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| Flickr: Jennifer C. |
Shortly after we graduated from college,
Annie and I joined a synagogue. The membership packet included a form for
volunteer opportunities, with spaces for us each to write our skills and
interests. Perhaps you've filled out something similar. My column contained
skills like “great with kids” and “loves arts and crafts.” Annie was
volunteering for Habitat for Humanity at the time, so her column said, “great
with power tools” and “loves to hang cabinets.”
Clearly, building projects are not my area of expertise. So it’s a great
irony that I’m going to speak this evening about not one but two building
projects. Tonight I want to tell you two stories. A story about building a
calf, and a story about building a chapel.
If this sounds familiar to some of you, it means
you were kind enough to live-stream my senior sermon last year. I am thrilled
to share a new version with our community tonight. I hope it’s even better the
second time.
Let's begin with the building of the calf.
Our ancestors trembled in terror at the foot of Mount Sinai. Moses had ascended
the mountain 40 days before, and they started to worry that he would not come
down. Panic reverberated across the community. “Moses has abandoned us. He took
us out of Egypt. He showed us miracles. He led us here. And now he’s gone...
and he’s taken God with him. Who are we without him?” In fear, they approach
Aaron and demand, “Make a god for us, for Moses, our leader, has vanished.”[i] Aaron,
fearing for his life, tells the people to bring him gold, so the men and the
women pile their golden earrings in front of him. Then they go back to their
tents, proud of themselves for “doing something” and eager for Aaron to solve
their problems. What Aaron builds is the infamous Golden Calf. When Moses
returns the next day, he and God are furious. They burn the idol down and they
punish the people for their faltering faith. The calf is the spiritual low
point of our journey in the desert.
Now
for the second building story: The chapel. At the exact moment that Aaron is
forging the calf at the foot of the mountain, Moses is high above, talking with
God and receiving the instructions for the Mishkahn
– the portable sanctuary where the Israelites will worship in the desert. It
was an elaborate tent, at the center of which was the Ark, the ornate golden
box that housed the tablets of the commandments. The mishkahn will serve
as the Israelites’ chapel – their spiritual center during their time in the
wilderness. And building it will require the people to bring gifts. At first
glance, these gifts are a strange echo of the golden calf. But unlike with the
idol, when they complete the Mishkahn,
God’s presence will come and fill it.[ii]
It will be a dwelling place for God.
There’s
a striking contrast between the mishkahn and the golden calf. At the top of the mountain the people are
commanded to build a sanctuary. At the bottom, the people demand an idol. A
chapel and a calf. One is sacred, the other is sacrilegious. One building
project is a dwelling place for God, the other God finds detestable. So we are
left to wonder, whenever we are building, how do we ensure that we build a
chapel, and not a calf?
The
story of the golden calf is just 35 verses, while the Torah spends whole
chapters explaining the precise blueprints for building the sacred structure of
the Mishkahn. “This wall should be
this many cubits. That curtain should be that many cubits.” Like I said, I’m
not a construction expert. That’s really Annie’s department. I can see her
reaching for her phone to google the conversion of cubits to feet. But I read
the blueprints as a metaphor – they are instructions for building sacred community.
God
commands:
Build me a sanctuary and I will dwell among
them. But even before that, Six verses before
God tells us what to build, God tells us the spirit in which we should build:
דַּבֵּר֙
אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְיִקְחוּ־לִ֖י תְּרוּמָ֑ה מֵאֵ֤ת כָּל־אִישׁ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר
יִדְּבֶ֣נּוּ לִבּ֔וֹ...׃[iv]
“Tell the children of Israel to bring me
gifts from every person whose heart is so moved.” The Hebrew word for “gifts” is
Trumot, or Trumah in the sigular. Before we can even imagine building the mishkahn,
God inspires us to bring our trumot – our gifts. The difference between the
calf and the chapel lies in how we build them. When we want to build the
chapel, we bring the fullness of our gifts.
When we think of trumot, we tend to think of
material gifts, of gold and silver, gemstones, and acacia wood. But the text
implies that equally important are the offerings of people’s hearts. God calls
for the participation of: “everyone who is wise of heart, whose spirit I have
filled with wisdom.”[v] And
later, God commands: “Let all among you who are skilled come and make all that
I have commanded.”[vi] The
gifts that the Israelites use to build the mishkahn are not just their gold and precious gems. It is their sacred
skills and the wisdom of the hearts. Only with these trumot can they build a
dwelling place for God.
