SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES AS A BAHA'I
by Chris
S. Cholas
In the
year 1969 waves of new believers were entering the Faith in the United
States. For many of us who declared our
belief in Bahá’u’lláh at that time, the spirited momentum of the Faith
intoxicated us. We spontaneously and
enthusiastically joined the Cause ready for action, unaware of the patience and
long perseverance exerted by our Bahá’í teachers to reach such exciting times. We didn't realize that the hundreds of
enrollments occurring especially among the youth around the country and among
the black people of the Southern States was a new experience for the American
Bahá’í Community.
Our
handbook for world change was The Advent
of Divine Justice, the powerful letter from the Guardian of the Faith,
Shoghi Effendi, directed to the North American Bahá’í Community. For us Nabil's Narrative, The Dawnbreakers, was
the ideal model for teaching methods.
Many of
the novice believers became highly mobile, unrestrained by the cares of the
world, even with the Vietnam War hanging over the mood of the nation. At times we were too mobile, too spontaneous,
temporarily setting aside important responsibilities, such as work and family
unity in the name of urgency. However,
most of us as new believers gradually balanced our lives through devotion to
the teachings--a devotion to arise and teach, while working towards being
self-supporting and responsible to our practical needs at the same time.
When I
enrolled as a Bahá’í in April 1969, my whole being became immersed in the
Faith. I lived for the summer months
with another new believer, Bill Bright.
He attended Colorado State University, while I was employed as a shoe
repairman in Fort Collins. At five each
weekday afternoon we usually drove home to Loveland, Colorado, had dinner
followed by a quiet evening of reading the Writings. Bill would read one book, while I read
another. Often, we shared quotations
that dazzled us, and our reading would turn into a deepening. Each week we
hosted firesides, which were often attended by Bahá’ís from Fort Collins, Boulder,
and Greeley. In turn we visited the
meetings in nearby towns, which, for me were confirming occasions.
I was
fresh out of high school and immature, and I must have been a test on Bill's
patience. Somehow, we grew together until one time we journeyed to Steamboat
Springs to be guests of an isolated Bahá’í named Diane (Dee) Carson, who ran a
hotel with her husband, Roger (who later became an active believer). Dee longed to have another believer living
there, and Roger consented to rent a room to me at a reasonable rate. By the end of my first summer as a Bahá’í I
moved to that delightful hotel, where I spent three months. Most of the time I studied all of the Bahá’í
books that I had already bought, and when my savings were depleted, I found
employment as a dishwasher at a neighboring restaurant, which provided me one
free meal a day; enough income to pay my rent, buy more Bahá’í literature and
contribute a small amount to the Bahá’í Fund regularly (a habit I had learned
from Bill). In those days many young
people were drawn to the Faith searching for mystical experiences. For some the Faith was not magical enough, or
the Laws seemed too restraining; but others found full freedom in the oceans of
the Bahá’í Revelation.
The hotel
gained a reputation far and wide. Many interesting souls came in and out most
of the time. One couple from Montana rode into Steamboat Springs on beautiful
Arabian horses, on their way by horseback to Arizona. Some stayed for a while;
many showed interest in the Faith.
Few
Bahá’ís, however, made their way to visit Dee and myself, and sometimes we
became lonely for Bahá’í companionship.
Two believers who refreshed us when they came from Denver were Leah
Dagen and Ray Kahn. Leah was already up in years, vivacious and talkative; Ray,
who grew up on the Navajo Reservation, was quiet, had a warm smile and spoke
softly. We cherished their visit for
weeks afterwards.
Seekers
from many backgrounds attended firesides during the autumn of 1969: Quakers, an
Episcopal priest, an Israeli family from Haifa, and many youth.
One local
farmer, named Daisy, who was the daughter of a black slave, had written a small
book about her father's struggles for freedom. We enjoyed her company when she
came by, and I remember going to her farm one morning to pick carrots in the
cold, autumn mud.
The
atmosphere of Steamboat Springs changed drastically when hunting season
arrived. Despite my studies in the
Writings, and the joyful Feast and meetings that Dee and I held, my spirit
became despondent by the dismal procession of hunters with their victims draped
over their vehicles on the streets of the town. Graceful elk and white-tailed
deer faded to dull gray when they were dead, and so did I upon seeing
them. After hunting season came the ski
crowd, a materialistic bunch of pleasure seekers. Drug traffic increased, and
alcohol consumption soared. Also, I had anticipated more support from Bahá’í
travel teachers, who I expected would be eager to assist our small efforts in Steamboat
Springs. I felt let down by Bahá’ís and
experienced my first real test of Faith. My unfair expectation of other
believers was becoming an obstacle to my own spiritual growth. Simultaneously, winter set; the snow added
another burden to my perturbed condition, and by December I contemplated moving
south.
Around
Christmas time, by coincidence (if such things really exist), two New Yorkers,
both Jewish, were living at the Carsons' hotel.
Dee and I became close friends with them, spending many evenings talking
about every kind of thing until late into the night. As Christmas was approaching, the four of us
thought it would be a nice act of goodwill to volunteer to go caroling with
local Christian groups. Oddly, we could
not find any Christians willing to go out into the frosty night to sing, so on
Christmas Eve, two Jews and two Bahá’ís took to the streets singing a handful
of traditional Christmas carols we recalled from our childhoods. That was
my last activity as a resident of Steamboat Springs. The next afternoon,
thinking about New Mexico, I planned to take a bus to Denver.
My one
concern about leaving was leaving Dee Carson, who I deeply respected, as the
lone believer in Steamboat Springs.
