Trust in the capacity of this generation to disentangle itself from the embroilments of a divided society. To discharge your responsibilities, you will have to show forth courage, the courage of those who cling to standards of rectitude, whose lives are characterized by purity of thought and action, and whose purpose is directed by love and indomitable faith. As you dedicate yourselves to healing the wounds with which your peoples have been afflicted, you will become invincible champions of justice.

(The Universal House of Justice, message to the Paraguay Youth Congress, 2000)

Dr. Susan Moody, with Baha'i women and girls in Iran.

When I was in high school, I read a book that left an indelible impression upon my heart.  It was The Diary of Juliet Thompson, an early American Baha’i living in New York City who had the good fortune to have spent time with ‘Abdu’l-Baha in the Holy Land, Europe, and New York.  Juliet was loved dearly by ‘Abdu’l-Baha — He said that she would become the envy of future queens — but she was by no means perfect, and I think that’s why she appealed so much to me.

I read the book again this year, as summer turned to autumn: before going to sleep, my eyelids growing heavy as I tried to catch another chapter; on the city bus, almost missing my stop; at lunch breaks from work, sitting in a garden tucked behind high-rises and not wanting my hour to be up.  One evening, lying on the couch with dinner in one hand and my book in the other, I gazed out the window at the sunset, watching a plane descend at the distance.  I had the great feeling of wanting to sacrifice very much to help bring about a new civilization that Baha’u'llah taught of, borne out of the great love for ‘Abdu’l-Baha that Juliet transmitted through these pages.

And it occurred to me that I had had that very same feeling when reading it as a high schooler.  I wondered what I had sacrificed — it didn’t feel like very much, and it always felt like I had some excuse; that “it’ll come later.”  But later was now, and what could I show of it?

Juliet’s diary did something to me, for as the autumn progressed, I picked books up and couldn’t put them down.  Books of great heroes, who sacrificed and had faith in a cause that would bring a new world long after they had passed away.  One book became two which became four, and before I knew it, I had devoured ten such books, as the fiery leaves that lined my street shriveled to dust, and D.C.’s first silent snow turned to blizzards.

These were stories of women and men in far-flung places (Persia, Bulgaria, Libya, Australia) and those closer to home (New York, Washington, D.C., Berkeley). They were stories of men who risked their very lives by, openly and stealthily, sharing with others Baha’u'llah’s message; and of women sacrificed material comforts to travel, alone, to distant lands, at advanced ages.

There are my favorites: the Western women who, although single — some never married, others widowed — traversed the globe and performed great acts of heroism.

There was Ella Bailey who, at eighty-eight years old, did not let a bad fall and a recent hospitalization prevent her from alighting upon her pioneering post in Tripoli, equipped with an oxygen mask, only to pass away a month after her arrival.  Martha Root, the “archetype of Bahá’í itinerant teachers,” who circled the world twice.  Keith Ransom-Kehler, twice widowed, with her endless trunks packed with couture, sludged through the mud of East Asia.  Susan Moody, who, at the age of fifty-eight, traveled alone to Iran at ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s request to provide healthcare for women, likewise starting the country’s first school for girls.  Marion Jack, sixty-five years old, moved from Canada to Bulgaria, living in a small hotel room through ill-health, freezing temperatures, and the Second World War.

These names — Ella, Keith, Marion, Susan, Martha — echoed in the memory of my formative years, and growing up, I associated those names with, “Well, I could never do what they did.”

But as I read on, what became increasingly apparent was their great heroism despite their human frailties: impatience, feelings of inadequacy, struggling to work in unity with others.  A line I read from the foreward of one of these books summed it up:

As we read about these early Baha’is, we realize that they were in many ways very much like ourselves, for they too had human weaknesses and shortcomings.  Their greatness lay in the quality of their faith in Baha’u'llah and His Message. This was the secret of their victory– despite their shortcomings.

(Gloria Faizi, Fire on the Mountain-top)

I realized any of us could be like them, and that there were a lot more of such people around me — whose lives are yet to be recorded in books — than I had imagined.

