Many years ago I was asked to fly to the North to attend a Baha'i School. And no, this is not another story about talking to youth. It was not a youth conference, but a Baha'i Summer School. I was not even asked to speak that time, so I was off the hook. I was just there to watch and learn. In fact, if anyone ever wants me to attend a function to watch and learn, I am an expert at it. I can learn lots. Plenty to learn, in fact, and I would cherish the opprtunity.
But there I was, getting ready to go north when I received a phone call. It was a well-intentioned phone call, but seemed odd at the time. In fact, it still seems odd to this day.
It was a member of the Local Spiritual Assembly that was hosting this school, and he had been asked to brief me about teaching in the North. I don't believe the Assembly directed him any more than that, for the call would not have seemed odd, otherwise. I have a lot of faith in Assemblies.
He called me to talk about the North, and I don't remember anything at all about that conversation except one thing. He said, quite clearly, "Teaching in the North is unlike teaching anywhere else on the planet." Well that got my attention. I was all ears. "First," he continued, "you have to become friends with the people."
And that is all I remember.
No, that's not quite true. I clearly remember thinking, "Become friends first? Oh, just like everywhere else." I'm not sure if I said that or not, but it really stuck in my mind.
And you know, I have encountered that exact same line many times since. "Teaching here is unlike anywhere else in the world: You have to become friends first."
What do you say to that? How can you possibly respond intelligently to that without seeming like you are insulting them? After all, you don't want to insult anyone. They are correct in their reasoning, just a bit off in their presumption (maybe assumption actually works better here, Abbott and Costello considered). You do have to be friends first.
Oh, I think I remember one other thing about that conversation, but it very well could have been told to me while I was up there. Someone said, "Making friends in the North takes a lot longer than anywhere else."
Those were the two statements that were made to me, and nothing at all confirmed them. I mean, making friends first was right, but the idea that this is unique to one place, and takes a long time? Both of those were proven false to me really quickly.
Thinking that this was unique to one part of the world had already been proven false to me based on previous personal experience and conversations with many pioneers. The second was proven false when a fellow visitor from the South and I were both invited on Day 3 to go hunting. This was a very high honour, which we had to decline as the party was heading out on the land the day after we were supposed to fly home.
In the few days that I was in the North, on that trip, I met a number of local people whom I just loved. We shared stories, laughed a lot, swapped gifts and drank coffee (lots of coffee) (I mean lots of coffee) (no, really, lots of coffee) (so much coffee that I'm sure I must have had heart palpatations from all the caffeine and I think that is how they keep warm in the winter, by vibrating from all that caffeine). In short, I still get tears of love in my eyes from thinking about the North. In fact, I often think of the North in the same way I think of sushi (I love sushi) (I mean, I really love sushi) (no, I mean... you get the idea). I often say that if the sushi is not in my mouth, it's been too long since I've had sushi. If I'm not visiting the North, it's been too long since I've been there.
Friends: You really do have to be friends with those people with whom you are sharing the Faith. After all, teaching is about touching the heart and helping connect their heart to their Creator, isn't it? And who but a friend will let you touch their heart in that way? The Guardian, in a letter written in 1954, felt "that the most effective way for the Bahá'ís to teach the Faith is to make strong friends with their neighbours and associates."
But what does it mean to be a friend? Although there are many different definitions in various dictionaries, including "a person attached to another by feelings of affection" or "a person who gives assistance", my personal favorite definition is "a person whom one knows, likes, and trusts".
Knows, likes and trusts. That sure gives more importance in my mind to the compilation on Trustworthiness. It is foundational to friendship, which is the most effective way of teaching.
My question, as always, is what does this look like?
Many stories come to mind.
First, there is my dear friend, Steve, whom I talk to all too infrequently. When I met him, I owned and ran an art gallery. He came in one evening, sort of like a bear ambling along, and said in a quiet and shy voice, "Himynameissteveandimanartistwouldyouliketoseemywork".
Once I deciphered what he was saying, I agreed to see his artwork. After being amazingly impressed, I booked a show for him, and then we got to talking. He was going through some troubles, so I listened to his problems and gave him help where I could. To make a long story short, he came over every night for a few weeks before enrolling in the Faith. A few weeks after that one of my dearest memories of him occurred. We were sitting in the gardens at the Temple in Wilmette, lying on one of those hills of grass, talking, when I opened up my prayer book and read him a prayer. "This is a broken winged bird and his flight is very slow..."
I have no idea why I chose that prayer, but he soars now. And I think a lot of it is that I truly cared for him, as a dear friend, that first time we met. It didn't matter to me whether or not he enrolled, although I was extremely delighted when he did, because first and foremost he was a dear friend.
Another friend whom I truly love, and haven't seen in way too long, is Kamao. I used to visit him and his family out in Saskatchewan every time I would drive there, and every time I learned so much from him. His gentle spirit, quiet wisdom, and practical knowledge all impressed me.
And then there was his "sense of humour". Please note the judicious use of quotes.
This guy, remember that he is still a dearly loved friend, raises horses, and one time when I was out there, I asked him to put me to work. I seem to recall that I was working in the evenings doing some training or something, but had my days free, so I asked him to let me be of service.
"Sure," he said, "you see that horse over there? The one with the rope around his neck? Just go over and take the rope off. You know how to approach horses."
So I tried.
I would quietly talk to the horse,and place my hand on its flanks, slowly moving closer to the head. When I got close, I would have to quickly jump way, because the horse was about to buck. And buck he did. Every single time. For hours.
I am conservatively leaving out all the expletives I could use for this horse, dear Reader. Suffice it to say, it took a few of us to get this horse pinned against a fence so that we could get the stupid rope off that bleeping horse.
Kamao really demonstrated his trust of my ability to read an animal's body language that day. (Or else he was trying to get me killed. I'm not sure which.)
And Kamao, my dearly loved friend, over dinner that evening, was telling his wife about it.
"Yeah, this White guy," he said, lovingly referring to me. "He's got a lot guts. No brains, but a lot of guts."
Why do I tell this story? Because I really do love the guy, and his true and deep friendship really did allow me to learn a lot.
My relationship to him is a lot like my relationship to the woman who taught me the Faith. It was both of their deep friendships that allowed me to learn something.
I can only presume that it also works in reverse. My deep love and friendship for another may allow some of the teachings of the Faith to penetrate their heart, which is, after all, the seat of revelation.
Why do I mention all this? Because I think it is important to realize one of the dynamics involved in teaching: friendship.
This, to me, is the key to not having a hidden agenda when we are teaching the Faith. Many people are only "friends" with someone because they want something. Too often have people shown me what I thought was friendship until they realized that I had no intention of converting to their faith. Then they disappeared.
With true friendship, this does not happen. You are not concerned if someone declares or not. You share the teachings of the Faith with them openly and honestly, with no expectation on their part. If they do declare, wonderful. Light upon light. And if they don't, who cares? They are still a dearly loved friend and know a bit more about Baha'u'llah's teachings. That can be nothing but good.
But also, it doesn't take long to become a good friend. And some will declare within a very short time. Steve, and a few other dear friends, declared after only a few weeks. I saw one person declare after only a couple of days. I'm slow. It took me around five years.
But so what?
Friendship is forever.
Fortunately, that rope around that horse's neck was not.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The First Baha'i
My friend Mike and I used to host a fireside together, and it was quite fun. I think all teaching should be fun, or at least uplifting. We used to have marvellous discussions focussed around the Writings, and many people would attend. One thing that often came up was our different perspectives. You see, he grew up within a Baha'i family, while I didn't become a Baha'i until I was nineteen.
For years we would joke with each other about this. I would say how fortunate he was to have this head start and how much I needed to catch up, and he would always say how he needed all the help he could get.
And you know, I think we were both right, in a way.
The advantage that children in Baha'i families have is quite marvelous, but it also depends upon what they do with it. Take a look at the children of Baha'u'llah and 'Abdu'l-Baha. How many of them lost their priceless heritage?
But there is another advantage that people have if they become Baha'i after a long and ardent search. I don't believe that I would have the perspective I do about interfaith work if I grew up in a Baha'i family. Oh, not that it wouldn't be possible, just that I don't think I would have that perspective. It's a limitation of mine, not of the Faith's or anyone else's.
I have thought about this a lot over the past number of years, wondering what the difference might be if one grows up within the embrace of the Faith, or not. And really, I'm not sure it makes a huge difference. It always depends upon the choices of the individual.
One thing, though, has always come to mind: the bounty of being the first Baha'i in my family. It is quite tremendous, both in responsibility and in deed. For me, it was easy. My family and friends all suported my decision, so it was no big deal. But I have many other friends who were the first Baha'is in their families, and it was much more difficult for them. Many have been ridiculed, chastised or even disowned. Some have been denied permission to marry as a form of punishment for daring to become Baha'i. The stories are countless, and each one is unique.