However, a young Bahá’í from Greeley had just arrived, and I felt that
my replacement had come. The morning I
departed amidst a heavy snowstorm, Roger and Dee kindly bid me farewell, and
the new boarder asked me where I was going.
I replied that I thought about traveling to New Mexico. She, without
hesitation, said, "Are you going to the Bahá’í conference in Alamogordo
this weekend? Some Bahá’ís from
Cheyenne, Wyoming were headed that way.
Maybe you'll meet them there."
Little
did she know the tumult of my heart. I
had no intentions of mixing with Bahá’ís for a while. My strongest test of faith had struck. No, I could not deny Bahá’u’lláh, but I
wanted to flee the Bahá’í Faith, not Him.
I soon discovered that the two couldn’t be separated. The Bahá’í organism with all its newsletters,
institutions and imperfect believers could not be cut off from its Source,
Bahá’u’lláh, the Supreme Manifestation of God.
One followed the other.
It was
Christmas Day and the snowfall delayed the bus almost six hours, and I sat in
the lounge of a motel that also served as a bus stop waiting anxiously. My mind continually justified my decision to
leave Steamboat Springs and follow my whims to New Mexico. I had my prayer book with me, but I had no
wish to contact Bahá’ís or attend a Bahá’í Conference. When the Denver bus finally appeared, I
climbed aboard, nervously moving into a strange adventure.
On the
bus, surrounded by a cavern of self-pity and agitation, I pondered my
plight. Praised be to God that He didn't
leave me to my own devices, but mysteriously and gently raised my heart back to
life. A new horizon of Bahá’í life had
opened up for me. It happened in stages long the way to New Mexico beginning in
Denver.
I had to
wait two hours in the Denver bus terminal for a southbound bus. A young woman in her late teens seated next
to me excitedly began telling me about her obsession to go to Chicago. She was distraught (like me, I suppose). For some reason unknown to her, she had to go
to Chicago! Still absorbed in my
rebellion from God, I hesitated to teach her about Bahá’u’lláh. She pressed me for advice; she already had a
ticket for Chicago. Finally, I wrote
down the "Remover of Difficulties" prayer for her. I told her to use it all of the time, and
when she reached Chicago, she should go to Wilmette and pray in the Bahá’í
House of Worship for guidance. She
relaxed as she took the little card that I had written the Báb's precious
prayer on. With much relief, she thanked
me. A few minutes later, the departure
for the Chicago bus was announced, and the young woman left. Alone in the crowded terminal, I realized
that I had just given advice to someone that I refused to use
myself--prayer. Already, my journey's
purpose began changing.
Long
rides on buses, trains or planes can heal wounded emotions. Movement can increase perspective, and one's
mundane concerns can be seen in the panorama of the whole. By the time that I entered the "Land of
Enchantment"-- New Mexico-- in the Trailways bus, I had resolved my estrangement
towards Bahá’ís. In fact, I now focused
on finding the Alamogordo Bahá’í Conference.
Perhaps
the tranquil and "enchanting" ride over La Veta Pass helped, as I
peered out at hundreds of deer roaming the valleys in clusters of ten to fifty.
The power of seeing large numbers of
gentle deer far surpasses looking at an isolated doe or buck. The Faith is like that, too -- groups of
believers in a united front present a grandeur that an isolated Bahá’í cannot
compare with. The Faith is not only a
personalized religion like many Christians teach, but it is also like a
collective garden of souls united, striving to know and to love God, to serve
Him and to serve humanity.
I had
bought a bus ticket to Taos with the idea that from there I could decide my
direction in New Mexico. Having chosen
to attend the Bahá’í Conference in Alamogordo, I determined to find Bahá’ís in
Taos in hopes that they would be traveling to the Alamogordo gathering.
Since
visiting Taos with my family when I was a child, I had a mystical attraction to
the place. I did not realize that a
small scale "civil war" was being waged in Taos between lifetime
Hispanic residents and dozens of incoming young people known as "hippies",
who came to "get back to nature" by squatting on land in
communes. The unresolved bitterness by
the Spanish-speaking population against the sometimes-arrogant rebelliousness
of the hippies resulted in violent confrontations: shootings, burnings, and
fistfights. State police were often called in to halt such rioting. The Taos Pueblo Native Americans generally
took a neutral stand in the dispute but were bothered by the negative impact
the discord had on their lives.
I arrived
during a temporary lull in the violence, and, in searching for Bahá’ís, I wound
up at a craft shop run by some peaceful "hippies". They apparently
knew one or two Bahá’ís but informed me that their Bahá’í friends had left for
the weekend.
While in
the craft shop, an "Indian faith healer", seeing my crutches,
approached me and asked if he could pray for me. He did this in the midst of a crowd of
people. I told him that to be
spiritually healthy was far better than being physically sound without spirit. He insisted on doing his ritual, already
putting his hands on my head, so I reluctantly submitted in order to make him
happy. (Later, I discovered that this
"healer" had a violent temper and easily erupted like a dangerous,
unpredictable volcano. Maybe my submission to his ritual had been a
protection.)
Still
unaware of the hostile atmosphere between the Hispanics and outsiders, I found
a Mexican restaurant and ordered a lunch.
The waiter was a young, soft-spoken boy, who asked me in his hushed
voice what I wanted to eat. Not hearing
him clearly, I asked him to repeat his question. Suddenly an angry woman from behind the
counter rushed over to the table and furiously yelled at me:
"What's
wrong? Can't you give an order to my
son? He's just as good as anyone
else!"