As I leave this city which I have occupied intermittently for the past five and half years, for warmer climes — leaving the comfort of plentiful friendships, organic markets, rapid public transportation, and clean sidewalks — off to an unknown destination to follow in their footsteps; in moments of fear of what may lie ahead, I remember these individuals who, ever human, were champions of justice:

Though they themselves would not live to see that day, they were prepared to sacrifice all they had if by doing so they could raise the call to unity, and prove to an unbelieving world that the wolf and the lamb could truly drink from the same stream….

(Gloria Faizi, Fire on the Mountain-top)

But if you think about it, all  religions have some version of a pilgrimage: a visit to a holy site which is usually linked to its Central Figure/s.  Aside from Baha’i holy sites, I have also visited Muslim, Christian and Jewish ones, and there is no question of the fervour and devotion of the devotees who have come (mostly from far distances) to pay their respects and to pray.

The main Baha’i Pilgrimage takes place in the Holy Land, spans nine days and consists of guided visits to the resting places (or Shrines) of the Central Figures of the Faith, various other sites in the Holy Land associated with them, and the Terraces and gardens on Mount Carmel.

But what is the purpose? For me, pilgrimage is similar to fasting, a time during which you focus your thoughts and energies on your spiritual life, a time to reflect and meditate.  Just the physical act of leaving your home and travelling to the Holy Land helps to divorce you from everyday concerns, the distance helping you to achieve a perspective which will allow you to properly evaluate your inner life. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá has explained that:

Holy places are undoubtedly centres of the outpouring of Divine grace, because on entering the illumined sites associated with martyrs and holy souls, and by observing reverence, both physical and spiritual, one’s heart is moved with great tenderness.

Another aspect of the spiritual experience of pilgrimage is that you are one of a group of Baha’is from around the world.  Your pilgrim group (of a few hundred people per nine-day cycle) will have dozens of races, ethnicities and nationalities.  And for me, there are few things more uplifting than being part of a diverse but unified group of people.  Especially in the Holy Land, the nexus of almost all the world’s religions.  As explained so eloquently in God Passes By:

…the Holy Land—the Land promised by God to Abraham, sanctified by the Revelation of Moses, honored by the lives and labors of the Hebrew patriarchs, judges, kings and prophets, revered as the cradle of Christianity, and as the place where Zoroaster, according to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s testimony, had “held converse with some of the Prophets of Israel,” and associated by Islám with the Apostle’s night-journey, through the seven heavens, to the throne of the Almighty. Within the confines of this holy and enviable country, “the nest of all the Prophets of God,” “the Vale of God’s unsearchable Decree, the snow-white Spot, the Land of unfading splendor” …

I’m a regular on the 16th Street bus.  On brisk autumn days, I dash to catch the S2; heave my boots through the February snow to find the S4 whizz by; my sticky flip-flops drag me to the stop at Irving Street on a sweltering August afternoon.

I love the 16th Street bus.  It’s a microcosm of D.C., the Washington that most people don’t know — those who are fed images on the evening news of middle-aged men in drab suits fillibustering on the floor of Congress, or business-casual wealthy foreign ministers dodging protesters past the IMF.

“I don’t know,” I replied nonchalantly to my mom.  “There are all types.”

That conversation echoed in my mind as I shifted uncomfortably on the blue plastic bench, unable to concentrate on my book.  So I lowered my glasses and gazed through the window, past the girl sharing my seat.  She was a typical of the young professionals that descend upon this city, brown hair tied messily in a bun and stitching purposefully at her needlepoint.  The sun cast a nostalgic glow as I peered past her, its rays descending yawningly and twinkling through the dense trees at Carter Barron Park, where multihued children scurried on its vast lawn.

My roommate calls that stretch of 16th Street “The Avenue of Obscure Religions,” and it’s true—from the Third Church of Christ, Scientist to the Buddhist Vihara Society to the Tifareth Israel Congregation (and the D.C. Bahá’í Center, which is my reason for frequenting that route), it’s a veritable buffet of spiritual offering.  It makes me think, sometimes, of the concept of progressive revelation:

Whenever this robe hath fulfilled its purpose, the Almighty will assuredly renew it. For every age requireth a fresh measure of the light of God. Every Divine Revelation hath been sent down in a manner that befitted the circumstances of the age in which it hath appeared.
Gleanings from the Writings of Bahá’u’lláh, p. 81.

