A Bit of a Declaration Story

For years I've read so many declaration stories, each with their own sense of wonder and discovery. Some are filled with little miracles, and most are suffused with a sense of joy.

Not mine.

I mean, the joy is there, but that's about it. I don't recall any sense of wonder or really much of a sense of discovery. Miracles? Nope. Not in my story.

Well, maybe a bit of one. I'll let you decide.

It all started when I was on an elevator...

Oh, wait. No. It started before that. Probably when I was...

Oh. No. Even before that.

Ok, how about when I was a child at my aunt and uncle's house? Yeah, that sounds about right.

My journey began when I was a child in a non-practicing Jewish family. I never learned Hebrew. Never went to synagogue. The only nods to our faith were the lighting of the candles during Hanukkah, and going to my aunt and uncle's house for the Passover Seder.  

It was that latter that I remember so well. I loved the yarmulke my great-uncle wore, Grandpa Leo. He was a character, and he unwittingly cultivated a love of tradition in my heart.

But something bothered me. I realized, when I was something like 6 or 7 years old, that my own people didn't recognize Jesus. How could this be? Here was the Light of the world, and they couldn't see it? I was very puzzled.

By the time I was 12 or so, I started going to local churches to explore different paths. And I loved it. But again, something puzzled me. They all said, "We're right and everyone else is going to hell", or something to that effect. Nope. Couldn't understand that, and left.

On to the next one. But by that point I began exploring other traditions, too. Buddhism, Hindu, Muslim, various shamanic traditions, and so on.

That was when I began to notice a bit of a trend.

I'd attend some meeting where someone gave a talk on a subject I wasn't interested in. Then, as the new one in the group, they'd all turn to me and ask, "Do you have any questions?" I knew, of course, that if I asked a question that wasn't about the subject just discussed, they'd all look at me funny. So I kind of leaned into that.

"Yes," I'd reply. "I do have a question. It's a very important one to me. How many (fill in the blank with their denomination)s does it take to change a light bulb?"

And they'd all get upset. "You're not taking this seriously." "It's all just a joke to you." And so on and so forth.

But then one day I was attending a science fiction convention. I think I was 14 or 15. I was in the hotel elevator heading to the lobby when the door opened and an older woman walked on. She looked up at me, for she was a bit shorter than I was, said something, and then began talking. And talking. And talking. All the way to the lobby.

It was only then that she realized that I was me, and not my brother. I guess what she had first said was a greeting to my brother. I don't really know. But the conversation was interesting, so she asked if I wanted to grab a coffee and keep chatting.

Anyways, we ended up chatting regularly. Like, weekly. Every week we'd chat on the phone while watching Dr Who on the telly.

She knew of my love for religion, and would regularly ask me what I had discovered that week. Then, no matter what I said, she would agree with it and cross reference it with other religious teachings, from other religions. I knew she was a Baha'i, but she never really pushed that faith beyond the others. They were all equal in her sight.

One day she invited me to a fireside at the old Chicago Baha'i Centre, way back when it was still in the Monadnock Building. I went, listened to the talk I had no interest in, was asked "the question", and gave my usual response.

"How many Baha'is does it take to change a light bulb?"

And a number of people said, at once, "15".

I must have lit up.

"15? Why?"

"9 to form an Assembly to appoint a committee of 5 to nominate 1 to do it."

And that was when my interest in the Faith really took off. For I knew that their religion taught them to laugh at themselves, to take their faith seriously, but not themselves. And that, to me, was a true sign of spirituality.

It was still a few more years before I eventually declared, but that elevator ride and that response to my "burning" question is how my path to this point in my life began.

Well, that and those Passover Seders.