Books

I sell used Baha'i books.  It's not really a business for me, just something that I sort of fell into and enjoy.  Besides, it's been a great way to augment my own book collection.

Have you ever noticed the relationship that Baha'is seem to have with their books?  We love them.

And as part of that love, we want to share them with so many people.

But then we never seem to get them back.

Oh, it's not that our friends steal them from us, nor that they don't intend to return them, just that they fall in love with them, too.  They read them, and re-read them, and then re-re-read them, and so on, and the next thing you know they have forgotten who lent them the book, and by now it feels as if it's theirs and the original owner has to buy a new one.  Or a used one.

I get around that now by having a sign-out sheet.

But as part of selling some used books, I have also begun ordering books for my community and am now, de facto, the local bookseller with the permission of my Assembly.

Well, that was a long way around to telling you, dear Reader, that I have noticed a rise in sales of Some Answered Questions.  I just can't keep it in stock.

"Would you like a nice copy of The World Order of Baha'u'llah?"  "No thanks, I'd like a copy of Some Answered Questions."  "I have a great edition of Tablets of the Divine Plan."  "No thanks, I'd like a copy of Some Answered Questions."  "An old translation of The Hidden Words?"  "No thanks, I'd like a copy of Some Answered Questions."  "How about One Common Faith?  It's a must read for every Baha'i right now."  "No thanks, I'd like a copy of Some Answered Questions."

All right, all right.  I get the idea.  Some Answered Questions.

It's not that I have anything against this book, just that I don't have in stock.  It always sells out.

Well, this has gotten me to look at it again, to try and figure out why so many of the friends are suddenly buying it.  And, you know, I had forgotten that it has one of my all-time favorite passages in all of the Writings tucked nicely away within it.  (There are so many favorite passages, but this is an especially favorite favorite passage.)

Now you may think that my favorite passages would the ones adorning the Temple in Wilmette, those small but priceless gems that the Guardian selected for that honour, and yes, they are amongst my favorites, but those of you who are quick on the uptake (as most of you are) will realize that none of those immortal quotes are from the Master.  They are all from Baha'u'llah, Himself.

So which is my favorite quote in Some Answered Questions?  Thank you, dear Reader, I'm glad you asked.

The object of what we are about to say is to explain the reality -- not to deride the beliefs of other people; it is only to explain the facts; that is all. We do not oppose anyone's ideas, nor do we approve of criticism.

Isn't it wonderful?  I mean, look at it, doesn't it just say so much in such a short space?

OK, it doesn't appear to say all that much, but I think it does, in many other ways.

Long overdue aside: I remember going to a fireside once, and there was a speaker there who gave a marvelous talk about life after death.  The room was packed, and his talk was very well received.  Now, I have to admit that I only have it on hearsay that the talk was wonderful, as I didn't speak the language.  I was watching the audience, and they seemed to respond very well to what he was saying.

Two people in the audience caught my attention, however, from their reactions.  Their eyes were squinting in consideration, and they seemed on the verge of tears.  They were rapt in their attention.  I later learned that their son had recently been killed in a car accident.

At the end of the talk, the speaker asked the inevitable question, "Are there any questions?"

The husband of this couple, who had lost their son, stood up.  He proceeded to explain his view of the afterlife as a prelude to his question (I learned this later), when a Baha'i in the audience said, "No, you're wrong."  This patient gentleman went on to explain that this was his perspective, and he needed to explain it as a prelude to his question.  This poor Baha'i woman interrupted him again, saying, "No, you're wrong.  This is how it is."

In the end, this couple left; the wife in tears, and the husband angry.

It was a sad experience.

I talked with some of the Baha'is afterwards and asked them what had happened.  When they explained it to me, I asked what we could learn from it and how to make the next fireside better.  They weren't sure what I meant, so I asked if this result was what we desired.  Obviously it wasn't, so we spoke about how to approach people whose opinions or ideas were different from our own.

And that leads me back to this quote: We do not oppose anyone's ideas, nor do we approve of criticism.


There are so many instances in the Writings in which we are told how to teach.  Baha'u'llah, when asked about this, told us to look to the Master.  He said that 'Abdu'l-Baha listened carefully to what the speaker was saying, and He listened so carefully that the speaker felt as if he were actually teaching the Master something.  Then, after this was done, with infinite patience and an eye towards the positive 'Abdu'l-Baha would agree that whatever they said may, in fact, be the case, especially focussing on what was correct, and then ask if it could be seen from this other perspective.  I'm paraphrasing, of course, but you get the idea.

