fine anyway.

Photo: Sitting on the Edge by Mingshen Fu.