Teaching the Faith in Soledad

The roles of leader and follower switch places when I change spiritual paths. The learning curve steepens as well when administrative duties spark a more official capacity in participation.

Nine-pointed symbol of the Baha’i Faith. (stock photo)

Where I grew up in Salt Lake City, missionaries were more abundant than military personnel. Every Mormon boy expected to go on a mission anywhere from Thailand to Arizona. When I moved to Santa Cruz, my biggest surprise was opening the door to a couple of crisp, fresh Mormon missionaries. Well, Sue, you've gone full circle here. By then, I had officially left The Church and joined the Baha'I Faith. When I told these lovely young men about Baha'u'llah, the eyes of the older one dimmed. Time to knock on the next door.

All my male cousins served missions, boarding a steam-belching train from Salt Lake to Los Angeles, then a flight to Argentina or France. After high school, I waited for, Butch, my boyfriend, sharing the Man-Overseas Syndrome with my best friend, Karen, who wanted to get married so badly, she subscribed to several bridal magazines of the era. When she turned twenty-one, however, the bishop called her to serve on a mission. She was livid!

"Does he think, because I'm not married yet, I have nothing better to do?"

I never received such an honor. Apparently the bishop remembered my failed attempt to teach Sunday School. Believe me, there is no greater embarrassment than admitting my spiritual shortcomings to a ten-year-old kid whose family raised her well in scripture and prayer. I couldn't lie … not while looking at that judgmental little face. I just didn't have the stuff to teach anybody about God.

I hobbled along in The Church, attending high school seminary along with everyone else; joining Lambda Delta Sigma in college, and supporting Butch with newsy letters from home. Many a candle ceremony passed through my hands, but never became my fate. Then Butch came home and moved on to more spiritually-mature pastures. I decided to do the same. This Church gig wasn't working any better for me than it did for my parents.

At the U. of U., I met Hoda, a brilliant sociology grad student whose father also taught at the department. Both of them radiated such warmth and grace, it took my breath away. I'd never met such people. One day, I told Hoda I had just returned from a semester in Israel, living in a kibbutz near Haifa. Her face lit up.

"Oh yes, we've visited the Shrine of the Bab as part of our Baha'i pilgrimage."

That opened a door that changed my life forever. She told me how the Baha'is believe in uniting humanity by eliminating all forms of prejudice, understanding the value of both science and religion, and fostering the equality of men and women. I gasped in awe. Where has this been all my life? These tenets were totally opposite everything I had been taught. I felt like a bird freed from the cage.

Within a year, I joined The Faith. I met with other Baha'I students for prayers once a week, attended Feast and other events with the largely Persian community in town, and healed from the troubling episodes I experienced in Israel. I was an emotional wreck when I came home. Hearing the positive message of this religion not only healed many of my mental health issues, it also widened my understanding of the world outside the confines of Zion.

It soon became apparent, though, that I needed to leave my hometown and reset my life … again. It seemed to be a constant with me … starting over when too many elements of my situation became untenable. So, I packed my car and trekked off to Santa Cruz. There I rented an apartment for a ridiculous amount of money, established a typing business, and found a new tribe among the Baha'is.

Three of the women had spent the previous summer teaching The Faith in Alaska. They were missionaries! While they weren't the knock on doors kind, every activity we planned focused on teaching people about Baha'u'llah. There were Friday Firesides which attracted all the singles in the area as well as the occasional seeker. That's where I met my husband. We held Feasts and Deepenings, hosted holy day celebrations, endured the month-long fast in March together, and generally hung out, discussing our life goals and how Baha'u'llah's teachings affected them.

Me in an information booth at a local fair in Santa Cruz, CA

Once I did a gig with a Baha'I who had a spot on an indie TV station. At 6 a.m. we sat in front of his video camera at the studio, bleary eyes, unshaved beard (him) and all, telling tens of people about The Faith. A bunch of us spent an afternoon walking around Capitola, chatting with folks we'd meet on the Promenade. Bill and I came upon a group of people setting up for a concert. Every time we tried our spiel, they burst into laughter. As performers, they were tight, not allowing more than a word or two to pass our lips. Well, you can't touch everybody's heart.

Then Rob came to town, organizing a more formal teaching effort. Several Saturdays in a row, we drove to Salinas Valley to build Baha'I communities in the small migrant enclaves in Gonzales, Greenfield, and Soledad. In the early 1980s, those towns were Steinbeck-esque ranching communities, surrounded by agricultural fields. The farm workers lived within rock-throwing distance of their jobs. In Soledad, there was a park where Mexican families spent their days off with picnics. We talked to them there or along Main Street, or in the campos where the men usually hung out in the shade of a tree. Children played around us and women listened from nearby shacks or trailers.

One day, a man rushed up to Rob on the street, panting with excitement. He'd heard about us from his amigos and wanted to know more about this new religion. In fluent Spanish, Rob told him the basics, probably thinking the man would take some time to think about it. To our surprise, he signed a card there and then to join The Faith. He became a major force for bringing in other seekers to that community.