So I had it real easy. Thanks Mom, and all the rest of you.
This thought, however, has led me to ask a number of friends who the first Baha'i was in their family. And you know, every single one of them knew.
There was a friend I worked with at the US National Center (it's the US, so it's spelled that way, instead of centre), and we had the fortune of going on Pilgrimage together. I asked her who the first Baha'i was in her family, and she told me it was the "Sifter of Wheat". You know, the one mentioned in the Kitab-i-Aqdas. I could feel the weight of so mighty an ancestor on her shoulders as she said this. How, her expression seemed to say, can I live up to that?
Of course, I knew his story, having read about it in Baha'i history books.
His story raises an interesting question. In case you don't know, he met Mulla Husayn in Isfahan, and became the first Babi in that eminent city of scholars. The question is, how long did it take for him to become convinced? And how long before he became so convinced that he laid down his life at Fort Tabarsi? The answer must be "fairly quick". Mulla Husayn would not have been able to spend years, or even days, slowly trying to teach him about the Faith. He would not have been able to present Anna's Presentation, or anything else along those lines. But convinced he became, and he arose to be one of the outstanding heroes of the Faith.
There is a gentleman in my community here in Winnipeg whose family has been Baha'i for many years. One day, out of curiosity, I asked him who had been the first Baha'i in his family. He gave me some name, which I don't remember, but told me that this man had been taught by Mulla Aliy-i-Bastami.
"Mulla Aliy-i-Bastami? The second Letter of the Living?" I could not believe my ears. "That means that your family became Babi in 1844."
He seemed surprised that I had heard of Mulla Aliy-i-Bastami, and even more surprised that I knew he had been arrested before the end of that year, and martyred a short time later. You see, something of that deepening class did stick with me. I'm sure Mrs Khadem is smiling in appreciation right now.
There are many wonderful books out now about how people have come to the Faith, and I love to read their declaration stories, but how many of us really think about the priceless gift we have been given? How many of us consider who that first Baha'i, or Babi, was in our own family? Do we say prayers of thanksgiving to them? And if we are that lucky soul who has been given that honour, do we continually thank our teachers?
The woman who taught me the Faith, Lucki, has been working on a project about this. She traced our "family tree" back to 'Abdu'l-Baha, who had taught a Rabbi when He was in North America. She then traced him to the woman who taught her the Faith, and how she had taught me. I am very grateful for this gift that she has given me. Oh, not only the gift of faith, but also the gift of knowing my "family" history. This is a story that I will pass on to my son, Shoghi, as he gets older, for I think it is so valuable to know your history.
If we are the leaves of one tree, then it is important to know our roots.
So, who was the first Baha'i in your family?
For years we would joke with each other about this. I would say how fortunate he was to have this head start and how much I needed to catch up, and he would always say how he needed all the help he could get.
And you know, I think we were both right, in a way.
The advantage that children in Baha'i families have is quite marvelous, but it also depends upon what they do with it. Take a look at the children of Baha'u'llah and 'Abdu'l-Baha. How many of them lost their priceless heritage?
But there is another advantage that people have if they become Baha'i after a long and ardent search. I don't believe that I would have the perspective I do about interfaith work if I grew up in a Baha'i family. Oh, not that it wouldn't be possible, just that I don't think I would have that perspective. It's a limitation of mine, not of the Faith's or anyone else's.
I have thought about this a lot over the past number of years, wondering what the difference might be if one grows up within the embrace of the Faith, or not. And really, I'm not sure it makes a huge difference. It always depends upon the choices of the individual.
One thing, though, has always come to mind: the bounty of being the first Baha'i in my family. It is quite tremendous, both in responsibility and in deed. For me, it was easy. My family and friends all suported my decision, so it was no big deal. But I have many other friends who were the first Baha'is in their families, and it was much more difficult for them. Many have been ridiculed, chastised or even disowned. Some have been denied permission to marry as a form of punishment for daring to become Baha'i. The stories are countless, and each one is unique.
So I had it real easy. Thanks Mom, and all the rest of you.
This thought, however, has led me to ask a number of friends who the first Baha'i was in their family. And you know, every single one of them knew.
There was a friend I worked with at the US National Center (it's the US, so it's spelled that way, instead of centre), and we had the fortune of going on Pilgrimage together. I asked her who the first Baha'i was in her family, and she told me it was the "Sifter of Wheat". You know, the one mentioned in the Kitab-i-Aqdas. I could feel the weight of so mighty an ancestor on her shoulders as she said this. How, her expression seemed to say, can I live up to that?
Of course, I knew his story, having read about it in Baha'i history books.
His story raises an interesting question. In case you don't know, he met Mulla Husayn in Isfahan, and became the first Babi in that eminent city of scholars. The question is, how long did it take for him to become convinced? And how long before he became so convinced that he laid down his life at Fort Tabarsi? The answer must be "fairly quick". Mulla Husayn would not have been able to spend years, or even days, slowly trying to teach him about the Faith. He would not have been able to present Anna's Presentation, or anything else along those lines. But convinced he became, and he arose to be one of the outstanding heroes of the Faith.
There is a gentleman in my community here in Winnipeg whose family has been Baha'i for many years. One day, out of curiosity, I asked him who had been the first Baha'i in his family. He gave me some name, which I don't remember, but told me that this man had been taught by Mulla Aliy-i-Bastami.
"Mulla Aliy-i-Bastami? The second Letter of the Living?" I could not believe my ears. "That means that your family became Babi in 1844."
He seemed surprised that I had heard of Mulla Aliy-i-Bastami, and even more surprised that I knew he had been arrested before the end of that year, and martyred a short time later. You see, something of that deepening class did stick with me. I'm sure Mrs Khadem is smiling in appreciation right now.
There are many wonderful books out now about how people have come to the Faith, and I love to read their declaration stories, but how many of us really think about the priceless gift we have been given? How many of us consider who that first Baha'i, or Babi, was in our own family? Do we say prayers of thanksgiving to them? And if we are that lucky soul who has been given that honour, do we continually thank our teachers?
The woman who taught me the Faith, Lucki, has been working on a project about this. She traced our "family tree" back to 'Abdu'l-Baha, who had taught a Rabbi when He was in North America. She then traced him to the woman who taught her the Faith, and how she had taught me. I am very grateful for this gift that she has given me. Oh, not only the gift of faith, but also the gift of knowing my "family" history. This is a story that I will pass on to my son, Shoghi, as he gets older, for I think it is so valuable to know your history.
If we are the leaves of one tree, then it is important to know our roots.
So, who was the first Baha'i in your family?
The Hidden Heart
I awoke this morning with my head pressed against my pillow, listening to the sound of my own heartbeat. There never really is absolute silence, is there? Even if you can block out all the sounds of the world around you, there are still the sounds of the world within you. "Won't it be nice", I thought this morning as I woke to the reality of the day, "when the imposing beat of my heart stops and I can enjoy the rich texture of true silence?"
Try as I may, I can't shake that thought, the thought of the beauty of the next world and how you can enjoy a moment of the absolute silence that we will never find in this world.
But then I realized that once you savour that silence, you will never again be able to enjoy those moments of hearing each individual heartbeat. Once you leave that beating of your own heart behind, it will never come back, so as much as I may look forward to the silence, I will now treasure each of those moments as much as I can.
And these thoughts, which ran so much more poetically through my waking brain than they do through my typing fingers, led me to think about the importance of the heart.
In many of my earlier posts, I have talked about walking through The Hidden Words, following the path of a single word. This morning, with these thoughts still lingering as I awaken, I want to walk that path with the heart.
When I first began investigating the Faith, I did so with my head, reading and thinking about what I read in relation to my own knowledge. I have never told anyone this before, dear Reader, but I feel I can confide in you: When I first read Baha'u'llah's Writings, they seemed like nonsense to me. Fortunately, I take consolation in the fact that Mirza Abu'l-Fadl had the same reaction when he read the Kitab-i-Iqan. He said to Ali Kuli Khan "that he had read the Iqan with the eye of the intellect seventeen times through, and it had seemed to him a meaningless string of words." He said that later he read it "with the eye of faith, and had found it the key with which he could unlock the secrets". If so eminant a Baha'i as Mirza Abu'l-Fadl had this problem, I feel there is hope for me yet.
When I began to think about the importance of the heart, and the emphasis placed upon it in the Writings, it seemed like whole new worlds opened up to my eyes.
I began to re-read The Hidden Words looking for the heart, and there it was, right in the very beginning:
His very first counsel concerns the heart. Of course, this theme can be found in many other Writings of His. In the Kitab-i-Iqan, which had seemed so meaningless to Mirza Abu'l-Fadl, not to mention one so obtuse as myself, Baha'u'llah speaks at length about the need for cleansing the heart of worldly affections, and pondering the past within it. In fact, the whole idea of considering ideas, which is often thought of as being in the head by the world at large, is given great importance when done within the heart.