I
apologized to her, saying that I just didn't hear what he had said, but the
woman started yelling again. At that
point I wondered if I should leave, but my intuition cautioned me to stay calm,
order something to eat, and try to restore peace at least for the boy's
sake. The woman sent the boy away, and
took my order herself, and brought me my food soon after. Thank goodness, as I was leaving, the boy reappeared,
and I thanked him and shook his hand before the mean gaze of the waitress.
Unable to
locate the Bahá’ís in Taos, I tried calling the Bahá’í number in the phone
book, which was listed under Santa Fe. The person who answered told me that
probably everyone had left for Alamogordo. I asked her for an address or phone
number in Alamogordo, but she replied that she didn't have any information
about the Conference or about the Bahá’ís in Alamogordo.
Pondering
what to do, I set out to hitchhike south.
Within several moments of sticking my thumb out by the highway, a
Volkswagen bus with a couple from the craft shop stopped and warned me that
hitchhiking was prohibited in Taos city limits, but they could drive me to the
edge of town. I got into their van, and
I asked them if Taos had any inexpensive rooms to rent. They took me to a
quaint place that rented cabins for a few dollars.
That
serene cabin was paradise for me; I had time to pray and meditate, gather my
energy and thoughts together, and rest.
After
that peaceful pause, I decided it would be wiser to catch the next bus to Albuquerque
and change buses to Alamogordo from there.
I purchased a ticket and with a few hours free, I visited several the
artists' galleries in Taos, including the one of the well-known painters, R. C.
Gorman. I had a pleasant visit with him,
as I admired his paintings, but I failed to share the Bahá’í message with him,
which I regretted later. To pass up such
teaching opportunities when people are open causes remorse. What effect can
nice visits have, if they do not lead to sharing with wisdom God's Message for
this Day?
In
Albuquerque at midnight, I walked two blocks to the Greyhound terminal. The next bus to Alamogordo left in seven
hours. I met a Mescalero Apache who was
waiting for a bus to Texas. We sat together for several hours, though I don't
remember his name, and he told me everything he wanted me to hear about his
land and his people. He seemed very
prejudiced toward Mexicans and all the harm he felt that they had done to the
Apaches. (Even the Mexican name --
Apache -- means enemy.) I attempted to
remove this prejudice, but he held his ground. I excused myself briefly to find
a water fountain, where "by chance", I met a youth from Mexico, who
spoke English well.
I invited
him to join my Mescalero friend and me, oblivious to the prejudices expressed
by the Mescalero man only moments earlier.
After an initial tension, the three of us became good companions while
we waited in the depot for our particular buses. My bus was announced first, and after bidding
me farewell, the Mescalero and the Mexican continued visiting as I left to
catch my bus to Alamogordo.
During
the restful, morning ride to Alamogordo, I watched the landscape most of the
way. A familiar looking man sat in the
seat in front of me. He seemed tranquil. I could not remember who he reminded me of.
Alamogordo,
New Mexico. A warm place after the snows
of Colorado. I wandered through the small depot to a phone book, flipped
through the white and yellow pages looking for a Bahá’í listing. Nothing.
Not even under "Churches" in the yellow pages. I inquired at the bus counter and at the
snack bar, and no one had heard of Bahá’ís living in Alamogordo. They just stared blankly at me when I asked
them.
I counted
my money, which amounted to a ten-dollar bill and some loose change. I spent the loose change on a cup of coffee
and sat down at a table. A teenage girl
stopped to chat about astrology with me a few moments. I asked her if she knew of any Bahá’ís in
Alamogordo. She didn't. I sipped my coffee. The girl left.
Ten
dollars wouldn't buy me a ticket back to Colorado. I knew no one in New Mexico. To be so close
and yet so far. Several times in my mind
I recited the "Remover of Difficulties" prayer revealed by the
Báb. I kept thinking, "Chris, a
fine fix you've gotten yourself into this time." and "How do you plan
to get out of this mess? What a fool you are?"
Ten
minutes passed, but it felt like hours dragging by. I stared down at the table.
Suddenly,
I heard a man say to me, "Alláh’u’abhá!" It was the man, who had been sitting in front
of me on the bus. "They'll be here in a few minutes to pick us up,"
he said. "I'm Chester Kahn from Chinle, Arizona."
Shocked
with surprise, I exclaimed, "Are you Ray Kahn's brother?"
Chester
nodded, "Yes." No wonder he
had seemed so familiar.
"How,"
I asked in amazement, "did you know that I am a Bahá’í?"
Chester
pointed at my coat that I had dumped on the table, "I saw the Bahá’í
button on your coat."
I had
forgotten about my "Youth for One World" button.
Within
five minutes a car loaded with people pulled up to the depot and I was on my
way to the Mescalero Apache Reservation with Chester Kahn, Richard and Pauline
Hoff and four believers from Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Gladly relieved, I had returned to my spiritual home among Bahá’ís. I made a commitment never to estrange myself from
the company of Bahá’ís again.
A
Mescalero believer, Meredith Begay, had arranged a meeting in her home for some
of her family and friends to learn about the Faith. Because her husband was Navajo, she was
especially happy to have Chester Kahn there to talk to him. I remember those times as heaven itself. Several races were represented. Three of us spent the night with the Begay
family, listening to Mescalero stories and prophecies about the promised time.
It takes
great courage to proclaim the Tidings of Bahá’u’lláh in your own homeland, and
only in time did I realize the courage of Meredith Begay, who clearly let
everyone know that Bahá’u’lláh had come to help her people and all mankind out
of the troubles that surrounded them.