I won't even talk about the inappropriateness of interrupting someone at a fireside.
Another fine example of this methodology of teaching can be found in Tabernacle of Unity, in which Baha'u'llah appears to evade some questions, but really answers them within the context of what is important.  I've mentioned this before, so I won't go into it here.

Besides, this is long enough as it is, and I have a book that I want to read.

Coffee

As you know, in the Baha'i Faith, we don't drink alcohol.  Perhaps that's why so many of us turn to coffee.  Or tea.  I can't leave out the tea drinkers.  In fact, I'm an avid tea drinker, too.  Oh, and hot chocolate.  Let's not forget the hot chocolate (it's sort of the whiskey of non-alcohol drinkers).

But coffee seems to get the big bill.

There is a wonderful story about 'Abdu'l-Baha who, in jest, told Siyyid Assadu'llah, His faithful attendant, to fear God and bring Him some coffee.  Obviously this must have been before breakfast.

There's another story about the Master in which he was in a coffee shop where the owner was very fond of Him.  'Abdu'l-Baha began to talk about how bad coffee is for the body, and went on at some length talking about how much better tea is for you than coffee.  The poor owner was getting concerned, and went over and asked 'Abdu'l-Baha if there was anything He wanted to drink.  The Master turned to Him, with a twinkle in His eye, and ordered a coffee.  (Please note that this is only a story on hearsay.  I haven't found verification of it anywhere, but so what.  It's fun.)

Many of us have noted that coffee is becoming more of a verb these days than a noun.  "Hey, let's coffee somtime this week."  It means, "Let's go out in public, chat, and share some fun ideas."  At least that's what it means to me.

In fact, right now, at this very moment, I am sitting in a coffee shop waiting for a friend of mine so that we can continue our study of the Kitab-i-Iqan.  We're blogging this study (another example of a noun / verb switch), and I'll let you know about it as soon as we get something worthwhile happening.

In the meantime, let's get back to coffee and the Baha'i Faith.

I think coffee shops are a great place to teach the Faith.  And I'm not alone.  Mirza Abu'l-Fadl was said to have taught many people in coffee shops.  Baha'u'llah, Himself, often went to the coffee shops in Baghdad and would engage people in conversation.

When I first moved to Canada, I would go to the coffee shops near where I lived and talk with people about all sorts of spiritual issues.  I met many lifelong friends this way and still, when visiting a new city or town, will visit a coffee shop to begin meeting people.

One day, a friend of mine asked me if we could read The Dawn-Breakers together.  She said she had tried many times, but just couldn't make heads nor tails out of it.  She originally wanted to come over to my place and read it, but I suggested the coffee shop, so off we went.

The same day, at the same time, each week we would sit across from each other and take turns reading the book aloud.

While we were doing this, I would ask questions, or point out who someone was in the text, or indicate when Nabil would switch narrators.  It was great fun, and I found myself paying even greater attention to some of the details than I had before.

Her questions were also quite astute and led to many wonderful asides. (See, I've always gone off on asides.  It's not just here.)

One day, a few months into it, we noticed that the same people were always sitting around us.  A short time later, we realized that they were not turning the pages in their books or in their newspapers.  The following week, they weren't even pretending to read.  They were turned towards us and actively listening in on our conversation.

When we came back a week later, they had taken the tables and moved them all together, with two seats saved for us.  It was such a joyous moment.

We finished our reading of that great book with our new-found friends in attendance each week.

I wasn't sure if anything ever came of it, until five years later when I saw one of them again.  I was sitting over coffee with someone else, when this man came up to us.  We warmly greeted each other and he immediately turned to the friend I was with and he asked if I had told her about the martyrdom of the Bab.  He then described the entire story perfectly, in great detail.  It was a wonder to behold.

Oh, and that was the same coffee shop in which I proposed to my wife.

Yeah.  I just love coffee.

Hair

Hair.

I just don't get it.  Why is there so much concern made about hair?

I remember a Naw Ruz celebration a number of years ago that took place in a large hall.  It was a beautiful celebration and everyone was having a great time.  A dear friend of mine, one of the first friends I ever met in Winnipeg, had just dyed her hair bright pink, and she was sitting a few rows in front of me.  Someone behind her commented, in an allegedly quiet voice, that it was disgraceful someone would colour their hair like that.  My friend turned, and I could see the hurt on her face.

I have not seen her at a Baha'i event since that time.

At the next Feast, when everyone was talking about how great the celebration was, I asked the question if we would derogatorily comment on someone's skin colour.  People were aghast that I would even think of such a question.  I asked if we would comment about the inappropriateness of someone's eye colour, and was met with a similar response.  Would we tell someone to change their clothes if we didn't like the colour of their shirt?  That just seemed ridiculous.