This is the difference between the calf and
the chapel. When the Israelites start to build an idol, they bring their gold.
But when they start by thinking of
the gifts each of them can offer, what they build is a sanctuary.
And this is not just a story about an
ancient construction project. Rashi, the 11th Century commentator,
says that every generation has to build a mishkahn.[vii]
In preparation for this sermon, I asked, but the board insisted that there is
no line item in the budget for acacia wood. So we have to find another way to
answer Rashi’s call: how will our community fulfill the commandment to build a
dwelling place for God?
The
answer is the trumot. Every person has a gift, a sacred talent to share. Like Moses, Jewish
leaders must ask people to bring their gifts, knowing that each is sacred
material in the construction of a dwelling place for God. Our community is a vessel overflowing with abundant talent.
In his book, 7 Habits of Highly Effective
People, Steven Covey describes dichotomous worldviews: a scarcity mentality
and an abundance mentality. A person or organization with a scarcity mentality
looks at the world and says, “I don’t have enough. How can I get more?” An
abundance mentality says, “I have everything I need. How blessed am I?” Both
mindsets look at the same data, but draw different conclusions. Covey
challenges us to move from a mentality that sees only scarcity to one that
appreciates abundance.
The golden calf is the kind of building
project that comes out of scarcity – built out of the fear that Moses had left.
Aaron tells the frightened people to drop off their gold and he builds the calf
for them. They pay their dues and say, “Do this for us.” What Aaron builds is
an empty vessel, instead of an invitation to holiness. The move from the calf
to the chapel is a transition from a mindset of scarcity to a mindset of
abundance. It’s the abundance that comes when we ask for people’s gifts, not
simply their gold.
It is easy fall into the trap of scarcity,
and see only what we do not have. But Jewish tradition reminds us that there is
another, more abundant way of seeing the same circumstances. There is a midrash
that even Moses up on the mountain had a moment of scarcity thinking. When God
tells him about all the gifts that the Israelites are going to bring, Moses
asks how these former slaves who escaped with only what they could carry, could
possibly have all the precious items needed to complete the project. But before
he can even finish the question, God interrupts and says, “Not only do the
children of Israel collectively possess the necessary materials to build the mishkahn,
but in fact, every Jew could do so singlehandedly.”[viii]
If the Israelites only bring their gold, they can only build a single calf. But
if they are willing to bring their gifts, their sacred wisdoms, then there’s no
limit to what they can build. Trumot can
transform our community by enabling us to peer past perceived scarcity and see
an abundance of talent dwelling here.
I learned to look for abundance, not from
Covey, or the Torah, but from my mother. She was a non-profit consultant who
specialized in volunteerism. But more importantly, my mother was a guru of
gifts. If she were here, she would look out on this sanctuary and see an ocean
of trumot. She believed that each of us has unique gifts to share, and that
organizations need to be better at helping us share them. This was more than
her vocation, it was her conviction. When she looked at people, she saw
wellsprings of talent. When she met someone, on a plane or in line at the
grocery store, it took barely a second before she got them talking about their
passions. This was her gift: she was
a diviner of talent. When I read the Torah’s description of the building of the
mishkahn, it is her voice I hear whispering, “Imagine if each of us
could develop skills to find and bring out the gifts in one another.”
My question for you is this: what gift could
you can share with this sacred community? Maybe it’s a professional skill.
Perhaps you are a marketing expert, or a teacher, or a finance person. Or maybe
it’s a passion. Perhaps you love to write, or weave, or paint. Maybe your gift
is that you have a big idea or time to spare on a day we need it. Maybe you are
great with kids. Maybe you are great at baking. Whatever it is, that’s your trumah.
It’s not just a donation, it’s not just a volunteer hour – it’s a gift you give
in the construction of this sacred dwelling place for God. For the many, many
of you who share your gifts here, we are grateful. Your gifts of time and
talent not only make this place run, they make this place a sacred community.
And maybe others of you don’t even know what
your gift is yet. And then it’s our job, as a community, to help you figure
that out. Two weeks ago, I was sitting in my office before Kadimah, our
Monday-night educational program, when a 10th grader named Julia
walked in and asked me if I had minute. She said she didn’t understand why more
of her classmates didn’t bring tzedakah to class, and she wanted me to make an
announcement that everyone should bring more. As far as “things rabbis like to
hear” go, this is pretty much as good as it gets. When I recovered from the
realization that I’d peaked so early in my career, I realized I had a choice.
