Find God Among Others
Three thousand years ago, when the First Temple was completed in Jerusalem, King Solomon, like any good congregational leader, organized an elaborate dedication ceremony. He presided over the ceremony. Standing before the whole community he declared, “Will God really dwell on earth? Even the heavens to their uttermost reaches cannot contain You, how much less this House that I have built!” (I Kings 8)
Despite the majesty of the Temple and the remarkable effort that Solomon and the people put into this project, he proclaims it inadequate. Imagine a leader declaring to a synagogue’s benefactors that their efforts do not really measure up and then asking the assembled group, “How can a building, constructed with our human hands, possibly contain God?”
In the Torah God offers inordinate details for the building of the mishkan, tabernacle. Gold, silver, and copper are required. Blue, purple and crimson yarns, fine linen, goats’ hair, tanned ram skins, dolphin skins and acacia wood are added. God proclaims, “Let them build me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” (Exodus 25)
Isn’t God everywhere? How can these material objects bring us closer to God?
Then again, why do we feel God’s presence in our synagogue’s sanctuary? Why do we sense God when standing at the Western Wall, the remnant of Solomon’s Temple? Why do we feel closer to God in places that we build with our own hands? Why are we so awed by our handiwork? Are not natural wonders greater testimonies to God’s grandeur than the work of human hands?
Standing on the bow of a sailboat while staring at the vast, open ocean, it is hard not be awed. As the sun begins to appear over the sea’s immense blue, it is impossible not to utter, “Oh my God.” Watching the sun set over the mountains, as it illuminates the hills with breathtaking shades of red, we breathe in nature’s grandeur. Lying awake on the desert sand, staring at the nighttime sky we can imagine the infinite greatness that is God.
So why do we build buildings, and structures, to house God’s presence? Why do we even attempt the impossible? It is because even if we had all the time and all the resources to pilgrimage to see such natural wonders, we cannot do so with a community of people. We cannot do so with our congregation.
Our temple is not God’s house as much as it is our house. God does not live anywhere. God lives everywhere. We however require a place to regularly gather so that we can find God. As far as Judaism is concerned, we cannot commune with God without the assistance of others. Ours is not a solitary faith. We do not aspire to live alone in nature filling our souls with the world’s beauty and God’s majesty.
We depend on other people. Our prayers are made better by the voices of others. Our ideas are made sharper in conversation with others. As much as we might think we are spending time with others online, there is nothing like being with other people in person. That’s why people go to concerts. It’s not just to hear their favorite group. It is to sit with other likeminded fans and together sing their favorite songs. And the only way we can spend time with others is if we have a shared space to gather.
The most interesting thing about the wilderness tabernacle is that unlike Solomon’s Temple it did not have an address. It was wherever we found ourselves in that moment. We carried the tabernacle from place to place throughout our forty years of wandering in the wilderness. It was not about one particular spot. Instead, it was about always having it with the congregation.
And that is exactly where God is to be found. God is found among others.