Now ED of a Montreal synagogue, Chad Lubelsky worked in the non-profit sector for two decades. He asks what it might look like if religion and philanthropy worked together to develop a more nuanced understanding of religion’s impact, and to explore what partnerships could look like.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a contradictory relationship with religion. I grew up with a very strong Jewish identity, but, as the child of Holocaust survivors, my parents didn’t want us telling anyone we were Jewish. Overt displays of religious expression make me uncomfortable, and yet, I’m executive director of a synagogue: I struggle with the concept of a higher being, but I am uplifted when I participate in religious ceremonies. In no small part I recognize the significant harm done by and in the name of religion, but I also recognize religious institutions’ tremendous social and economic value, for the religious and non-religious alike, as documented in this article by John Pellowe.
Pellowe cites many reports, but one from Imagine Canada in 2006 stands out, as it disabuses potential prejudices about who religious organizations serve: “Perhaps contrary to expectation, religious organizations tend to serve the public, regardless of faith. Religious organizations are less likely than non-profit and voluntary organizations in general to have membership restrictions or to serve a specific segment of the population.” Pellowe also delves into the significant economic impact of religious institutions.
All this to say, my relationship with religion is ever-evolving. Sarah Hurwitz, in her book As a Jew, talks about “opening up to a sense of divinity that makes me feel more fully human . . . and like my existence – and everyone else’s – matters.” This resonated deeply with me, and so while I expect to be navigating my own religious beliefs for the rest of my life, experiencing first-hand the value of a religious community, and also seeing its impact on others, I’m not at all agnostic about the value of religion. I’m a true believer and a recent convert.
Given that the raison d’être of philanthropy is to support positive social and economic impact, my blind spot [regarding religion] was a significant oversight.
Chad Lubelsky
You see, before working at Temple Emanu-El-Beth Sholom (colloquially known as Temple, Canada’s first Reform – liberal or progressive – synagogue), I worked in philanthropy, and looking back on it, I’m struck by the absence of religious institutions in the foundation ecosystem. As someone who worked in community for more than 20 years, I’m also sheepish that I had to work for a religious institution before noticing how little regard the social-change sector gives them. Yet, religious institutions are registered charities, and similar to any other charity, they have their own objects, charters, et cetera. There is no legal reason not to work together, which leaves us with cultural barriers and mindsets. Taking my past self as an example, if I gave any thought to religion and philanthropy, it likely would have been dismissive and bordering on the self-righteous: why would religion get a seat at the table . . . their work is different, exclusive, and limited. I can hear myself saying that they operate in a different world.
When coalition-building, I sought out other community-sector umbrella organizations, but it never would have occurred to me to include religious umbrella organizations. I now see that I was too quick to judge. My distrust of some elements of religion, combined with my own internal discord, blinded me to the fact I was focusing on organizational legal status (the who) and not impact (the what and so what). Given that the raison d’être of philanthropy is to support positive social and economic impact, my blind spot was a significant oversight.
We’ve seen this before
Today’s relationship between mainstream philanthropy and religion has parallels with the early days of social entrepreneurship and social-purpose businesses. When these organizational structures first began to emerge, mainstream philanthropy was reluctant to work with them – the fact that they weren’t registered charities was an impediment to collaboration and partnership. Their legal status meant that they couldn’t work with philanthropy in the same way that charities did, but arguably the cultural challenge was more significant. The issue wasn’t just if philanthropy could work with them; it was also why would philanthropy work with a business? That’s not what we do. It’s not what they did. Collaborating with business ran against the grain.
Very quickly, though, philanthropy shifted its position and started supporting all sorts of social-purpose organizations; if an organization happened to be a business, then so be it. What mattered was impact. This, of course, made perfect sense and is a testament to philanthropy’s capacity to evolve and adapt with the times and the changing nature of the social-purpose ecosystem.
Today, just as philanthropy once had to rethink its relationship with business, it might be time to reconsider its relationship with faith communities.
Today’s relationship between mainstream philanthropy and religion mirrors the early days of social entrepreneurship and social-purpose businesses. When those new organizational models first appeared, philanthropy didn’t quite know what to do with them. Because they weren’t registered charities, foundations often dismissed them as ineligible partners. Their legal status created barriers to funding, but the real obstacle was cultural. The question wasn’t can philanthropy work with business; it was why would it? Businesses pursued profit; philanthropy pursued purpose. The two were seen as living in different worlds.
Yet before long, philanthropy underwent a profound shift. It recognized that social purpose could take many forms, and that impact, not legal status, was what truly mattered. Working with social enterprises no longer felt radical; it became common sense. That evolution revealed philanthropy’s ability to grow, to challenge its own assumptions, and to align with new expressions of social good. Today, just as philanthropy once had to rethink its relationship with business, it might be time to reconsider its relationship with faith communities.