An older, more skeptical woman challenged Rob on the tenets and spiritual message, relating in her deeply Catholic way to what he told her. I could understand very little of their conversation. Only the words Espiritu Santo sounded familiar. My junior high school Spanish barely kicked in during our forays, so I wasn't expected to say much. My purpose there was important in another way. With me standing between Rob and Bill, people would know we weren't Federales.

After our silly failure in Capitola, we had a good time following Rob as our main speaker. His job actually was training us so we could successfully build local Baha'I communities in a casual yet organized manner … if that makes any sense. It seemed odd to me to be in this position after experiences with Jehovah's Witnesses coming to the door or those two dear Mormon boys. I felt sorry for them. It was also very odd to be a member of the Local Spiritual Assembly, a leadership role. There were only nine of us in Capitola, but that's all it takes to form a Baha'I community.

As a member of an Assembly, I stepped into the position of spiritual and administrative leader. It intimidated me for a long time and led me to some awkward situations with troubled members. In my religious history, I was the follower and penitent, not part of a priesthood. Implementing the duties of this 'lay clergy' felt way beyond my capacity. Competence, I was told, would grow with each new experience. Also the seedling level of our participation felt more like an adventure rather than the formal dynamics needed to work with larger, urban communities.

My personality didn't fit well with changing other people's minds and hearts. Whether that was innate or ingrained by my education, I don't know. I come from shy, mind-your-own-business people. This structure, however, chopped through some of that brainwashing and helped me become more assertive.

Rob only had a month before returning home. What he taught us was far more gratifying than teaching tourists in Capitola. People have to be in a receptive mood and environment before they'll listen to someone yammer about God. A beach resort just doesn't cut it.

Wandering the campos and neighborhoods of small agricultural towns brought us lots of interested folk willing to hear our message. Maybe they were just being polite. Then again, once the seeds were planted with that month-long effort, dozens of people joined the Faith, establishing several Local Spiritual Assemblies. Soledad and other towns in Salinas Valley grew quickly with earnest believers. Many would return to Mexico during the winter months, but would come back, still on fire.

After I joined The Faith and received my first American Baha'I, the administrative order and its urgency to grow the numbers in the U.S. slammed me headlong. Concern about the number of enrollments rankled with me, especially as pleas for the Fund overshadowed mention of Baha'u'llah in the Feast letters. I started noticing how many of us aged quickly under the stress of meeting Five Year Plans. Compared to the Persian Baha'is, we Americans became more concerned with corporatized guidelines rather than taking delight in renewal of the Spirit. That's why it astonished me to witness the ardor these new Baha'is showed when they discovered Baha'u'llah's teachings and built strong spiritual communities.

One incident in particular surprised me with its intensity. A young Mexican woman was holding the card in her hand, ready to sign it, when her husband burst into the room. With a beer bottle in one hand and the other curled into a fist, he towered over her, threatening her if she signed that card. She remained seated and looked up at him. "Yo creo en estes cosas," she stated with no hint of fear. Defeated by her quiet defiance, he stormed from the room. I don't know what happened after we left, but I will never forget witnessing her conviction under duress.

Would I ever have that depth of faith or would I always be blocked by suspicion and doubt of a religion's true purpose, especially with belief systems that rise up in modern times untested by prejudice and turmoil? HA! Here I am talking about testing a faith rather than admitting how it tests me.

Bill and Jolene’s wedding with me playing guitar for a song I wrote that became sort of a local Baha’i wedding standard.

Back in Santa Cruz, life went on. The Friday Night potlucks, the morning prayers, the weddings as we all found our mates continued. During one of the Friday night firesides, we met a young woman who copped an attitude toward anything about religion. She just wasn't having any of it.

"So, tell me in three words or less about this religion of yours."

I looked her in the eye and said, "Unity."

Postscript: I'm no longer a card-carrying member of a religion. The first thirty years of life, I lived in Mormonism. The next sixteen, the Baha'I Faith held my heart. The lessons learned trying to live up to the tenets still remain to guide me. Although now I'm a free-floater, so to speak, I don't exactly feel like a twig dangling off the outer branch of a tree. The residual gifts help me navigate my world. There are times I still pick up my old prayer book to nurture myself. It does calm the nightmares in the middle of the night. I still remember the words to the Mormon hymn, Come, Come Ye Saints. Likewise, I can still remember some of the Baha'I prayers, including this one:

O God! Refresh and gladden my spirit. Purify my heart. Illumine my powers. I lay all my affairs in Thy hand. Thou are my guide and my refuge. I will no longer be sorrowful and grieved. I will be a happy and joyful being. O God! I will no longer be full of anxiety, nor will I let troubles harass me. I will not dwell on the unpleasant things of life. O God, Thou art more friend to me than I am to myself. I dedicate myself to Thee, O Lord.

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