My contemplation was interrupted when the bus halted to a stop on Alison Street, to let on a gaggle of Ethiopian women heading toward church.  Draped in gauzy white, their gleaming eyes reflected the warm radiance of dusk as they shuffled onto the bus.  It made me remember a warm Saturday evening in Tel Aviv, when I waltzed into a Ethiopian restaurant owned by Jewish immigrants from Ethiopia, gelato in hand, to pick up take-out injera for friends, only to be stopped by the “We Keep Kosher” sign.

When Moses appeared, the tribes of Israel were in a state of disunion as captives of the Pharaohs. Moses gathered them together, and the divine law established fellowship among them. They became as one people, united, consolidated, after which they were rescued from bondage. They passed into the promised land, advanced in all degrees, developed sciences and arts, progressed in material affairs, increased in divine or spiritual civilization until their nation rose to its zenith in the sovereignty of Solomon. It is evident, therefore, that religion is the cause of unity, fellowship and progress among mankind. The function of a shepherd is to gather the sheep together and not to scatter them.

Jumping up to offer my seat to a young woman and her child, I clung tightly to the pole as the bus weaved its way through the early evening traffic, grabbing my bag lest it swing and swipe the elderly Salvadoran gentleman stooped next to me.  His lowered head didn’t hide the creases in his weather-worn cheeks, nor the cross around his neck that he absentmindedly stroked.

Then Christ appeared. He united varying and divergent creeds and warring people of His time. He brought together Greeks and Romans, reconciled Egyptians and Assyrians, Chaldeans and Phoenicians. Christ established unity and agreement among people of these hostile and warring nations. Therefore, it is again evident that the purpose of religion is peace and concord.

A chocolate-skinned man with an overbite cradled his toddler daughter, seated toward the front.  She was curled in his lap, her head resting against his chest, a pink Dora the Explorer backpack engulfing her back.  The bus heaved forward, and his hands tangled past his daughter’s dangling sneakered soles to catch the set of auburn glass prayer beads that slipped out of his pocket.

Likewise, Muhammad appeared at a time when the peoples and tribes of Arabia were divergent and in a state of continual warfare. They killed each other, pillaged and took captive wives and children. Muhammad united these fierce tribes, established a foundation of fellowship among them so that they gave up warring against each other absolutely and established communities. The result was that the Arabian tribes freed themselves from the Persian yoke and Roman control, established an independent sovereignty which rose to a high degree of civilization, advanced in sciences and arts, extended the Saracen dominion as far west as Spain and Andalusia and became famous throughout the world. Therefore, it is proved once more that the religion of God is intended to be the cause of advancement and solidarity and not of enmity and dissolution. If it becomes the cause of hatred and strife, its absence is preferable. Its purpose is unity, and its foundations are one.

I yanked the cord at Madison Street a little too late, and the driver screeched to a halt halfway past the block.  Tucking my book into my bag, I descended into the patch of weeds that separated the asphalt from the sidewalk, the evening dew dampening my leather sandals, acquired ages ago in Brazil and surviving a year’s worth of Friday afternoon paces around the Haram-i-Aqdas.  Stepping reverently toward the Bahá’í Center for the Ninth Day of Ridván celebration, my eyes lit up when little Skyy, multiple braids adorning her head, grabbed my hand and cautioned me not to step on the path of rose petals that welcomed us.

When Bahá’u’lláh appeared in Persia, violent strife and hatred separated the peoples and tribes of that country. They would not come together for any purpose except war; they would not partake of the same food, or drink of the same water; association and intercourse were impossible. Bahá’u’lláh founded the oneness of humanity among these people and bound their hearts together with such ties of love that they were completely united. He reestablished the prophetic foundations, reformed and renewed the principles laid down by the Messengers of God who had preceded Him. And now it is hoped that through His life and teachings the East and West shall become so united that no trace of enmity, strife and discord shall remain.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá, The Promulgation of Universal Peace.  Talk at Church of the Divine Paternity, 19 May 1912.  Central Park West, New York.