Even the Bab gets into this one, when He speaks of memorization of Sacred Texts: every breast which committeth His Words to memory, God shall cause, if it were that of a believer, to be filled with His love; and every heart which cherisheth the love of His Words and manifesteth in itself the signs of true faith when His Name is mentioned, and exemplifieth the words, 'their hearts are thrilled with awe at the mention of God', that heart will become the object of the glances of divine favour and on the Day of Resurrection will be highly praised by God.
Memorization, in case we are not yet convinced of its importance, is said, here, to be the cause of filling our breast with His love. Pretty powerful stuff. I always bring up this quote in my study circles when people question the need for memorizing.
If we turn our attention to the description of the true seeker, from Baha'u'llah, the heart also plays a very important part there, but I'll let you do the research on that one.
Back to The Hidden Words, for now.
Great importance is laid upon the state of heart, right at the very beginning. It is not just any heart we are to possess, but one that is "pure, kindly and radiant".
But how are we to achieve this? How do we purify our heart? It seems evident to me that once it is pure, we will naturally act more kindly, and slowly become more radiant, but that is just my own opinion. The word "naturally", by the way, does not imply that it is immediate in its effect, just that it will occur and grow over time.
One of the simplest ways that I am aware of helping purify our heart is to turn to the Writings and say prayers. I'm sure it is no coincidence that these are the first two practices in the Ruhi curriculum, for, after all, they are the basis of our spiritual growth.
Radiance, incidentally, means to shine with a warm brighness. If it is not perceptible by others, then it cannot be truly called radiance.
So, presuming we are actually able to do all this, how will we know?
When we begin to purify our heart, and step on this path of spiritual growth, we will slowly grow in our justice. We will see with our own eyes, and know through our own research and understanding, not blindly imitating others. We are asked to ponder this in our hearts. It is how we are to be.
You see, I believe that when we recognize we are taking this second step, it means that we have already taken the first one. I may be wrong, but this is my own understanding. Of course, having taken a step on this path does mean that we have perfected it, or are done with it, just that we have taken it at least once. This step of purifying ourselves is an on-going one, and we must always act kindly and be radiant. It is like the Seven Valleys: by becoming a Baha'i, we have already traversed all seven, but we still continually go through them.
Now, to these first three attributes we can add justice, which is a sign of God's loving-kindness. And isn't that the highest example of kindness which we are to emulate in that second part of the first step? Won't our acting with justice be a sign of our kindness, too?
And that leads us to the third mention of the heart in The Hidden Words:
Are we not glad when we show forth justice? In fact, I can't think of anything else that would make me glad except being able to show a bit of some of the virtues of our Creator. We are created in His image, and being able to show that is such a wonderful bounty.
Many people find their joy in the things of this world, either through money or fame or any of countless other pleasures, but really, our joy should be found in the virtues we show, and help others to show. In fact, it reminds me of the next Hidden Word in which the word heart is found:
Doesn't that just say it all? We should look towards God, and His pleasure, not that of our fellow-men.
Why should we do this? Well, just in case it is not obvious, it is so that the light of God can shine more brightly within our own hearts. After all, the heart is where God wants to be. There are countless statements in the Writings of all faiths that speak of this, reminding us that God can be found within us. This is not to say that we are God, but rather that we are mirrors in which the light of God shines, and if we want to see that light, we must look within. It also speaks of the great importance of teaching so that others may, too, see this light within themselves. To do this, however, takes time and dedication, but it is so important.
How could we even think of desecrating God's home? Or the place of His revelation? We must recognize that sacred nature of our heart, preparing it to receive this light. Perhaps that is one of the many reasons that 'Abdu'l-Baha doubly cautions us to be concerned about the heart: Beware! Beware! Lest thou offend any heart.
We must be so careful not to offend that place which is God's home, for it is sacred ground. And we should always remember how important that is. After all, God told Moses to remove His sandals because He was walking on sacred ground. How much more carefully should we tread?
"The Sinai of the heart". What a beautiful phrase.
But here is another caution and another promise that may be lost upon us, in our "modern" age. He speaks of entering His court, the realm of a King. Was this not the dream of every person out there at the time? To enter the court of the King and lay eyes upon his face? What a bounty this was considered. Countless are the tales of those people who walked for miles, or even days, just to be able to see the King's carriage pass by. Even today, thousands line the streets to see the Queen when she visits, or to catch a glimpse of the President's car.
The caution, however, is hidden: Don't take it for granted.
How many people lost their lives because they were in the court of the King and became complacent about that bounty? You must think back a hundred years ago, or more, when the King was the ruler of most countries. If you did not bow when you entered his presence, or treat him with the appropriate dignity worthy of his station, you could be killed. But if you treated him appropriately, then all the treasures of the kingdom could be yours.
I am reminded of my dear friend who served at the World Centre and said that his term ended at the perfect time. He was still in awe of the Shrines. He felt that if he served there much longer, he might begin to take them for granted, and that would be the beginning of his spiritual downfall.
But really, can we ever be "fit for everlasting life and worthy to meet" God? Can we ever truly understand the bounty that is being given to us?
This is so much bigger than we can imagine. We can easily become overwhelmed by even considering these questions. I think of this as another example of the "fear of God", causing us uneasiness as we contemplate all this. It is so easy to fall over trembling in awe.
You see, contemplating God is like contemplating the universe, and our position within it. You can try and imagine yourself sitting at your computer reading this, and that is fairly simple. You can imagine seeing yourself, from above, sitting within your town or city, a small person within the large map of the area. But how easy can you see yourself within the entire country in which you live? We are so small in comparison to the size of our country that it is fairly impossible, but still do-able. Now try and imagine seeing yourself where you are right now, while looking at the planet from space. We are just too small to do that.
And when you add the sun into the picture, you can barely even see the earth.
Now keep moving back. Look at the whole galaxy, with its millions of stars, of which the sun is but a small one, or our galaxy amidst the thousands of galaxies. Where are you now?
Or try and imagine this in the context of time. What will you do today that will be remembered next week? What will you accomplish right now that will make a difference in the world next year? In fact, what will you accomplish in your lifetime that will be remembered ten years after you have passed away? Or a hundred? Or a thousand? And don't forget, the universe is billions of years old.
How little we are. How pitiful.
And yet, Baha'u'llah says:
This brings us right back to the beginning of The Hidden Words:
Baha'u'llah concludes The Hidden Words in Arabic with this touching piece:
And if you feel you can't do any of the above, then you write a blog.
Try as I may, I can't shake that thought, the thought of the beauty of the next world and how you can enjoy a moment of the absolute silence that we will never find in this world.
But then I realized that once you savour that silence, you will never again be able to enjoy those moments of hearing each individual heartbeat. Once you leave that beating of your own heart behind, it will never come back, so as much as I may look forward to the silence, I will now treasure each of those moments as much as I can.
And these thoughts, which ran so much more poetically through my waking brain than they do through my typing fingers, led me to think about the importance of the heart.
In many of my earlier posts, I have talked about walking through The Hidden Words, following the path of a single word. This morning, with these thoughts still lingering as I awaken, I want to walk that path with the heart.
When I first began investigating the Faith, I did so with my head, reading and thinking about what I read in relation to my own knowledge. I have never told anyone this before, dear Reader, but I feel I can confide in you: When I first read Baha'u'llah's Writings, they seemed like nonsense to me. Fortunately, I take consolation in the fact that Mirza Abu'l-Fadl had the same reaction when he read the Kitab-i-Iqan. He said to Ali Kuli Khan "that he had read the Iqan with the eye of the intellect seventeen times through, and it had seemed to him a meaningless string of words." He said that later he read it "with the eye of faith, and had found it the key with which he could unlock the secrets". If so eminant a Baha'i as Mirza Abu'l-Fadl had this problem, I feel there is hope for me yet.
When I began to think about the importance of the heart, and the emphasis placed upon it in the Writings, it seemed like whole new worlds opened up to my eyes.
I began to re-read The Hidden Words looking for the heart, and there it was, right in the very beginning:
(1) O Son of Spirit! My first counsel is this: Possess a pure, kindly and radiant heart, that thine may be a sovereignty ancient, imperishable and everlasting.
His very first counsel concerns the heart. Of course, this theme can be found in many other Writings of His. In the Kitab-i-Iqan, which had seemed so meaningless to Mirza Abu'l-Fadl, not to mention one so obtuse as myself, Baha'u'llah speaks at length about the need for cleansing the heart of worldly affections, and pondering the past within it. In fact, the whole idea of considering ideas, which is often thought of as being in the head by the world at large, is given great importance when done within the heart.