There were two ways I could respond to Julia’s wonderful request. I could thank
her for her passion and assure her that I’d say something to the students about
bringing tzedakah. But that’s the calf model – a scarcity response – thanks for
your gold. The second option was to see that something sacred was being
offered. A trumah. She was offering a gift she didn’t even know she had. “You
have a gift,” I told her. She looked at me skeptically, but I continued. “Not
everyone has this passion, this commitment to tzedakah.” Then we talked about
why she cared so much, and about all the strategies we could use to help other
people learn to care, too. I told her I could not do it for her, that it would
not have as much impact coming from me. But if she were willing to share that gift,
I bet we could make a real difference. I suggested she come back the next week
and to bring two friends who would offer their own, different gifts. I wasn’t
sure she’d do it. I feared my rabbinic excitement had gotten away from me. But
the very next week, three passionate teens showed up in my office. And now we
are well on our way to building something truly sacred, something impactful.
Not a calf, but a chapel.
We at Beth Haverim Shir Shalom want to know
what your gifts are. And if you don’t know yet, we want to help you find out.
In this year of building and rebuilding, we want to create new avenues for you
to offer your gifts. We grateful to all those who already share their gifts,
and we want to find new ways to sanctify your offerings. And, if you have not
had a chance to share your gifts here before, or if you have not done so in a
while, and you are willing to take a step, we want to take a step to meet you
in return. We’ve put together a group of board members and committee chairs who
want to meet you for coffee and learn about your life. We are not asking for a
commitment. We are not even asking for you to know what your gift is yet. We
are asking a cup of coffee and a conversation to get to know you better. As you
leave tonight, the ushers will have blue cards. Fill out your name and phone
number and return it to me, so that we can set up a one-on-one conversation to
get to know you and your gifts in a new way. These blue post-cards are a
request for your partnership in the work of building sacred community.
Now, since we are
asking, we are going to do our best put your gifts to use. That’s on us. Some
of us have been hurt before when we have offered gifts to organizations which
were not ready to receive them. I won’t promise we will use every offered gift
right away, and I won’t be so hubristic to say that we will be instantly good
at this. But if you meet with one of us, we are going to do our best to find
places where your gifts can be used in ways that are meaningful to you and the
congregation. We know how difficult it can be when a congregation does not live
up to this promise. As we navigate these years of transition in this
congregation, we want to learn to be better stewards of each other’s gifts.
But you are busy people. And perhaps you
already volunteer somewhere else. So what makes sharing your gifts here different?
According to the Torah, when we build with our gifts, it’s not just our
communities that we make into a sanctuary; it’s our own lives. The verse I read
earlier hints at this sacred transformation:
וְעָ֥שׂוּ
לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ, וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם
“Build me a sanctuary that I may dwell in
them.”[ix] That
last word is not what you would expect. You’d think it should say “v’shachanti b’tocho” –so that I can dwell in it – in the sanctuary. But it says B’tocham – So I can dwell in THEM. The Divine
presence came to rest in the hearts of the Israelites, and “not in the wood and
metal of the mishkahn.”[x] If we
bring our gifts, if we put them to sacred use, God will dwell in us. Offering
your gifts is not just a way you serve your community – it is part of a
spiritual life, a way we seek the One who gave us gifts in the first place.
I think there are a lot of you here who,
like me, are searching for meaning. We are eager to find purpose and encounter
the mystery that we call God. We feel scarcity and crave abundance. Know then,
that God has placed in us something special. A gift that only we can offer. If
we let it, it can be an expression of the divine within us – a higher purpose
to which we can aspire. Think of Julia, who came in with a question, and found
that she had gift – a spark of the divine that had been hiding in her all
along.
Rashi says we have a sacred obligation: To
help each other find our trumot. And to build sanctuaries where those gifts can
be shared. Let us build. Let us build out of abundance. Let us build a mishkahn
that can stand the test of time. Let us build with our gifts of artistry and
wisdom, which are the pathways for God to be present in our lives. Let us build
for our community, places for God to dwell in our sanctuary and social hall -
and in our homes and hearts. This is not a means to an end, but the essence of
the call. Let us build together. Because when we do, we will discover God
dwelling among us.
[vii]
Rashi, commenting on the seemingly superfluous phrase in Exodus 25:9, "וְכֵ֖ן תַּעֲשֽׂו"comments: "This is an additional
commandment, extending the obligation of building the Tabernacle to future
generations.”