"So why", I asked, "did someone criticize another for their hair colour?"  I then pointed out that my friend was missing at the Feast and told how hurt she had been at such a callous comment.

Fortunately, thank God, this is a very rare incident in the community, but it has still stuck with me even after all this time, especially since she still hasn't come to any Baha'i events.

But it gets me back to the question: Why are we so concerned about hair?  After all, it is just a keratin filament with a bit of pigment.  What's the big deal?

The salon / barber industry in the US has an annual revenue of $16 billion dollars, which just seems beyond absurd, but maybe it's just me.  After all, I'm known for only getting one haircut a year, if that.  Oh, by getting a haircut every other year, you can actually cut it off and send it to a charity for a cancer wig, so why not do that?  (There's my social plug for the week)

But there is an issue with that, for us Baha'is.  Baha'u'llah said that we should not have long hair, at least if you're a guy.

"Wait a minute, He did?"

I've been told that by many Baha'is, so it must be true, right?

No.  Not necessarily.  Remember that famous phrase?  "Show it to me in the Writings"?

Let's see what Baha'u'llah says.  In the Kitab-i-Aqdas, He writes, "Shave not your heads; God hath adorned them with hair, and in this there are signs from the Lord of creation to those who reflect upon the requirements of nature... Notwithstanding, it is not seemly to let the hair pass beyond the limit of the ears."  The Guardian also clarified that not shaving the head is applicable to both women and men, but that the thing about the ears is only for men.

So what is this thing about the ears?  Don't let your "hair pass beyond the limit of the ears"?  Does it actually mean that we shouldn't have long hair?

Does that mean that we are to draw an imaginary line from ear to ear, behind our head, and cut off all our hair below this line?  If so, do we draw this line from the top of each ear, or the bottom?  Obviously it doesn't mean to go from the top of one to the bottom of another.  That would just look silly.

But is this really what it means?

Let's look at the Master, 'Abdu'l-Baha.  Please note His hair in this photo of Him as a young man:

Do you see how His hair is long?  And yet, His hair does not go beyond the limits of His ears.  You can clearly see His ears.

This is what I use as my model.

When I allow my hair to grow long, I always keep my ears clear.  After all, the limits of the ear, in my opinion (remember?  This  is all about how I approach the Faith, so all you will get is my opinion), means the actual limits of each ear on its own.  Two "c" shapes on either side of the head.  That is where I keep my hair from, beyond those limits.

After that, all that I have found in the Writings pertaining to hair and hairstyle is to keep it neat and clean. Clean I can do.  Neat?  Well, I'll have to take that up with God in the next world.  He gave me this unruly mop on the top of my head.  I do my best, but sometimes I feel like Harry Potter with the hair always going all over the place, no matter what I do.

They say that God loves laughter, and I often cite my hair as an example.

The Martyrs and Administrators

I have been asked a few times why I don't address every question I am asked (what I'm sure they mean is why don't I answer their questions, as they have no idea what anyone else is writing me).  The answer, really, is quite simple.  Most of the time I have no idea how to respond.  I could, of course, answer truthfully and honestly, but it just seems easier not to say anything.

Of course, there is, also, a second reason, and it may seem a bit more obscure, but it is very real to me.

You see, I live in Canada.  I was born in the United States, but I now live in Canada, and both countries, along with Greenland, are the recipients of the Tablets of the Divine Plan.  We are also the "spirtual descendants of the dawn-breakers".

I have given a lot of thought as to what that might mean and still have many more questions, but I will share what it means to me at this time in my development.  It means, to me, that I should study the lives of those breakers of the dawn and try to emulate them as best I can.

But who are the dawn-breakers, and what did they do?  Well, simply put, they were the early believers in the Bab who sacrificed everything in order to see this promised day come about.  They believed in the vision of the Bab so much, that they were willing to dedicate their entire lives to see the establishment of this new, universal religion.  They knew, however, that they were not able to merely talk about these wonderful ideals, but had to live them, instead.

Despite the perversity of the culture in which they lived, so rife with corruption and hatred, fanaticism and ignorance, they remained positive and optimistic about the future.  They stood out amongst their contemporaries by their upright character and noble virtues.

I could go on and on about how marvellous they were, but it might get tedious.

So what does this have to do with me?  Obviously, not a lot, as I don't show anywhere near the quality of character that they did, but it does have one important story I feel I need to learn from.