Even the Bab gets into this one, when He speaks of memorization of Sacred Texts: every breast which committeth His Words to memory, God shall cause, if it were that of a believer, to be filled with His love; and every heart which cherisheth the love of His Words and manifesteth in itself the signs of true faith when His Name is mentioned, and exemplifieth the words, 'their hearts are thrilled with awe at the mention of God', that heart will become the object of the glances of divine favour and on the Day of Resurrection will be highly praised by God.
Memorization, in case we are not yet convinced of its importance, is said, here, to be the cause of filling our breast with His love. Pretty powerful stuff. I always bring up this quote in my study circles when people question the need for memorizing.
If we turn our attention to the description of the true seeker, from Baha'u'llah, the heart also plays a very important part there, but I'll let you do the research on that one.
Back to The Hidden Words, for now.
Great importance is laid upon the state of heart, right at the very beginning. It is not just any heart we are to possess, but one that is "pure, kindly and radiant".
But how are we to achieve this? How do we purify our heart? It seems evident to me that once it is pure, we will naturally act more kindly, and slowly become more radiant, but that is just my own opinion. The word "naturally", by the way, does not imply that it is immediate in its effect, just that it will occur and grow over time.
One of the simplest ways that I am aware of helping purify our heart is to turn to the Writings and say prayers. I'm sure it is no coincidence that these are the first two practices in the Ruhi curriculum, for, after all, they are the basis of our spiritual growth.
Radiance, incidentally, means to shine with a warm brighness. If it is not perceptible by others, then it cannot be truly called radiance.
So, presuming we are actually able to do all this, how will we know?
(2) O Son of Spirit! The best beloved of all things in My sight is Justice; turn not away therefrom if thou desirest Me, and neglect it not that I may confide in thee. By its aid thou shalt see with thine own eyes and not through the eyes of others, and shalt know of thine own knowledge and not through the knowledge of thy neighbor. Ponder this in thy heart; how it behooveth thee to be. Verily justice is My gift to thee and the sign of My loving-kindness. Set it then before thine eyes.
When we begin to purify our heart, and step on this path of spiritual growth, we will slowly grow in our justice. We will see with our own eyes, and know through our own research and understanding, not blindly imitating others. We are asked to ponder this in our hearts. It is how we are to be.
You see, I believe that when we recognize we are taking this second step, it means that we have already taken the first one. I may be wrong, but this is my own understanding. Of course, having taken a step on this path does mean that we have perfected it, or are done with it, just that we have taken it at least once. This step of purifying ourselves is an on-going one, and we must always act kindly and be radiant. It is like the Seven Valleys: by becoming a Baha'i, we have already traversed all seven, but we still continually go through them.
Now, to these first three attributes we can add justice, which is a sign of God's loving-kindness. And isn't that the highest example of kindness which we are to emulate in that second part of the first step? Won't our acting with justice be a sign of our kindness, too?
And that leads us to the third mention of the heart in The Hidden Words:
(36) O Son of Man! Rejoice in the gladness of thine heart, that thou mayest be worthy to meet Me and to mirror forth My beauty.
Are we not glad when we show forth justice? In fact, I can't think of anything else that would make me glad except being able to show a bit of some of the virtues of our Creator. We are created in His image, and being able to show that is such a wonderful bounty.
Many people find their joy in the things of this world, either through money or fame or any of countless other pleasures, but really, our joy should be found in the virtues we show, and help others to show. In fact, it reminds me of the next Hidden Word in which the word heart is found:
(54) O Son of Being! If thine heart be set upon this eternal, imperishable dominion, and this ancient, everlasting life, forsake this mortal and fleeting sovereignty.
Doesn't that just say it all? We should look towards God, and His pleasure, not that of our fellow-men.
Why should we do this? Well, just in case it is not obvious, it is so that the light of God can shine more brightly within our own hearts. After all, the heart is where God wants to be. There are countless statements in the Writings of all faiths that speak of this, reminding us that God can be found within us. This is not to say that we are God, but rather that we are mirrors in which the light of God shines, and if we want to see that light, we must look within. It also speaks of the great importance of teaching so that others may, too, see this light within themselves. To do this, however, takes time and dedication, but it is so important.
(59) O Son of Being! Thy heart is My home; sanctify it for My descent. Thy spirit is My place of revelation; cleanse it for My manifestation.
How could we even think of desecrating God's home? Or the place of His revelation? We must recognize that sacred nature of our heart, preparing it to receive this light. Perhaps that is one of the many reasons that 'Abdu'l-Baha doubly cautions us to be concerned about the heart: Beware! Beware! Lest thou offend any heart.
We must be so careful not to offend that place which is God's home, for it is sacred ground. And we should always remember how important that is. After all, God told Moses to remove His sandals because He was walking on sacred ground. How much more carefully should we tread?
(63) O Son of Man! The light hath shone on thee from the horizon of the sacred Mount and the spirit of enlightenment hath breathed in the Sinai of thy heart. Wherefore, free thyself from the veils of idle fancies and enter into My court, that thou mayest be fit for everlasting life and worthy to meet Me. Thus may death not come upon thee, neither weariness nor trouble.
"The Sinai of the heart". What a beautiful phrase.
But here is another caution and another promise that may be lost upon us, in our "modern" age. He speaks of entering His court, the realm of a King. Was this not the dream of every person out there at the time? To enter the court of the King and lay eyes upon his face? What a bounty this was considered. Countless are the tales of those people who walked for miles, or even days, just to be able to see the King's carriage pass by. Even today, thousands line the streets to see the Queen when she visits, or to catch a glimpse of the President's car.
The caution, however, is hidden: Don't take it for granted.
How many people lost their lives because they were in the court of the King and became complacent about that bounty? You must think back a hundred years ago, or more, when the King was the ruler of most countries. If you did not bow when you entered his presence, or treat him with the appropriate dignity worthy of his station, you could be killed. But if you treated him appropriately, then all the treasures of the kingdom could be yours.
I am reminded of my dear friend who served at the World Centre and said that his term ended at the perfect time. He was still in awe of the Shrines. He felt that if he served there much longer, he might begin to take them for granted, and that would be the beginning of his spiritual downfall.
But really, can we ever be "fit for everlasting life and worthy to meet" God? Can we ever truly understand the bounty that is being given to us?
(66) O Children of the Divine and invisible Essence! Ye shall be hindered from loving Me and souls shall be perturbed as they make mention of Me. For minds cannot grasp Me nor hearts contain Me.
This is so much bigger than we can imagine. We can easily become overwhelmed by even considering these questions. I think of this as another example of the "fear of God", causing us uneasiness as we contemplate all this. It is so easy to fall over trembling in awe.
You see, contemplating God is like contemplating the universe, and our position within it. You can try and imagine yourself sitting at your computer reading this, and that is fairly simple. You can imagine seeing yourself, from above, sitting within your town or city, a small person within the large map of the area. But how easy can you see yourself within the entire country in which you live? We are so small in comparison to the size of our country that it is fairly impossible, but still do-able. Now try and imagine seeing yourself where you are right now, while looking at the planet from space. We are just too small to do that.
And when you add the sun into the picture, you can barely even see the earth.
Now keep moving back. Look at the whole galaxy, with its millions of stars, of which the sun is but a small one, or our galaxy amidst the thousands of galaxies. Where are you now?
Or try and imagine this in the context of time. What will you do today that will be remembered next week? What will you accomplish right now that will make a difference in the world next year? In fact, what will you accomplish in your lifetime that will be remembered ten years after you have passed away? Or a hundred? Or a thousand? And don't forget, the universe is billions of years old.
How little we are. How pitiful.
And yet, Baha'u'llah says:
(68) Ponder at all times in your hearts how ye were created.How were we created? The answer is found earlier in The Hidden Words: With love.
This brings us right back to the beginning of The Hidden Words:
(3) O Son of Man! Veiled in My immemorial being and in the ancient eternity of My essence, I knew My love for thee; therefore I created thee, have engraved on thee Mine image and revealed to thee My beauty.Now we could go back to the beginning and retrace our path through this small volume again, with "love" as our path, or we could continue on to the last reference to the heart in this book. For now, I'd like to go on and leave this other path for another time.
Baha'u'llah concludes The Hidden Words in Arabic with this touching piece:
(71) O Son of Man! Write all that We have revealed unto thee with the ink of light upon the tablet of thy spirit. Should this not be in thy power, then make thine ink of the essence of thy heart. If this thou canst not do, then write with that crimson ink that hath been shed in My path. Sweeter indeed is this to Me than all else, that its light may endure for ever.
And if you feel you can't do any of the above, then you write a blog.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The Towering Gate
Like many of us, I'm fascinated by the Bab: His manner, His words, His Life. Everything about Him is fascinating.
