Words of Faith: Does faith need new buildings?

I went to an art show this past week in what used to be a church. The artist, a photographer, had taken photos of huge, old trees from very low angles, so they towered starkly over winter landscapes.

His images were oversized and framed with rough, salvaged windowpanes. They hung long and narrow from the roof beams. It was a simple and thought-provoking collection.

This artist had trekked through snowy forests to find old, first growth trees and preserve them. It struck me that this man’s faith was hanging in a church, yet, not of that church. He’d suffered, getting lost in woods, falling into snow-cold ponds and slogging through mud to capture the images. This was important to him. His face lit up as he shared the stories of his art. This spring, he’ll return to his trees, from the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest up through the Midwest. He’ll take their portraits again, as they bud out green and burst with the joys of life springing back.

This art is his faith. It lights his way as he shares it, and builds community awareness of the beauty among us.

This light of his faith is reflected in this week’s Torah portion, from Exodus, 27:20-30:10. The portion documents instructions from God about how things are to be done regarding the practice of faith, including what the priests shall wear and how the Tent of Meeting is to be constructed. The portion begins with the commandment that olive oil be used to light the tabernacle.

The Hebrew phrase for tabernacle is “Ner Tamid.” That light symbolizes the eternal and imminent presence of God in our lives and our communities. Synagogues around the world have a Ner Tamid burning before the Ark containing the Torah. On a more intimate level, there is the expression, “every Jew must light the Ner Tamid in his/her own heart…”

This sentiment is not surely not limited to Jews only, is it? Our personal religions, our relationships with God and our fellow man, is that something which can that be isolated to any specific building populated on specific weekdays? Is one’s faith kept only in that building, to be left behind at the first perceived injustice at the restaurant after service?

I hope not.

I prefer, by far, the answer to the question, “Where does God live?” given by the Rabbi of Kotzk, in the early 1800s. His emphatic answer was, “God dwells where a person lets God in!” He was referring to individuals and a community, not a building. Faith is more than a rote service to be gotten through to get to the restaurant. It’s how you live and appreciate each day. Faith is felt in those “Oh, WOW!” moments – a perfect sunrise or sunset, standing with 3,000 other faithful in an over the top service, or with nine others in a quiet prayer setting.

Or alone in a canoe with a quiet morning of paddling.

It’s the personal conversation with God, and is more than walking into a building in proper attire at the proper time. As Rabbi Harold Schulweis wrote in 2012, “God is known… Not as a separate lonely power, but through our kinship, our friendship, through our healing and binding and raising up of each other.” This can be in the formation and maintenance of communities to help others.

And for Jews, this relates directly to Tikkun Olam, repair of the world. That hope for healing of the world is part of the one of the final prayers recited at the end of every service, the Aleinu (“it is our duty”). As you go about your day, may you create opportunities to be a healing and eternal light to all.

This story was originally published February 13, 2016 at 10:47 PM with the headline "Words of Faith: Does faith need new buildings?."