Soon
several Mescalero youth and adult joined the Faith. Wisely and lovingly, Meredith held fireside
meetings in her home, and then helped arrange large "Council Fire"
gatherings each year. No one knows how
many skeptical torts the jealous among her people cast at Meredith. Certainly, she had to sustain much tribal
antagonism in spreading the divine fragrances of Bahá’u’lláh Teachings.
The
weather turned cold during that conference held partly in Mescalero and partly
in Alamogordo, but the spirit stayed high.
From that three-day meeting several of us started a teaching team that
would journey the southwest for the next two months immersed in the Ocean of
the Writings, long-sustained prayer sessions and hundreds of miles of travel
from Alamogordo to Cheyenne, Wyoming; Denver, Colorado; Taos, Santa Fe and
Albuquerque, New Mexico; Phoenix, Arizona; Pasadena and on to the Oakland-San
Francisco area of California.
Here I
share a few stories from that memorable time:
"Do
not be satisfied until each one with whom you are concerned is to you as a
member of your family. Regard each one either as a father, or as a brother, or
as a sister, or as a mother, or as a child.
If you can attain to this, your difficulties will vanish; you will know
what to do." -- '‘Abdu’l-Bahá,
(quoted from The Pattern of Bahá’í Life.)
We were
traveling in two cars across the lonely stretch between Carrizozo and San
Antonio, New Mexico headed toward Albuquerque as day crept into night. I was in the second car, an old 1954 Buick,
with Chuy Villagomez, Jo Kuntz and another young Bahá’í girl, when we had a
flat tire. It was at night. The first
car was far enough ahead of us that they didn't realize we had stopped. Chuy informed us that there was no jack, and
we began reciting prayers. A car went by
in the opposite direction. Up a hill it
went, then it stopped, turned around and came back. The driver saw our flat and sadly told us
that she didn't have a jack either, so she left. After several minutes a westbound car passed
and stopped. Several people got out of the car. They tried their jack, but it didn't
work. In the meantime, another car with
several passengers pulled behind the other car.
They tried their jack, too, but it didn't work. By this time, we had a small conclave
gathered around our pitiful Buick in the starry, desert night. We saw car lights coming from the opposite
direction; it was the other Bahá’í car.
Surprisingly, their jack didn't work either. Finally, a fourth car with several more
people arrived, and their jack worked. The
conclave had grown, and with two carloads of Bahá’ís and three carloads of
"good Samaritans" stuck in
the middle of nowhere, the teaching opportunity was tremendous. All of those souls expressed interest in the
Faith.
Chuy
Villagomez commented afterwards, as we resumed our adventurous journey,
"I've heard that when you set out to teach the Cause of God, every test
that occurs along the way is preordained by God."
Many
times, Chuy would utter something like that, always beginning with the words, "I've
heard that..." Whether his
assertions were true didn't seem as important as their uplifting effect upon
us.
One time
he said, "I've heard that if you take a bath, put on clean garments, open
the window, and say the 'midnight prayer' (revealed by '‘Abdu’l-Bahá) before going
to sleep that you will receive a vision."
Another
time he said, "I've heard that if you say the long healing prayer one
hundred times, a miracle will occur."
Later, while in Phoenix, Arizona at the home of an early and precious
believer named Zahrah Schoeny (702 Portland Avenue), she allowed Chuy and I to
use one of her vacant rooms to do just that, and we did. Another believer joined us for part of the
marathon prayer encounter. We paused
occasionally to eat granola and fresh grapefruits. After twenty-two hours, we had finished. For several days we walked about as if in the
dream world. What the miracle was, I
still don't know; perhaps that we survived to serve the Faith a little longer.
Chuy
taught with great confidence. When with him we always read the Writings of
Bahá’u’lláh and the Master, and constantly referred to the Dawnbreaker
stories. The "Tablet of Ahmad"
was a daily habit, often we read it nine times before going out to teach or
visit Bahá’ís.
I
remember when Chuy visited my hometown of Fort Collins, Colorado. He talked with my parents for a long time,
and gave them a copy of the beautiful compilation, The Divine Art of
Living. That night, after we went to
bed, my parents stayed up reading many parts of the book.
We went
to visit the mother of a new Bahá’í in Fort Collins. She asked Chuy what he wanted to be (in the
context of profession), and he kindly answered her, "I want to be
spiritual."
Ten or
eleven of us wanted to attend a weekend conference in Sedona, Arizona in the last
week of December 1969. We agreed first
to return to Taos, where two of our group lived as homefront pioneers. They needed to arrange their affairs and prepare
for the journey.
John
Lehman was one of them. He lived with a
new Bahá’í couple and worked part time as a sign painter with them. When John wasn't working; he'd spend hours
alone having prayers in his room or painting striking portraits of
'‘Abdu’l-Bahá taken from photographs.
So I
returned to Taos, this time in the cherished company of Bahá’í teachers. While in Taos during that visit, two souls
discovered the Faith through dreams at separate times that they had of John
Lehman-- his prayers were working.
One was a
youth named Susie McCombs, who was living at that time in a mountain commune of
"hippies". On the frosty
morning of our departure for Sedona, John went into downtown Taos to buy
supplies for our trip. He met Susie as
she was crossing a street. She told him that she had dreamt that she must leave
the commune immediately and go into Taos, where she would meet a person, who
had an important message to give to her.
The first person she met following her dream was John. He told her that he was part of a group of
Bahá’ís preparing to go to a spiritual conference in Sedona. Susie joined the
expedition to Sedona.