What the data says
According to Philanthropic Foundations Canada’s 2024 Landscape Report, 4% of foundation giving from 2018 to 2020 went to “Religion,” yet, according to the Canada Revenue Agency, 40% of Canadian charities are religious in nature. What’s more, according to Statistics Canada, 40% of individual donations in Canada in 2010 went to religious organizations.
The same 2010 data revealed that “people who are more religiously active (i.e., those who attend religious meetings or services at least once a week) are more inclined to donate and, on average, they make larger donations. In 2010, 93% of them had given money to one or more charitable or non-profit organizations, and their average annual donation was $1,004. In comparison, 83% of donors who attended less often or not at all had donated, and their average annual donation was $313.” This raises key strategic questions for philanthropy on how best to leverage their funding dollars and if they risk being out of step with Canadians, and the broader social-impact sector.
The thing is, I get it. Philanthropy’s relatively modest support for religion makes sense to me. I know from my own experience that I had underlying assumptions that religious institutions serve only a narrow definition of community, and it’s possible this assumption implicitly exists within the broader philanthropic sector and affects funding decisions. One way of looking at it is that philanthropy is screening out religious institutions based on eligibility (it’s not what we fund) and never looks at the selection criteria (what are they trying to do/what is their impact). If we started with impact (how many people will be positively affected by this grant?), then it’s possible that philanthropy would be more interested in funding religious institutions.
I say it’s possible because I know first-hand that this is a sector that cares deeply about doing the right thing, and demand for funding far outweighs the supply of grants. It’s why on my first day in philanthropy, I was reminded that we say “no” a lot more than “yes.”
Yet I can’t help but ask what it might look like if religion and philanthropy worked together to develop a more nuanced understanding of religion’s impact, and to explore what partnerships could look like. Given religion’s long-standing expertise in building belonging, inclusion, and community – areas that are in crisis right now in Canada – this exploration takes on increased urgency.
I can’t help but ask what it might look like if religion and philanthropy worked together to . . . explore what partnerships could look like.
At Temple, for example, we prepare hundreds of meals a week for people living with food insecurity, run food and clothing drives, have interfaith and intercultural bridge-building programs, actively support Indigenous reconciliation and 2SLGBTQIA+ rights, host art-for-social-change activities, run a museum, work with hundreds of older adults as volunteers to increase inclusion and belonging, and so much more. I haven’t even touched on our spiritual work, which has provided meaning and a sense of purpose to our congregation for 143 years.
Yes, Temple is a religious institution first and foremost, but viewing us solely through that lens obscures so much of who we are and what we do. Even though I grew up at Temple, and it was through it that I had my first leadership and community-building opportunities, it was only in working there (more than 40 years later!) that I began to truly appreciate its impact, and realize how shortsighted my view and understanding of religion was.
And of course, Temple is just one institution; according to the CBC, there are 27,000 faith buildings in Canada. Many of these organizations are struggling; if they disappear, a key part of our social fabric and safety net disappears with them. Take the growing loneliness and social isolation epidemic; religious institutions have the social, physical, and cultural infrastructure to tackle this challenge head-on, but they can’t do it alone.
The good news is that for many religious institutions, relatively modest grants go a long way. For example, Temple received a $15,000 grant from the Grace Dart Foundation to run “Creative Connections,” an art and social-inclusion program for older adults. Without this funding, Temple wouldn’t have been able to run the program, but, because it grafts onto already existing infrastructure, the program operating costs are relatively low. It also means we don’t have to charge participants, so an individual’s financial situation isn’t a barrier to access. As anyone who has ever been to a rummage or bake sale in a church basement knows, at religious institutions a little goes a long way!
The next chapter?
The great 12th-century Jewish scholar Maimonides famously described eight levels of giving, with the lowest being giving with “regret or reluctance” and the highest being “to anticipate and avoid charity, by preventing poverty and need.” I am far from a religious scholar, but I think in many ways, religious institutions are some of the original prevention programs. They anticipate their communities’ needs and build commensurate support systems. Imperfect as those systems may be, they represent an effort to help people before things get out of hand. Today, we would call this type of funding an “early intervention or upstream program.” Thanks to its capacity to be more flexible and long-term in its approach, this kind of funding is very common in philanthropy.
Philanthropy and religion have much in common. They are not opposing forces; rather, they are complementary expressions of care for community. Both are rooted in the firm belief that we have a responsibility to one another.
If philanthropy’s strength lies in its 35,000-foot view and flexibility and religion’s in its spirit and community, then together they hold the promise of something greater than either can achieve alone. The next chapter isn’t about reconciling differences; it’s about rediscovering shared purpose, including generational commitments. Let’s start with dialogue and a systematic exploration of where values, goals, and impact overlap. Given philanthropy’s commitment to learning and evolution, this conversation is overdue. If philanthropy opens the door to religion, I have no doubt it will find a willing and eager partner.