In The Dispenation of Baha'u'llah, Shoghi Effendi describes "the youthful glory of the Báb, infinite in His tenderness, irresistible in His charm, unsurpassed in His heroism, matchless in the dramatic circumstances of His short yet eventful life".
When I first became a Baha'i, I ran into Mrs Khadem (literally, but that's another story) (oh, and in case you didn't know who she is, she was the widow of the Hand of the Cause and was serving as an Auxiliary Board member at the time), and she encouraged me to enrol in a deepening program. This was before the Ruhi books were popular in North America, and the program she enrolled me in required me to read a few texts, like The Dawn-Breakers, God Passes By, Balyuzi's trilogy, just to name a few.
Well, I tried but I couldn't make heads or tails out of it.
As a recent university graduate, coming from a school that required tons of reading, this was a bit embarrassing. But my fellow students were very encouraging. They were veteran Baha'is, and I'm sure they knew the stories inside out, but for me, they were a mystery. I actually didn't go to a lot of the study sessions because I was too embarrassed by not being able to make sense of what was happening (I've really tried to take this into account when tutoring or studying with others).
As I was completely lost in the group, I decided to make a go of it on my own, not wanting to hold back the others. You see, I really was very interested in learning this history, even though I had almost no interest in history in school.
Realizing that my main problem was not having a context in which to understand this story, I started with what I could grasp: 'Abdu'l-Baha's visit to North America. At least there I had some reference points. I'd been to Lincoln Park in Chicago, and knew the Temple. I could relate to this.
Obligatory aside: A few days after I began reading these sections in Balyuzi's book, I was working in a bookstore when one of my regular customers came in. He asked me what I was reading, which was odd as he usually asked what he should read. Seizing this opportunity, I told him I was reading a biography about an amazing man, but that he couldn't get the book at this store. He asked me who it was about, and I said, "'Abdu'l-Baha." "Oh, are you a Baha'i? So am I. Allah'u'Abha!" I then proceeded to chastise him for not having told me about the Faith in the years that we had known each other. (Don't worry, Doug, I won't mention who you are here.)
So there I was, reading 'Abdu'l-Baha by Balyuzi, and I learned all the names of the early Babis that I absolutely had to know: Mulla Husayn, Tahirih, Quddus, Vahid, and so on. There were only a few more, so it was easy to learn them. Then I decided to tackle his book on Baha'u'llah, which went into more detail about the early Babis. By that time I already knew the basics, those whose names I absolutely had to know, and could now begin to remember those names that were really good to know.
Having made it through that book, I then decided to try his book about the Bab, cleverly titled The Bab. As I already knew those names that I absolutely had to know, and those names that were really good to know, I could now pick up all the other names that were nice to know, but not really all that important to the overall story.
Needless to say, I made it. I actually was able to get through all three books with some degree of retention of information.
Now it was time for the big one: The Dawn-Breakers.
By this point in time I had also realized that the problem with most of the names were the names themselves. Being resourceful, if nothing else, I decided to try and make life easier for me by simplifying the names. To do this, I made a bit of a glossary for myself. "Mulla", I understood, meant teacher. "Haji" just meant that the person had been on pilgrimage. "Mirza" meant sir, and "Shaykh" meant just another kind of teacher. If the name ended in "i dash something else ending in i", it meant that they were from a town named something else. Oh, and "ibn-i-" meant son of. I think that was all of them. If there any more, I'll let you know.
So really, most of the names were more biographical than nomenclature in origin. For example, you could call me "Haji Mulla Mead-i-Chicago-i", and you would know that I'm a teacher who has been on Pilgrimage, my name is Mead and I was born in Chicago. We could add in "ibn-i-Roy" and you would now know my Dad's name, but I'm not sure how to fit that in there.
Oh, I just remembered: Siyyid. It means a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad.
Another thing that I found confusing about that book (remember, I'm still on The Dawn-Breakers here) was the way that Nabil always made sure to tell you where he got his information. Most of the book seems to read like, "John said George said Mulla-Mussarif-ibn-i-Ali said he heard it from Shaykh Hasan-i-Karbila-i who got it from his uncle, Haji Mirza Abdu'l-Benny Hasan who saw some bird who flew overhead". All right, that's not really fair, but it was just about that confusing to me at the time.
Now when I read it, especially with other people, I always try to make sure we know when Nabil is changing who he hears something from. In fact, you can actually place most of the book in brackets to see where what comes from whom, and, believe it or not, that seems to make it easier to follow.
You follow? All right, I wouldn't have believed me either, but it works for me.
Even to this day, I still can't get enough of Baha'i history. I've read everything I can find on the history of the Faith, mostly in chronological order, beginning with the Babis, and am now up to reading the biographies of the Hands of the Cause. Of course, as new books come out (like that amazing book called Leaves of the Twin Divine Trees) I try to read them, too, but am beginning to fall behind. I also try to re-read The Dawn-Breakers at least once a year, but am falling behind on that, too.
Why do I try to read it all? And why do I re-read The Dawn-Breakers every year? Because it gives such an incedible perspective to what we are all experiencing right now. Remember, the Guardian said that we are "unavoidably approaching a testing period, crucial, prolonged, potent, purifying, clearly envisaged by 'Abdu'l-Bahá, different from but recalling in its severity the ordeals which afflicted the dawn-breakers in a former Age", and that he hoped "the study of the Dawn-Breakers will inspire the friends to greater activity and more exerted energy in serving the Cause and spreading its message".
But that is not what I wanted to write about today. I wanted to write about humanity's other encounter with the "Gate of God" - Babel.
You see, over the years I`ve had many different images in my own mind that I use for the various Messengers of God. Perhaps at some point I may describe some of them for you, dear Reader, but not right now. In general, though, they all involve humanity as a singular body in this encounter.
And today, with the Bab, I imagine that body which I call humanity to be moving through a giant gate. What is on the other side of that gate? Well, that depends on which side you are talking about.
You see, I imagine humanity having walked this long path through history. At one point we were all one people, one culture, speaking one tongue. Then we walked through the "Gate of God", at the Tower of Babel, for that is what Babel means. Babel, or Bab-El: Gate of God.
When we walked through that gate, we split up into our different language groups, each speaking our own tongue.
To some, that may have been a disaster, but it also had its benefits. Neal Stephenson, in Snowcrash, inadvertantly touches upon one possible benefit, which is inhibiting a linguistic virus (don`t ask, just read the book. It`s fantastic), but I think there was another benefit. Each language has provided humanity with its own unique perspective on the world, which is one of the many reasons why it is such a tragedy when a language gets lost.
An example of this perspective is French, in which you don't say, "I miss you", but instead it comes out as, "You are missing from me". Beautiful, isn't it? So much more intimate.
Then you get Spanish, with it's phrase about me and the bus. You don't say, "I missed the bus", but rather "The bus missed me." That says a lot about one of the reasons why Hisapnic culture is the way it is, and wouldn't we be all the poorer without that perspective?
Like the sciences, each science needed to focus on its own speciality in order to progress to a certain level, but now, to grow even more, we need integrated sciences.
Similarly, each language had to grow on its own, to form its own perspective, but now we need to come together again: integrated linguistics.
We have come back to the Gate of God: On one side, one language; on the other, many lagnuages.
And you know, both are fascinating.
Just like the Bab, Himself.
In The Dispenation of Baha'u'llah, Shoghi Effendi describes "the youthful glory of the Báb, infinite in His tenderness, irresistible in His charm, unsurpassed in His heroism, matchless in the dramatic circumstances of His short yet eventful life".
When I first became a Baha'i, I ran into Mrs Khadem (literally, but that's another story) (oh, and in case you didn't know who she is, she was the widow of the Hand of the Cause and was serving as an Auxiliary Board member at the time), and she encouraged me to enrol in a deepening program. This was before the Ruhi books were popular in North America, and the program she enrolled me in required me to read a few texts, like The Dawn-Breakers, God Passes By, Balyuzi's trilogy, just to name a few.
Well, I tried but I couldn't make heads or tails out of it.
As a recent university graduate, coming from a school that required tons of reading, this was a bit embarrassing. But my fellow students were very encouraging. They were veteran Baha'is, and I'm sure they knew the stories inside out, but for me, they were a mystery. I actually didn't go to a lot of the study sessions because I was too embarrassed by not being able to make sense of what was happening (I've really tried to take this into account when tutoring or studying with others).
As I was completely lost in the group, I decided to make a go of it on my own, not wanting to hold back the others. You see, I really was very interested in learning this history, even though I had almost no interest in history in school.
Realizing that my main problem was not having a context in which to understand this story, I started with what I could grasp: 'Abdu'l-Baha's visit to North America. At least there I had some reference points. I'd been to Lincoln Park in Chicago, and knew the Temple. I could relate to this.