I remember watching her in Sedona, immersed in the
mystical work of Bahá’u’lláh called, The
Seven Valleys. Tears poured down her face throughout the Sedona
meeting. As moving as her experience with
the Faith was at that time, for some reason she hesitated to embrace it. Instead of returning to the commune in Taos
after the conference, she went to her parents' home in Oregon. I corresponded with her for several months,
until a letter arrived one day from her sister, informing me that Susie had
taken her own life while using narcotic drugs.
May Bahá’u’lláh have mercy on her tender soul, her "moment's
hesitation" may have resulted in her despondency. Yet, she was of gentle spirit and possessed a
sincere love for humanity.
We set
out in the cold air of December for the warm spirit of Arizona; some of us in
our infamous 1954 Buick, and the rest in pick-up with a camper on the
back. Even with blankets wrapped around
us, the drive froze us to the bone. The
Buick was especially cold, as we had to keep the windows partially open to keep
from getting "exhausted" to death, due to the bad muffler. Our teaching target to and from Sedona must
have been to share the Message with policemen, because we had numerous encounters
both in New Mexico and in Arizona with enforcers of the law.
Our first
"close" encounter was too close; driving through Gallup in heavy
traffic, we accidentally rear-ended a car in an intersection. The bump left only a tiny dent, but,
unfortunately, the unmarked car was property of the Gallup Police Department's
detective department. The driver, a
detective who looked to weigh about three hundred pounds, strutted over and
poked his badge into the window of the Buick.
"You've
just hit a private detective's vehicle.
Follow me to the Police Department," were his encouraging words.
We spent
the morning at the Police Department, while the passengers in the camper waited
for us outside. Our contingent of six was a fairly mixed group of "hippie-looking"
believers, blacks, and Hispanics.
Everything checked out okay, except that Susie McCombs had no
identification proof, and so the sergeant insisted on doing a background check
on her. As we had just met her and she
had suddenly become very quiet, we became nervous that something bad on her
might show up. Meanwhile, our brave driver used the opportunity to explain the
Bahá’í Teachings to everyone in the station, including the detective, whose car
we had struck. They couldn't believe
that a group looking as we did was going to a "religious" conference,
instead of a drug festival. Susie was
cleared of any suspicion, and even the detective loosened up and escorted us
back to our innocent Buick in a friendly gesture. Of course, we paid sixty dollars for the dent.
In
Arizona we were stopped twice for our bad muffler. Once was a warning; but the second time, a
patrolman stopped us and gave us 24 hours to fix the muffler or have our sweet
Buick impounded. That was on a Sunday
night, and Monday was a holiday. Sedona had no parts shops, so we drove to
Flagstaff on Monday morning following the wonderful, spiritual conference in
gorgeous Camp Verde near Sedona.
Flagstaff
had many parts shops, all closed. One
was adjacent to an open gas station, whose manager said it would be no problem
to call the parts storeowner. The owner
agreed to come over and open his store for us.
Our racially diverse group stood around in the parking area, happy and
still "high" from the Bahá’í gathering near Sedona. On a sudden we
found ourselves surrounded several police cars.
A stern bunch of officers walked over to us.
One began
interrogating us. "Who were we?
Where were we coming from? What
were we doing in Flagstaff? Why were we
loitering by the store?"
We
answered pleasantly that we had been attending a Bahá’í Conference near Sedona,
and now we were repairing our muffler.
"What
kind of conference did you go to?" One of the men barked back.
"A
Bahá’í Conference," we replied courteously.
"What's
a Bahá’í?"
"Bahá’ís
believe in one God, world peace and the unity of all people," we answered.
Impatiently,
one officer quizzed, "Yeah, did you do any drugs at that Conference?"
"No,
sir," replied one of our group, a Chicano believer from Denver with long hair
almost down to his waist, "Bahá’ís don't take drugs."
"How
about drinking?"
"No,"
the Bahá’í answered again, "we don't drink."
At that
point, another believer, a black woman, jumped forward and said, "I mean,
we don't even fool around!"
That
comment made most of the police officers laugh, and as they relaxed the owner
of the auto parts store arrived and verified our reason for being in
there. The policemen started back to
their cars, apologizing for their suspicions about us.
One said,
"If I didn't have a wife and child to support, I'd go with you right
now."
A less
thrilled officer remarked under his breath to another as they walked back to
their squad car, "Ah! Religious
fanatics!"
I guessed
that he was disappointed that we weren't drug pushers. But we were probably among the happiest
religious "fanatics" on earth that day.
Our
rendezvous with policemen didn't end in Flagstaff. Only a few miles on Interstate 40 headed back
to New Mexico, a state patrolman pulled over the camper pick-up, which was ahead
of the Buick at the time. Those of us in
the Buick stopped behind the pick-up and watched anxiously from our
vehicle.
"What
could it be this time?" we wondered.
The
patrolman talked with the driver of the pick-up for a while, and then returned
to his patrol car holding a book. We
couldn't wait to find out what had transpired, so one of us went over to the
pick-up to find out.
"You'll
never believe this," our companion announced when he got back into the
Buick, and we started on our way again. "Roger (the driver of the camper
pick-up truck) said that the patrolman came over to the window, stared blankly
into the pick-up truck and blushed, saying 'I'm sorry. I'm not sure why I stopped you.' Roger
alertly picked up a Bahá’í book from the dashboard and handed it to the
patrolman, and said, 'Maybe it was to receive this book about the Bahá’í
Faith.' The officer replied, 'Maybe so,'
and slowly ventured back to his car."
We had
agreed, as fellow travelers, that we would stop to assist persons along the way
who had car troubles or the like.