In Episode 4, he travels to the Middle East to explore the roots of religious conflict in the region, but ends the episode on a rather different note: proclaiming the unifying message of the Baha’i Faith! In spite of some factual inaccuracies, this is an interesting clip to watch. Skip through to minute 5:30:

“I hope that this is the future” declares Owen Jones, emotionally, as he brings the episode to a conclusion. It surely will be.

Hearken unto the Voice of the Lord of Names, Who from His Prison hath directed His gaze towards thee and is making mention of thee.

He hath extended assistance to every wayfarer, hath graciously responded to every petitioner and granted admittance to every seeker after truth. In this Day the Straight Path is made manifest, the Balance of divine justice is set and the light of the sun of His bounty is resplendent, yet the oppressive darkness of the people of tyranny hath, even as clouds, intervened and caused a grievous obstruction between the Day-Star of heavenly grace and the people of the world. Blessed is he who hath rent the intervening veils asunder and is illumined by the radiant light of divine Revelation.

(Baha’u'llah, Tablets of Baha’u'llah, p. 255)

Many decades ago, Abdu’l-Bahá explained the secret behind The Secret: “As ye have faith so shall your powers and blessings be“.

One should strive to have faith that, using the teachings of God for today as our beacon, no obstacles will obscure the endpoint of our journey, will make us “content with the decree of God,” and will give us the perception to see “war as peace“, and find “in death the secrets of everlasting life“.  In a world ridden by war and conflict, merely imagining a world without conflict defies the logic created by our finite minds, as a result of this being our only experience, our only benchmark.   Baha’u'llah mentions seeing “war as peace”. This seems almost unthinkable given the tragedies the world has witnessed over time.

So in what way can we view “war as peace”?  To imagine the unimaginable requires faith, but who’s to say the unimaginable is even possible?  If we view God as the Creator of all things, our Protector, and trust that He has and will continue to provide us with guidance through his Manifestations, herein lies the unshakable essence of faith.  Most recently, the teachings of Baha’u'llah hold the solutions to personal and global woes, the fruits of which will appear over time.  The speed at which this happens though, depends on us.

The more we suffer, the more opportunity we have to increase our faith.  Often, time binds us to situation and our faith is tested.  However, as time passes grief turns into happiness and we wonder why we were so troubled about our concerns in the first place.  This cycle repeats itself and we grow stronger in our faith, but only should we choose to.

The ability to “see the end in the beginning” can go a long way in filling our reservoir of faith:

…since the end was veiled to him, he moaned and made his plaint in the beginning. Yet those who journey in the garden land of knowledge, because they see the end in the beginning, see peace in war and friendliness in anger.

(Baha’u'llah, The Seven Valleys, p. 13)

As we witness injustice and grief all around us, it becomes a lot easier to adopt a defeatist attitude than to have faith, to place one’s complete trust in God, and then act towards a positive solution.  By striving towards greater steadfastness of faith, our mindset becomes more positive and detached, and contentment is made more readily accessible:

It is such faith which sufficeth above all the things that exist on the earth, whereas no created thing on earth besides faith would suffice thee…If thou art a believer, thy faith shall be sufficient for thee above all things that exist on earth, even though thou possess nothing.

(The Bab, Selections from the Writings of the Bab, p. 122)

The next post will draw to a close this series on Happiness with some final thoughts.

Baha’is believe that throughout history God has sent Messengers to guide mankind to its next level of development; have come to bring about the order of the world in ever increasing and complex modes of organization.

Inevitably, though, due to the weakness of Man, we reject these Prophets and turn away.

I know, O my Lord, neither their reasoning with which they have acknowledged Thee and believed in Thy signs, nor their argument whereby they have repudiated Thy sovereignty. Every time I call them to Thee and say: ‘O people! Consider the utterances of the Lord your God which are in your possession and those that have been sent down from the heaven of His will and power,’ they cavil at Thee, and turn their backs to Thee, though — as Thou art aware — each of the words that have gone out of the mouth of Thy will sheddeth the fragrance of the breaths of Thy mercy.