Obligatory aside: A few days after I began reading these sections in Balyuzi's book, I was working in a bookstore when one of my regular customers came in. He asked me what I was reading, which was odd as he usually asked what he should read. Seizing this opportunity, I told him I was reading a biography about an amazing man, but that he couldn't get the book at this store. He asked me who it was about, and I said, "'Abdu'l-Baha." "Oh, are you a Baha'i? So am I. Allah'u'Abha!" I then proceeded to chastise him for not having told me about the Faith in the years that we had known each other. (Don't worry, Doug, I won't mention who you are here.)
So there I was, reading 'Abdu'l-Baha by Balyuzi, and I learned all the names of the early Babis that I absolutely had to know: Mulla Husayn, Tahirih, Quddus, Vahid, and so on. There were only a few more, so it was easy to learn them. Then I decided to tackle his book on Baha'u'llah, which went into more detail about the early Babis. By that time I already knew the basics, those whose names I absolutely had to know, and could now begin to remember those names that were really good to know.
Having made it through that book, I then decided to try his book about the Bab, cleverly titled The Bab. As I already knew those names that I absolutely had to know, and those names that were really good to know, I could now pick up all the other names that were nice to know, but not really all that important to the overall story.
Needless to say, I made it. I actually was able to get through all three books with some degree of retention of information.
Now it was time for the big one: The Dawn-Breakers.
By this point in time I had also realized that the problem with most of the names were the names themselves. Being resourceful, if nothing else, I decided to try and make life easier for me by simplifying the names. To do this, I made a bit of a glossary for myself. "Mulla", I understood, meant teacher. "Haji" just meant that the person had been on pilgrimage. "Mirza" meant sir, and "Shaykh" meant just another kind of teacher. If the name ended in "i dash something else ending in i", it meant that they were from a town named something else. Oh, and "ibn-i-" meant son of. I think that was all of them. If there any more, I'll let you know.
So really, most of the names were more biographical than nomenclature in origin. For example, you could call me "Haji Mulla Mead-i-Chicago-i", and you would know that I'm a teacher who has been on Pilgrimage, my name is Mead and I was born in Chicago. We could add in "ibn-i-Roy" and you would now know my Dad's name, but I'm not sure how to fit that in there.
Oh, I just remembered: Siyyid. It means a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad.
Another thing that I found confusing about that book (remember, I'm still on The Dawn-Breakers here) was the way that Nabil always made sure to tell you where he got his information. Most of the book seems to read like, "John said George said Mulla-Mussarif-ibn-i-Ali said he heard it from Shaykh Hasan-i-Karbila-i who got it from his uncle, Haji Mirza Abdu'l-Benny Hasan who saw some bird who flew overhead". All right, that's not really fair, but it was just about that confusing to me at the time.
Now when I read it, especially with other people, I always try to make sure we know when Nabil is changing who he hears something from. In fact, you can actually place most of the book in brackets to see where what comes from whom, and, believe it or not, that seems to make it easier to follow.
You follow? All right, I wouldn't have believed me either, but it works for me.
Even to this day, I still can't get enough of Baha'i history. I've read everything I can find on the history of the Faith, mostly in chronological order, beginning with the Babis, and am now up to reading the biographies of the Hands of the Cause. Of course, as new books come out (like that amazing book called Leaves of the Twin Divine Trees) I try to read them, too, but am beginning to fall behind. I also try to re-read The Dawn-Breakers at least once a year, but am falling behind on that, too.
Why do I try to read it all? And why do I re-read The Dawn-Breakers every year? Because it gives such an incedible perspective to what we are all experiencing right now. Remember, the Guardian said that we are "unavoidably approaching a testing period, crucial, prolonged, potent, purifying, clearly envisaged by 'Abdu'l-Bahá, different from but recalling in its severity the ordeals which afflicted the dawn-breakers in a former Age", and that he hoped "the study of the Dawn-Breakers will inspire the friends to greater activity and more exerted energy in serving the Cause and spreading its message".
But that is not what I wanted to write about today. I wanted to write about humanity's other encounter with the "Gate of God" - Babel.
You see, over the years I`ve had many different images in my own mind that I use for the various Messengers of God. Perhaps at some point I may describe some of them for you, dear Reader, but not right now. In general, though, they all involve humanity as a singular body in this encounter.
And today, with the Bab, I imagine that body which I call humanity to be moving through a giant gate. What is on the other side of that gate? Well, that depends on which side you are talking about.
You see, I imagine humanity having walked this long path through history. At one point we were all one people, one culture, speaking one tongue. Then we walked through the "Gate of God", at the Tower of Babel, for that is what Babel means. Babel, or Bab-El: Gate of God.
When we walked through that gate, we split up into our different language groups, each speaking our own tongue.
To some, that may have been a disaster, but it also had its benefits. Neal Stephenson, in Snowcrash, inadvertantly touches upon one possible benefit, which is inhibiting a linguistic virus (don`t ask, just read the book. It`s fantastic), but I think there was another benefit. Each language has provided humanity with its own unique perspective on the world, which is one of the many reasons why it is such a tragedy when a language gets lost.
An example of this perspective is French, in which you don't say, "I miss you", but instead it comes out as, "You are missing from me". Beautiful, isn't it? So much more intimate.
Then you get Spanish, with it's phrase about me and the bus. You don't say, "I missed the bus", but rather "The bus missed me." That says a lot about one of the reasons why Hisapnic culture is the way it is, and wouldn't we be all the poorer without that perspective?
Like the sciences, each science needed to focus on its own speciality in order to progress to a certain level, but now, to grow even more, we need integrated sciences.
Similarly, each language had to grow on its own, to form its own perspective, but now we need to come together again: integrated linguistics.
We have come back to the Gate of God: On one side, one language; on the other, many lagnuages.
And you know, both are fascinating.
Just like the Bab, Himself.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Heaven and Hell
I was in a Ruhi Book 4 study group the other day, and we got to that quote from the Bab, in which He says, "(B)y Paradise is meant recognition of and submission unto Him Whom God shall make manifest, and by the fire the company of such souls as would fail to submit unto Him or to be resigned to His good-pleasure."
As we were talking about it, it was pointed that these two states are not necessarily seperate. In fact, quite often they seem to be simultaneous.
Paradise, according to the above quote, is about our own actions and what we do. Or do not do, in some cases. In fact, it seems to be another way of phrasing the first paragraph of the Kitab-i-Aqdas:
Recognition and obedience: paradise. Seems pretty straightforward. Simple, but not easy.
Oh, in case you don't know, simple means not complex, or it takes just a few steps. Easy means it doesn't require a lot of energy to do. So, recognition and obedience. Two simple steps, but as anyone who has tried knows, not easy. Definitely not easy.
But that second part from the quote by the Bab intrigued us. He describes "the fire" as "the company of such souls as would fail to submit unto Him or to be resigned to His good-pleasure". That seems to have little to do with us, at least in so far as we can't always choose who we hang out with. But really, it tells us about those around us, not ourselves.
So why would this be described as "the fire"?
Well, I think it's a reality.
First, though, let me just say that I don't think he's referring to that fire which is nice and warm and cozy on a cold night, where you roast marshmallows and sing songs with an out of tune guitar. I may be wrong, but I think that's a safe bet. Oh wait, sorry. We're Baha'i. No gambling. OK, sorry. I meant to write, "I think that's a safe assumption". Arrggh. Abbott and Costello (You know what happens when you assume...). PRESUMPTION. I really meant to write, "I think that's a safe presumption"!
Where was I?
Oh yes, thanks.
Why would He describe "the fire" in this way? Well, imagine what it is like to be around those who are like this. They are breaking the Laws of God, either by doing drugs, or sleeping around, or backbiting all the time. Or maybe they just don't say their prayers and are generally grumpy. Whatever. The question is "How do they react when things are a bit tough?" Answer: grumpily. And by being generally grumpy, they impose their mood upon those around them, bringing down the whole area.
Haven't you ever noticed how one person in a bad mood can bring down the mood of an entire room?
This seems like a fairly good definition of "the fire" to me.
But does that mean that we should avoid those in a bad mood? No, of course not. By being aware of it, though, we can be ready for what comes.
Now, looking at that quote again, the implication of Heaven and Hell is quite apparent. So doesn't that begin to give us a slightly different view of those two concepts? I know it did for me. But you, dear Reader, are probably way ahead of me here. It's ok. Let me catch up, if you don't mind.
Whenever I'm asked a question about heaven or hell, I always have to begin my answer by talking about the new definitions.
