{INTERPRETING SHALOM} - by Katrina Korte

Interpretation of the written word, specifically the Word, has always fascinated me.  When I was younger, the idea of different denominations amazed and encouraged me to question the idea of absolute truths. Which truths were essential to our faith and which were merely ritual led. Or maybe tradition was in fact essential. I wasn’t sure why/what I believed differently from my Catholic family or why their Bible would have different books than mine. And I was always quite ashamed that my denomination didn’t even have a real name {or a pretty building}. Nondenominational seemed just so noncommittal.

But I went. Yes, I used to go to church; something I am thankfully realizing now is very different from being the church. At some point I stopped. The reason doesn’t really matter. What matters is how God would slowly call me back to Him. In ways I am just now able to understand were always His.    

I hadn’t been to church for years when I studied abroad in Italy for my masters in architecture. I remember being overwhelmed by my emotions in the cathedrals. But it was beyond an appreciation for the beauty of the work created; I remember thinking there were people who valued their faith so much that they labored to build this place with such detailed craft and adornment to worship their God. My God. It hit me then that this was my same God. Yet somehow I felt so far from the devotion these people must have embodied.

The following year I started my thesis, and I immediately was drawn to this idea of interpretation and how it relates to the history and architecture of religious beliefs {and buildings}. To remain as brief as possible {which is difficult discussing a year of my life in this project}; I ended up broadening my research and design to all three Abrahamic monotheistic religions of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. I had a new perspective of our Biblical history I never before understood. I chose to design a religious complex at the center of the Old City of Jerusalem where the four religious quarters intersect. I studied how architecture can encourage {without forcing} interaction, and ultimately peace, in the heart of the most hostile religious space in the world.

Jerusalem’s etymology actually translates to City of Peace. As I thought about what that city was intended to be in comparison to what it has become, I became more passionate about how tolerance, acceptance, or even appreciation, for others’ faith could be achieved. Even if I was designing a fictitious project, the concepts resonated within my soul. My desire to understand absolute truths about my God, as seen through other religious practices {also affected by varying culture and histories}, grew stronger.

I found my mind opening. I felt compassion, even defensive, for Muslims. I wanted to understand more about my own faith and its connection to Judaism. I don’t feel I could ever understand enough Middle Eastern religious history to even consider myself knowledgeable, but what was changing in me was a desire to understand the people of these different faiths and why they believe what they do.

I now love to travel and be submersed into different religious cultures. I have since been to India and felt the most at peace in ancient mosques that put some of Italy’s cathedrals to shame. In those moments, I again realized this was my same God. I struggle with the idea that I am right {and they must be wrong} when we all come from the same Abrahamic history interpreted differently. Though I put my faith in the Bible, I wonder what I would believe if I was born elsewhere.

I can see now how God used my thesis and travels to bring me back to my faith. To question what I believe and why. And to ultimately deepen my passion and desire to understand people. I used to want to know the teachings of each religion. Now I want to know the heart of the followers. I am in awe of how He was opening my mind and soul to something beyond my reach and comprehension to draw me back to Him.

But what I am realizing is that it is easy to accept, or even embrace, people of another culture from afar. It is easy to identify with humanitarians and to hope and pray our God is a merciful, loving God who knows the hearts of all His people on earth. Sadly, I cannot establish peace in Jerusalem; the same a stranger’s mere acceptance cannot will peace in my life. Only we can create a place of peace in our personal communities. Because peace requires love.

And I am learning a global religious appreciation is far different from a personal love for our fellows.

Love is harder. I think because love is messy. You have to really know a person to truly love them. And you have to open yourself up to break down those walls. You have to be vulnerable, and you have to prove yourself trustworthy for others to be the same. Often we must get hurt to learn to love. Or we might be the one who hurts someone else before we learn.

And once you truly love someone, accepting differences is harder still. It is hardest when it affects you so personally. Unconditional love becomes a choice. An action. One that often must be wrapped in wings of patience and selflessness.  And maybe that is when it is transformed into grace.

I think love takes more work than we ever knew when we first set out to follow His greatest command. And like Jerusalem, I believe we are intended for so much more than we are today. I believe in peace. Within ourselves and our church. And I believe in unconditional love. The kind of love and grace I am still learning to give.