Through this "policy", we met, helped and taught numerous
souls, some who became believers.
One of
those persons, whom we had met on the road, traveled with us to the Camp Verde
Conference and asked to join the Faith during the weekend. No one could find an official membership
enrollment card, so we used a napkin, and he signed his name saying that he had
accepted Baha’u’llah as the Manifestation of God. He returned to Phoenix after enrolling as a
Bahá’í. A few days later the Bahá’í teacher called him to see how he was doing.
He said,
"Well, right now I'm drunk."
The teacher shuddered and her heart sank to hear such words, but he
continued, "…on William Sear's Wine
of Astonishment."
I should include a few words about the Camp Verde Bahá’í
youth conference. Sedona is a magically entrancing area with beautiful rock
formations and mystic clouds. The
conference attracted a sizable group of youth and adults, too, from all around
the Southwest and California. The racial
diversity was particularly impressive, at a time as race continued to be the
“most challenging issue” facing American Bahá’ís, as emphasized by Shoghi
Effendi in The Advent of Divine Justice. I don’t remember much about the inspiring talks,
except the one by a stately, elderly southern gentleman named Winston
Evans. Winston Evans had decided to
focus his teaching primarily in sharing the Message of Christ’s Return to
Christian clergy. Over the years he had
certainly met with blunt opposition, but he also had success in attracting a
few divinity students and clergy to the Faith.
I recall one of the main gists of his talk was that the Bahá’í Faith was
contagious. We “catch” the Faith and
before long we are giving it to others, who also arise to serve. In Christian congregations that he had
observed, oftentimes the pastor or priest were wonderful teachers and examples
of the Christian life, but their congregations usually remained in a state of
being passive followers. When the church leader died or moved away, the parish
would flounder until another leader came to lead them. Not so in the Bahá’í
Faith, where oftentimes, the new believer soon is more knowledgeable and active
than the person who taught him or her.
I was up early the next morning and took a walk to
the top of a nearby mesa in the crisp December air. No one was nearby and the spirit of the area
beckoned me to recite the Long Obligatory Prayer revealed by Bahá’u’lláh on
that lofty space. When I rose from the
prayer, I felt I had entered a different world.
Several
Bahá’í homes along the route served as "inns" for Bahá’í travel
teachers. In Gallup two homes that
always kept the welcome matt out were those of Gordon and Jeanne Laite, and of
Jim and Roan Stone. One time, we stopped
briefly to see the Laites and, at least, fifteen more Bahá’í travelers headed
to different parts happened to be there at the same time.
Jim and Pam
Womack, who lived then in Albuquerque, offered much love and hospitality. Jim, an Afro-American, and Pam, who was
white, had tried to pioneer for the Faith in the Deep South, but after several
horrifying incidences with burning crosses on their lawn and attempts to run
Jim over while he was riding his motorcycle, they found it wiser to serve the Faith
in New Mexico.
Dick and
Pauline Hoff's home in Alamogordo became a heaven of constant activity and
spirit. Day and night seekers from all walks of life came for a taste at the
fountain of Bahá’í love, knowledge, and fellowship. Mescalero youth would hitchhike to the
meetings; servicemen from Holloman Air Force base often attended the meetings,
which might last deep into the night.
The home
of Seymour Malkim and his family in Mesa, Arizona was a source of great
inspiration and loving guidance. They
were preparing to pioneer to Brazil at that time, and yet they did not wish to
be deprived of any last chances to spread the Faith in Arizona before going to
their new post. Seymour passed away
several years later during his pioneering service in Brazil.
Zahrah
Schoeny in Phoenix was a perfect hostess and a gentle deepener. Humbly, she nurtured our souls.
Teaching
ventures were loosely structured-- our little band of youth asked the National
Teaching Committee how we should set up our travel teaching plans, and they
lovingly suggested that we phone Bahá’ís when we entered a city or town and ask
them how we could benefit their community.
If they needed our help, we could stay; if not, we were to proceed on. This guidance served very well, leading us to
places where Bahá’í teachers were really needed.
We went through Los Angeles, the pleasant voice answering
our call to the Bahá’í Center told us that she didn’t know of anyone needing
our help, so we drove on to Pasadena, where a wonderful man, whose name I think
was James, warmly invited us to spend a night at his home. He was a professional dance and had just returned
from travels abroad. He asked us if we would
like to meet his grandmother, Dora Bray, who was 101 at the time and living in
a care home. We, of course, said we would love to spend time with her. It was January
1970 a year or two before she passed. She was in a care home and had taken up
painting canvas. Her son, who was an accomplished ballet performer and a Baha'i
living in Pasadena, took our teaching team to the care home where we spent a
remarkable morning with her. She was like "Grandma Moses". Nice to
see her remembered here. Our teaching team was on the way to the Bay area to
help Eloy Anello and others with consolidation of over 200 new believers in the
area. Eloy went on to Puerto Rico and then to Bolivia where he was appointed to
the Board of Counsellors.
Between
the hospitality offered by the host Bahá’ís, and the savings some of us
contributed to the travel costs, we covered thousands of miles. In Hayward, California, when the money we had
became almost depleted, four of our group obtained employment cleaning boarding
houses owned by a Bahá’í in San Francisco.
If a Bahá’í family extended us room and board, we tried to repay them
through service to their Bahá’í needs, and by doing household chores.