Milton, in Paradise Lost, said, "The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven." Well I think we have a similar view. Heaven is not a reward for some good behaviour. It's a recognition of perspective. And hell is not some form of punishment for wrong-doing. It is its own punishment of perspective. It's like the child whose hand gets burned for touching the hot stove. They are not punished for touching the stove, because the burn is its own punishment. I've spoken of this before and won't go into it again here.
Many people look to heaven with hope, or are good only for the sake of some reward, either here or later. Many are also afraid of hell, and avoid doing bad things for fear of it. But, if we truly wish to worship God, then the Bab tells us "to worship Him for His sake, without fear of fire, or hope of paradise."
And then there are those who are high on themselves because they think they have some fast track to heaven. In fact, an old roommate of mine told me of a song he used to sing in church, which is one of the reasons he became Baha'i. The lyrics went like this: Oh the angels they all sing-a-ling-a-ling for me but not for you, and the bells in hell go ring-a-ling-a-ling for you but not for me. Seriously. That's what they sang.
Just in case I ever get like that, just remind me of the quote from Baha'u'llah:
Or in the words of 'Abdu'l-Baha:Thinking about heaven and hell, once again: isn't it just our own perspective, our own stance? To me, it is like being in outer space. If you face the sun, everything is bright and warm. But if your back is to the sun, everything is cold and dark. It's sort of like that other quote from Baha'u'llah:
Like walking outside on a cold winter's day: hell for me, but heaven for my son.
As we were talking about it, it was pointed that these two states are not necessarily seperate. In fact, quite often they seem to be simultaneous.
Paradise, according to the above quote, is about our own actions and what we do. Or do not do, in some cases. In fact, it seems to be another way of phrasing the first paragraph of the Kitab-i-Aqdas:
The first duty prescribed by God for His servants is the recognition of Him Who is the Dayspring of His Revelation and the Fountain of His laws, Who representeth the Godhead in both the Kingdom of His Cause and the world of creation... It behoveth every one who reacheth this most sublime station... to observe every ordinance of Him Who is the Desire of the world. These twin duties are inseparable. Neither is acceptable without the other.
Recognition and obedience: paradise. Seems pretty straightforward. Simple, but not easy.
Oh, in case you don't know, simple means not complex, or it takes just a few steps. Easy means it doesn't require a lot of energy to do. So, recognition and obedience. Two simple steps, but as anyone who has tried knows, not easy. Definitely not easy.
But that second part from the quote by the Bab intrigued us. He describes "the fire" as "the company of such souls as would fail to submit unto Him or to be resigned to His good-pleasure". That seems to have little to do with us, at least in so far as we can't always choose who we hang out with. But really, it tells us about those around us, not ourselves.
So why would this be described as "the fire"?
Well, I think it's a reality.
First, though, let me just say that I don't think he's referring to that fire which is nice and warm and cozy on a cold night, where you roast marshmallows and sing songs with an out of tune guitar. I may be wrong, but I think that's a safe bet. Oh wait, sorry. We're Baha'i. No gambling. OK, sorry. I meant to write, "I think that's a safe assumption". Arrggh. Abbott and Costello (You know what happens when you assume...). PRESUMPTION. I really meant to write, "I think that's a safe presumption"!
Where was I?
Oh yes, thanks.
Why would He describe "the fire" in this way? Well, imagine what it is like to be around those who are like this. They are breaking the Laws of God, either by doing drugs, or sleeping around, or backbiting all the time. Or maybe they just don't say their prayers and are generally grumpy. Whatever. The question is "How do they react when things are a bit tough?" Answer: grumpily. And by being generally grumpy, they impose their mood upon those around them, bringing down the whole area.
Haven't you ever noticed how one person in a bad mood can bring down the mood of an entire room?
This seems like a fairly good definition of "the fire" to me.
But does that mean that we should avoid those in a bad mood? No, of course not. By being aware of it, though, we can be ready for what comes.
Now, looking at that quote again, the implication of Heaven and Hell is quite apparent. So doesn't that begin to give us a slightly different view of those two concepts? I know it did for me. But you, dear Reader, are probably way ahead of me here. It's ok. Let me catch up, if you don't mind.
Whenever I'm asked a question about heaven or hell, I always have to begin my answer by talking about the new definitions.
Milton, in Paradise Lost, said, "The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven." Well I think we have a similar view. Heaven is not a reward for some good behaviour. It's a recognition of perspective. And hell is not some form of punishment for wrong-doing. It is its own punishment of perspective. It's like the child whose hand gets burned for touching the hot stove. They are not punished for touching the stove, because the burn is its own punishment. I've spoken of this before and won't go into it again here.
Many people look to heaven with hope, or are good only for the sake of some reward, either here or later. Many are also afraid of hell, and avoid doing bad things for fear of it. But, if we truly wish to worship God, then the Bab tells us "to worship Him for His sake, without fear of fire, or hope of paradise."
And then there are those who are high on themselves because they think they have some fast track to heaven. In fact, an old roommate of mine told me of a song he used to sing in church, which is one of the reasons he became Baha'i. The lyrics went like this: Oh the angels they all sing-a-ling-a-ling for me but not for you, and the bells in hell go ring-a-ling-a-ling for you but not for me. Seriously. That's what they sang.
Just in case I ever get like that, just remind me of the quote from Baha'u'llah:
How often hath a sinner attained, at the hour of death, to the essence of faith, and, quaffing the immortal draught, hath taken his flight unto the Concourse on high! And how often hath a devout believer, at the hour of his soul's ascension, been so changed as to fall into the nethermost fire!
Or in the words of 'Abdu'l-Baha:Thinking about heaven and hell, once again: isn't it just our own perspective, our own stance? To me, it is like being in outer space. If you face the sun, everything is bright and warm. But if your back is to the sun, everything is cold and dark. It's sort of like that other quote from Baha'u'llah:
They say: 'Where is Paradise, and where is Hell?' Say: 'The one is reunion with Me; the other thine own self...'Going back to that original quote, though, you can be in heaven, while those around you are in hell. Or vice versa.
Like walking outside on a cold winter's day: hell for me, but heaven for my son.
Let us therefore be humble, without prejudices, preferring others' good to our own! Let us never say, 'I am a believer but he is an infidel', 'I am near to God, whilst he is an outcast'. We can never know what will be the final judgment! Therefore let us help all who are in need of any kind of assistance.
An Affirmation
We seem to really like affirmations in our society. They are sort of like setting long range, or sometimes short range, goals. It's kind of like a business plan, but for our souls, if we do them right.
How often do we read in diet books, for instance, about the usefulness of repeating the weight we wish to attain? Or when setting goals for work about repeating the goal we wish to achieve?
The affirmations out there are numerous. And sometimes tedious. But useful, nonetheless.
My favorite, though, comes from a friend. He was serving as an Auxiliary Board member at the time, or maybe it was just before his service began, I'm not sure. But either way, I so loved it that I've remembered it for 8 years and now wish to share it with you, dear Reader.
* * * * *
I am generous in prosperity.
I am thankful in adversity.
I am worthy of the trust of my neighbor.
I look upon him with a bright and friendly face.
I am a treasure to the poor.
I am an admonisher to the rich.
I answer the cry of the needy.
I preserve the sanctity of my pledge.
I am fair in my judgment.
I am guarded in my speech.
I am unjust to no man.
I show all meekness to all men.
I am as a lamp to them that walk in darkness.
I am a joy to the sorrowful.
I am a sea for the thirsty.
I am a haven for the distressed.
I uphold and defend the victim of oppression.
I let integrity and uprightness distinguish all my acts.
I am a home for the stranger.
I am a balm to the suffering.
I am a tower of strength for the fugitive.
I am eyes to the blind.
I am a guiding light to the feet of the erring.
I am an ornament to the countenance of truth.
I am a crown to the brow of fidelity.
I am a pillar of the temple of righteousness.
I am a breath of life to the body of mankind.
I am an ensign of the hosts of justice.
I am a luminary above the horizon of virtue.
I am a dew to the soil of the human heart.
I am an ark on the ocean of knowledge.
I am a sun in the heaven of bounty.
I am a gem on the diadem of wisdom.
I am a shining light in the firmament of my generation.
And I am a fruit upon the tree of humility.
* * * * *
I figure if I repeat this often enough, and strive towards it, I may get close someday.
Actually, I've perfected all of them, except the last one. I still need to work on humility.
How often do we read in diet books, for instance, about the usefulness of repeating the weight we wish to attain? Or when setting goals for work about repeating the goal we wish to achieve?
The affirmations out there are numerous. And sometimes tedious. But useful, nonetheless.
My favorite, though, comes from a friend. He was serving as an Auxiliary Board member at the time, or maybe it was just before his service began, I'm not sure. But either way, I so loved it that I've remembered it for 8 years and now wish to share it with you, dear Reader.
* * * * *
I am generous in prosperity.
I am thankful in adversity.