At a time when there was so much hatred shown towards them, just after the miraculous martyrdom of the Bab, Himself, two young idiots (to put it as mildly as I am capable) committed an act that has forever stained the history of this noble faith.  They were two young Babis who were "driven by a frenzy of despair to avenge" the martyrdom of the Promised One.  Despite the counsels of Baha'u'llah, and His strong advice to not commit so heinous an act, they decided to try and assassinate the Shah, whom they mistakenly blamed for the death of the Bab.  Because of their disgraceful act, over twenty thousand Babis lost their lives.

As we here in North America are the descendants of those valiant souls who gave their lives for this Cause, I do not wish to be the one about whom those in future will look back and say, "What an idiot."  (I'm sure I give enough people cause to say that, for many other reasons.)

Today, there are many Baha'is in some countries on this planet whose very lives are currently in danger by virtue of their faith, alone.  I do not wish to cause them any possibility of harm.  And so, out of concern for them, there are some questions and issues that I will not touch.

All of this, however, touches upon another question, that I feel is important: What is a martyr?

So much has been written in the media lately about the "martyrs", more appropriately called "suicide bombers", who bomb themselves along with others, that I feel the word has lost some of its power.  In fact, I would even say that many people are seriously disturbed when they hear abut martyrs, due to the inaccuracy of this term in that context.

(Here's the history lesson for today) The word "martyr" comes from the Greek word "martus", meaning "witness".    A martyr, by definition, bears witness to something with their life.  They are, in the face of death, willing to continue to profess their faith, even though they prefer life.  They do not seek death, but they do not shy away from it.  Death is always imposed upon them by external forces, due to their unwillingness to recant their faith.

In the Baha'i context, Baha'u'llah affirms the high station of those willing to sacrifice everything in order to remain true to their beliefs.  They are neither fanatics nor zealots motivated by any political or personal motives, but rather inspired by the desire to see the truth of Baha'u'llah's teachings put before the world.

But in all of Baha'u'llah's praise for the sacrifice of the martyrs, one thing really stands out to me: His response when someone asked to be allowed to shed their blood for the Faith.  Baha'u'llah wrote the following:

Today the greatest of all deeds is service to the Cause.  Souls that are well assured should with utmost discretion teach the Faith... This martyrdom is not confined to the destruction of life and the shedding of blood.  A person enjoying the bounty of life may yet be recorded a martyr in the Book of the Sovereign Lord."

You see, it is our service to the Faith and to humanity today, here in North America, that is called for, despite any opposition we may face.  Some may question if Baha'u'llah is who He says He is.  Others may wonder why we bother with the daily prayers, or with fasting.  But we can stand in contrast to the world around us and let our lives be a testimony to His truth.

I had often wondered how we could be the spiritual descendants of the Dawn-Breakers if we were not called upon to shed our blood, and now I know.  We are called to shed our sweat and our tears, not our blood.

There is another interesting statement from Shoghi Effendi, when he tells the youth "your generation must provide the saints, heroes, martyrs and administrators of future years."  Why are they in that order?  And it is not the only time those groups of people are placed in that order.  There is another letter in which he refers to "the vast multitude of the heroes, Letters, martyrs, hands, teachers and administrators of the Cause", and a third in which he lists them as "heroes, martyrs, teachers, pioneers and administrators".


Why are the administrators always placed at the end?

I believe it is because of their sacrifice in building this new world order.  Many of these administrators give up their careers, their free time, almost everything in order to build this "Kingdom of God" on earth.  It is through their service, followed swiftly by the services of the teachers and pioneers, that the Golden Age, the time of world peace dreamed of by the poets and visionaries of old, promised by all the Prophets of every faith, will come about.

It is for this, and many other reasons, that I hold so dearly our precious Spiritual Assemblies, and regard so highly the work done by all their members.

So, when I am asked a question that does not seem appropriate to answer, or one that I am unable to answer, this is what goes through my mind.

As a last point, I am sometimes asked about my very personal beliefs.  Do I believe in the Virgin birth?  How do I understand the reality of Jesus' miracles?  And really, it is no one else's business.  My personal beliefs in these and similar matters do not have any effect upon how I live my life.

I am reminded of that gentleman who asked Baha'u'llah a series of questions, and was provided with the answers found in Tabernacle of Unity.  Most of his questions were answered with the phrase, "Be anxiously concerned with the needs of the age ye live in, and center your deliberations on its exigencies and requirements."

 
Perhaps, when I'm asked a question along those lines, I should just reply with that sentence.
 
Or maybe I'll just copy all those questions that come in like that into an article some day, and answer them all with that line, once and for all.
 
Then again, perhaps not.  It might discourage some of the questions from coming in, and then what would I do for fun?
 
I don't know.   (Hmm.  That was both truthful and honest.  Wow.  I'm good.  I can still answer any question, even after all this time.)

Friendship

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.

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?

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:

(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.