In those
days, being risk-taking adventurers and to conserve our funds, we sometimes
resorted to hitchhiking if a vehicle wasn't available. Later, this manner of transport was strongly
discouraged by the National Spiritual Assembly, wisely, for the protection of the
believers, as hitchhikers were occasionally robbed or worse, killed. Also, it could appear as a form of
begging. When the new policy was
published, most of the Bahá’í youth discontinued the practice of hitchhiking.
One time
(before the policy from Wilmette) I left Alamogordo to visit some Bahá’í
friends in Arizona using the thumb method to catch a ride by the highway. An older, white man from Tennessee, driving a
long, white Cadillac, gave me a ride. I
offered to buy him lunch in return for the ride, but he refused and
"forced" me to be his guest for lunch along the way. I told him about the Bahá’í Teachings, and he
was impressed with them, especially with the principle about racial unity. Being from Tennessee, growing up around white
prejudice towards blacks, he was deeply aware of the need for loving amity
among the races.
My brief
acquaintance with that Tennessee gentleman also taught me much about not
judging others by appearance. Easily, I
could have presumed him to be a rich, white bigot, who spoke with a southern
drawl, based on the stereotype of a southern white man in a fancy car. Eliminating prejudices of every kind means
looking to the heart of each person, and never to judge one by appearance or
faulty knowledge.
Before going to Arizona, I had just finished
reading a new pamphlet written by Dr. Daniel Jordan entitled, "Becoming
Your True Self." From his essay I
became absorbed in the thought that "becoming" a Bahá’í is a never-ending
process, that one never completely becomes a Bahá’í. Rather, one strives toward the state of
perfection; of becoming like '‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
When I
reached Tucson I found my friend, Barney Baiz.
He told me that he had some personal business to tend to for a couple of
hours, but that he would take me to a fireside meeting at the Bahá’í Centre and
pick me up later. Barney dropped me off
at the Center and I went in. I didn't
see anyone who I knew. A young man came
over and immediately asked me if I were a Bahá’í.
Thinking
about Dr. Jordan's essay, I answered without hesitation, "Well, I'm
becoming a Bahá’í."
From my
comment, he understood that I was a seeker interested in the Cause, but who
hadn't "declared" as a Bahá’í yet.
For some reason, I accepted his premature conclusion and entered the
meeting as a "seeker." It
turned out that I was the only "non-Bahá’í" at the meeting, and all
eyes were upon me.
I thought
to myself, "Is this how we make people feel at our meetings, as if they
are under a spotlight?"
Still, I
continued in the role of a seeker, asking questions about the soul and mind,
saying that I had read some of 'Abdu'l-Bahá's Writings on such matters and was
very much drawn to them (I was devious, wasn't I?). They responded briefly to my inquiries, and
then they broke for refreshments.
Everyone seemed to relax and engage in personal conversations. Two believers discussed fervently the yoga
meetings that they were attending.
Others talked about mundane routines of their lives, nothing of
importance. However, they were polite
and friendly towards me, even if they could not focus on the Faith in a meeting
set aside for that purpose. I was
disturbed by the experience. Why could
not the friends concentrate on the Power of Bahá’u’lláh Revelation for more
than a few minutes? Why did they seem
distracted? My aversion to cities grew
as I found similar conditions among Bahá’í communities in other large
cities.
In the
vast regions of the homefront, the small, dusty towns of the Southwest; in the
meager homes of adobe and cinder block, I found my heart content and richly
satisfied.
After
several months of travel teaching, I accepted the chance to live in Alamogordo
for a brief period in 1970. We were
stimulated by news of the wonderful teaching victories happening in the
Southern states, and on many campuses of the U.S. Almost every day we held open meetings in
various homes, where seekers felt the spirit and joined the Faith. The format was kept simple: We started with
prayers and songs, then one or two of us gave a short introduction to the Faith
followed by a film strip. Afterwards, we
served refreshments or water, and different seekers could get together with one
or more Bahá’í to ask their particular questions about the Faith. Marvelous results came from this method;
often two or more seekers would ask to join simultaneously, after having their
doubts gently removed. I remember one
meeting where seven youth enrolled together representing the Apache, Mexican, black,
and white races. Teaching at the Hoffs’ home often went deep into the night
after Dick and Pauline had gone to bed. At times one or two of us youth would
be staying with them and serve as hosts for those seeking to learn about the
Faith. Late at night a soft knock might
be heard on the front door, and one of us hoteliers would answer it and see
several servicemen wanting to know if they could hear about the Faith. Dick had told them to come over anytime they
were free, and the middle of the night was usually when they were free. We’d quietly pray and read from the Writings
together and discuss questions they had.
Several became strong believers staying active after they completed
their Air Force term of service.
Every
method of teaching was tried, and most efforts led to success. Lunch dates were made with interested
prominent persons; collaboration worship services were held with churches; park
gatherings, poster campaigns and family teaching produced wonderful
effects. A local motorcycle “gang”,
encouraged by their bike “queen”, started showing up at meetings, and several
joined the Faith. The queen never did,
but she continued to encourage the bikers to stick close to the Bahá’ís.
Concurrent
with these local activities in Alamogordo were teachers exchanges with northern
New Mexico; some believers from Alamogordo and the southern part of the state
would travel to Santa Fe to teach, and on another weekend a group of Bahá’ís
from the north would arrive to help out in Alamogordo. These events had a planned activity, but also
relied on the workings of the spirit, too, such as going to White Sands
National Park for dawn prayers on the sands.