I am worthy of the trust of my neighbor.
I look upon him with a bright and friendly face.
I am a treasure to the poor.
I am an admonisher to the rich.
I answer the cry of the needy.
I preserve the sanctity of my pledge.
I am fair in my judgment.
I am guarded in my speech.
I am unjust to no man.
I show all meekness to all men.
I am as a lamp to them that walk in darkness.
I am a joy to the sorrowful.
I am a sea for the thirsty.
I am a haven for the distressed.
I uphold and defend the victim of oppression.
I let integrity and uprightness distinguish all my acts.
I am a home for the stranger.
I am a balm to the suffering.
I am a tower of strength for the fugitive.
I am eyes to the blind.
I am a guiding light to the feet of the erring.
I am an ornament to the countenance of truth.
I am a crown to the brow of fidelity.
I am a pillar of the temple of righteousness.
I am a breath of life to the body of mankind.
I am an ensign of the hosts of justice.
I am a luminary above the horizon of virtue.
I am a dew to the soil of the human heart.
I am an ark on the ocean of knowledge.
I am a sun in the heaven of bounty.
I am a gem on the diadem of wisdom.
I am a shining light in the firmament of my generation.
And I am a fruit upon the tree of humility.
* * * * *
I figure if I repeat this often enough, and strive towards it, I may get close someday.
Actually, I've perfected all of them, except the last one. I still need to work on humility.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Having Faith
A few people have commented that taking things on faith is not considered reasonable, or "in fashion", these days. This mostly has to do with what people presume that means. For many, it has the connotation of "blind faith", which, as you all know, goes against what Baha'u'llah requests of us. In fact, the whole concept of independent investigation of truth pretty much precludes the concept of "blind faith". "(F)aith", we find in the statement on Baha'u'llah released by the Baha'i International Community, "is a matter not of blind belief, but of conscious knowledge."
So what does it mean to "have faith"?
As 'Abdu'l-Baha says, "By faith is meant, first, conscious knowledge, and second, the practice of good deeds."
Interesting: first conscious knowledge, and then action. (Sort of reminds me of the Ruhi books. Coincidence? Hmm.)
But what does this look like?
Well, I'm not sure what it looks like for anyone else, but for me, it all begins with a question.
Once a question is asked, it then continues with purity of heart, as outlined in Baha'u'llah's description of a true seeker:
Wait a second! "No remnant of either love or hate"? Seems sort of contrary to popular conception, doesn't it?
Well, I think that only when we are looking at something with an unbiased mind, can we truly begin to judge it for its own worth. If we are inclined to dislike something, we may be prejudiced to decide against it, even though it's good. But if we are inclined to love something, then we may make the error of overlooking its faults and blindly decide it's good, even though it is the source of error. (I have to admit that I'm often concerned about this. My first reader for these articles is usually my wife. This may not be good for the most unbiased opinion, but it's sure encouraging when she says she likes something.)
This sort of reminds me of the second Hidden Word, in which we read, "By (justice's) aid thou shalt see with thine own eyes and not through the eyes of others, and shalt know of thine own knowledge and not through the knowledge of thy neighbor. Ponder this in thy heart; how it behooveth thee to be."
So why am I writng about this?
Because it reminds me of how I became a Baha'i. As I've mentioned many times, there were a lot of things I disagreed with when I was first looking at the Writings, but eventually Baha'u'llah had proved Himself right so many times that I realized He had a better vision of the world than I did. Of course, when you are fifteen, that doesn't take much. But His vision just seemed to take in so much more than I could ever imagine.
Then I started looking at His prayers, especially the short obligatory one.
This is where blind faith took over: I tried saying it each day, just to see what would happen.
I already was convinced that He knew more than I did, but the real question was "Was He a Messenger of God?" I just wasn't sure.
So I prayed.
I prayed as He asked me to.
And sure enough, I soon began to notice a difference in my life. That was when it went from "blind faith" to "conscious faith". When I realized that this prayer was having a positive effect in my life, I began to recite it every day. Yet even then, I was still not a Baha'i. I hadn't been entirely convinced that Baha'u'llah was Who He said He was.
But then I remember reading something one evening and thinking, "Nope, I disagree. Ah, but Baha'u'llah said it. He must be right."
As I've mentioned, my next reaction was to jump in astonishment as I realized that I had just become a follower.
And all this leads me back to faith.
Faith, as mentioned, is conscious knowledge. But it doesn't end there: it requires action.
So I became a Baha'i, formally acknowledging my faith, as Baha'u'llah requested. And then I began searching through the Writings for things I could act upon, for even at that time I realized that if my faith didn't lead me to action, it couldn't be any good to the world.
So is it fashionable to have faith these days? No, but mostly because people are too concerned about making a commitment to something, and finding out that they may be wrong. This is evidenced by the approach to marriage with the pre-nuptual contracts (like this engenders trust amongst a couple?), and the fear people have of committing themselves to a particular religion, to name just two examples.
And to that I say, "Who cares if you're wrong?" Life is full of mistakes, and that is wonderful. It is how we learn. But to not take any action because you're too concerned about making a "wrong" move? That is to stop living.
To me, faith is about finding out enough information to take an informed step, and then taking that step.
Or, in my case, that leap.
So what does it mean to "have faith"?
As 'Abdu'l-Baha says, "By faith is meant, first, conscious knowledge, and second, the practice of good deeds."
Interesting: first conscious knowledge, and then action. (Sort of reminds me of the Ruhi books. Coincidence? Hmm.)
But what does this look like?
Well, I'm not sure what it looks like for anyone else, but for me, it all begins with a question.
Once a question is asked, it then continues with purity of heart, as outlined in Baha'u'llah's description of a true seeker:
...He must, before all else, cleanse and purify his heart... from the obscuring dust of all acquired knowledge... He must purge his breast... of every defilement... He must so cleanse his heart that no remnant of either love or hate may linger therein, lest that love blindly incline him to error, or that hate repel him away from the truth.
Wait a second! "No remnant of either love or hate"? Seems sort of contrary to popular conception, doesn't it?
Well, I think that only when we are looking at something with an unbiased mind, can we truly begin to judge it for its own worth. If we are inclined to dislike something, we may be prejudiced to decide against it, even though it's good. But if we are inclined to love something, then we may make the error of overlooking its faults and blindly decide it's good, even though it is the source of error. (I have to admit that I'm often concerned about this. My first reader for these articles is usually my wife. This may not be good for the most unbiased opinion, but it's sure encouraging when she says she likes something.)
This sort of reminds me of the second Hidden Word, in which we read, "By (justice's) aid thou shalt see with thine own eyes and not through the eyes of others, and shalt know of thine own knowledge and not through the knowledge of thy neighbor. Ponder this in thy heart; how it behooveth thee to be."
So why am I writng about this?
Because it reminds me of how I became a Baha'i. As I've mentioned many times, there were a lot of things I disagreed with when I was first looking at the Writings, but eventually Baha'u'llah had proved Himself right so many times that I realized He had a better vision of the world than I did. Of course, when you are fifteen, that doesn't take much. But His vision just seemed to take in so much more than I could ever imagine.
Then I started looking at His prayers, especially the short obligatory one.
This is where blind faith took over: I tried saying it each day, just to see what would happen.
I already was convinced that He knew more than I did, but the real question was "Was He a Messenger of God?" I just wasn't sure.
So I prayed.
I prayed as He asked me to.
And sure enough, I soon began to notice a difference in my life. That was when it went from "blind faith" to "conscious faith". When I realized that this prayer was having a positive effect in my life, I began to recite it every day. Yet even then, I was still not a Baha'i. I hadn't been entirely convinced that Baha'u'llah was Who He said He was.
But then I remember reading something one evening and thinking, "Nope, I disagree. Ah, but Baha'u'llah said it. He must be right."
As I've mentioned, my next reaction was to jump in astonishment as I realized that I had just become a follower.
And all this leads me back to faith.
Faith, as mentioned, is conscious knowledge. But it doesn't end there: it requires action.
So I became a Baha'i, formally acknowledging my faith, as Baha'u'llah requested. And then I began searching through the Writings for things I could act upon, for even at that time I realized that if my faith didn't lead me to action, it couldn't be any good to the world.
So is it fashionable to have faith these days? No, but mostly because people are too concerned about making a commitment to something, and finding out that they may be wrong. This is evidenced by the approach to marriage with the pre-nuptual contracts (like this engenders trust amongst a couple?), and the fear people have of committing themselves to a particular religion, to name just two examples.
And to that I say, "Who cares if you're wrong?" Life is full of mistakes, and that is wonderful. It is how we learn. But to not take any action because you're too concerned about making a "wrong" move? That is to stop living.
To me, faith is about finding out enough information to take an informed step, and then taking that step.
Or, in my case, that leap.
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