(Baha’u'llah, Prayers and Meditations by Baha’u'llah, p. 179)

Hollow, empty echoes meet my ears.

The only sounds of my soft footsteps.

My breath catches,

And I feel pressed for air.

Suddenly, I am paralyzed by the pain of sorrow.

When it should drive me to love,

I am overwhelmed by fear and loss.

My Ears are stopped,

And I cannot hear the Ancient Song.

One sung by Poets and seers,

Ever heard at the breaking of Dawn.

How do I measure the seasons of life?

How may I test the strength of love’s bonds?

Only when every action of Man’s life,

Every thought, every whisper,

Has become an expression of Faith and Reason,

Will Man be able to love,

Without understanding what is loved.

Then we may see the changeless face of God.

For Day will come,

But first the sun must fall.

And with each winter in Man’s heart,

A single Seed is set.

This is the rebirth of the Heavenly Tree.

How often is it neglected and misshapen?

How often is it cast aside,

Where It’s splinters are used as fuel

To feed the fires of hate?

Or to be left withering,

As it falls in a graceful decay,

Devoid of purpose and meaning.

I have within my own Heart

The universal life of Mankind.

Its joy and hope,

Its pain and mystery.

I contain the fertile field,

Where a fruit laden Tree sinks its roots.

With leaves upturned

It catches the light and sustaining rain

That falls ceaselessly

On those that have let it grow there.

Working within health care, this is a matter I come across in some way on an almost daily basis. The definition of “crisis” is of course very broad; death, separation, illness, bankruptcy, violence and betrayal are examples of incidents that cause people to go through a crisis – a turning point in life after which there will be a change. The initial stages of shock and sadness are of course natural and more or less similar for everyone, but when it comes to how people recover and adjust on a longer term, the diversity is striking. Is it just accidental? Or do some people have certain qualities that make them more able to handle hardship?

In psychology, Resilience is one term that is used for defining the ability to recover – or bounce back – from a crisis. A number of studies have been done aimed at finding out what makes a person resilient. Why do some people recover faster than others? And how come some individuals seem to gain strength from and grow through their hardships, while others despair?

Different significant characteristics have been identified in these studies. One of these, that is recurrent, is the value of having faith and an ability to find meaning in life. Anybody working within health care, interacting with patients, would probably recognize this tendency.

Traditionally, people have always turned to religion and faith when facing hardship. However, not all the world’s religions are able to satisfy the modern mind in this regard. Some place sin on the shoulders of the “victim”, as the reason for what has occurred. Others encourage disengagement from all worldly affairs and suggest isolation and/or an ascetic lifestyle to be a model.

From a Baha’i perspective, crisis and suffering is an inescapable part of life. It is not an aim in itself, but a means through which one grows and develops.

The mind and spirit of man advance when he is tried by suffering. The more the ground is ploughed the better the seed will grow, the better the harvest will be.

Abdu’l-Baha

Beyond just seeing a meaning in the suffering itself, having a faith and holding deep spiritual values also affects how people interpret events and incidents in their environment. Seeing oneself as part of a greater whole, believing in the benefit of striving and, perhaps most importantly, trusting in a Divine Reality, must surely provide a clarity of vision and lend strength in recovering from adversity.

Sorrow not if, in these days and on this earthly plane, things contrary to your wishes have been ordained and manifested by God, for days of blissful joy, of heavenly delight, are assuredly in store for you.

Put your whole trust and confidence in God, Who hath created you, and seek ye His help in all your affairs. Succor cometh from Him alone. He succoreth whom He will with the hosts of the heavens and of the earth…

Baha’u'llah

So even though walking on the path of life without stumbling or falling seems to be impossible, accepting that there are hidden wisdoms in hardships that make them meaningful, and believing in a greater purpose, will give us tools to better handle the obstacles that are bound to appear along the way.