Once, a
Bahá’í named Gary Dragna and I hoped to visit members of the New Mexico State
Goals Committee to discuss statewide teaching. (We wanted to try to set up a
backpacking teaching team to walk from village to village to teach the
people.) The Committee members lived
near Santa Fe. As we had no vehicle, and
only a small measure of funds, we made a cardboard sign with the words
"Santa Fe" on it and headed toward the highway on morning eager to
catch a ride north. I felt uncomfortable
hitchhiking, as I had recently heard some Bahá’ís say that hitchhiking could be
considered a form of begging, which is clearly forbidden in the Kitáb-i-Aqdas
(The Holy Book of Laws). So I suggested
to Gary that we recite the "Remover of Difficulties" that we would be
guided in the right way. We had gone but
two or three blocks when we passed a house where I had met a man the day before. The resident had invited me to return to talk
about the Bahá’í Message with him. I
felt moved to visit him right then, and Gary agreed. The man seemed to be waiting for us, and he
warmly invited us in. He wanted to know
where we were headed, and we explained that we hoped to go to Santa Fe to meet
with Bahá’ís there. He asked us how we
were going to get there, and we showed him our cardboard sign, neatly folded
under Gary's arm. He pointed to an old pickup and said, "I've needed to
have that truck run out on the highway for some time now. Would you be willing to take it to Santa
Fe? Tell me whether you would be willing
or not, because you don't have to if you don't want to."
With
those words, our guidance had come, and we departed for Santa Fe in the good
man's pickup truck. As we
left his front porch, we stopped to watch from a distance his snarling German
Shepard, which, thank goodness, was tied to a post. It was a very big dog. The man told us that the dog was so mean, that
he didn't even go close to it, but kept it chained up all of the time. Gary in his fearless way ventured towards the
growling dog. He repeated the Greatest
Name as he calmly walked closer and closer to the dog tugging angrily at the
end of its chain. The man warned Gary
again about the dog, but Gary moved toward the dog without acknowledging the
man's advice. In the next moment to our
amazement Gary was petting the dog, as the dog's tail wagged furiously. Gary, without words, had demonstrated that all
of God's creatures can respond to love, and that the Bahá’í Cause possesses a
great Power to spread that love. The
man, of course, was very impressed by such a brave deed.
The trip
to Santa Fe turned out to be like heaven. Many plans were set in motion to
teach during the summer months of 1970 following the anticipated National Youth
Conference which was scheduled for June 1970 in Wilmette, Illinois right at the
Mother Temple of the West. The official
notices about the upcoming event assured the youth that Hand of the Cause of
God Amatu'l-Baha Rúhíyyíh Khanum, widow of the beloved Guardian, Shoghi
Effendi, would be speaking to the Bahá’í youth of America!
The 1970
National Bahá’í Youth Conference was a milestone for many of the 2500 young
believers who attended. The Conference
was a major turning point in my development. The spirit of the gathering
surged. An immensity of knowledge poured out upon us from the Hands of the
Cause of God and other learned Bahá’ís. An abiding love bound the hearts of
that diverse group together.
One rainy
evening, June 23rd, the gathered youth were divided into three groups of
several hundred each. Each group took
its turn going into the House of Worship for a memorial service commemorating
the one hundredth anniversary of the passing of the Purest Branch, younger
brother to '‘Abdu’l-Bahá. Though, at the
time, I knew nothing about the Purest Branch, I felt his tender presence in
that sacred spot as the Tablet of Visitation was recited by one of the Hands of
the Cause of God.
I also
knew very little then about the station of the Hands of the Cause of God, but I
remember watching Hand of the Cause of God Mr. Khadem walking amidst the crowds
of youth one day during a break in the sessions. I stood, somewhat awestruck, trying to decide
whether I should walk over to meet him.
I trembled at the thought, and never gathered the strength to do
it. He was not threatening or
frightening, but his humility and dignity overwhelmed me. All I could do was to stare at him for a long
time.
At the
Conference I decided to return to Fort Collins to see my parents. They had expected me to return to Colorado to
attend college. My heart told me that it
was time to prepare for the next phase of life.
Already, a Bahá’í from Colorado named Claudia Plymel had invited me to
ride back to Colorado with her. Along the way, it seemed that everywhere we
stopped, we met other Bahá’ís also heading home from Wilmette. Like threads of light being woven on the loom
of service. Within a few months Claudia pioneered to the island of Kaua’i in
the Hawaiian Islands, where she married and served the Faith. A few years later, she passed away at her
pioneering post.
My return
to my hometown closed the first phase of my adventures as a Bahá’í. My future was changing, and anxiously I chose
to attend a small college in Durango in the southwest corner of Colorado. The entire western slope of Colorado in those
days boasted only a dozen Bahá’ís or so, scattered in tiny towns. Half of those believers were women whose
husbands were not Baha’i’s, which limited their opportunities to attend the few
existing Bahá’í activities. Despite our
weaknesses the Faith grows in a mysterious way that defies logic. What else can one do then, but submit oneself
to its Power, teach and serve and beg that Bahá’u’lláh will aid us in His
Path? As the Master has written:
O thou
who art turning thy face towards God!
Close
thine eyes to all things else, and open them
to the
realm of the All-Glorious.
Ask
whatsoever thou wishest of Him alone;
seek
whatsoever thou seekest from Him alone.
With a look
He granteth
a hundred
thousand hopes,
with a
glance He healeth
a hundred
thousand incurable ills,
with a
glimpse He layeth balm on every wound,
with a
nod He freeth the hearts
from the
shackles of grief.
He doeth
as He doeth,
and what
recourse have we?
He
carrieth out His Will,
He
ordaineth what He pleaseth.
Then
better for thee
to bow
down thy head in submission,
and put
thy trust in the All-Merciful Lord.
(from
The Words of God)
