ME AND THE PROPHET

By Rainn Wilson

Dear readers, if you will, cast your imaginations far back into the past — two hundred years ago, to the year 1817. Let them roam far, far away, towards a distant land, Persia; a place of deserts and mountains, of camels and horses, historic dynasties and ornate mosques, with the call to prayer ringing out across chaotic, teeming bazaars.

So far so good? Good. Let’s continue.

In that ancient region, that special year witnessed the birth of an extraordinary man, a social justice visionary, a mystic revolutionary and religious leader who was given the title Baha’u’llah — The Glory of God. He eventually proclaimed that he was a prophet sent by the Creator for the modern age of humanity, the ‘Promised One’ of all religious faiths. He is the founder of the Baha’i Faith and I met him.

Kind of. Not really.

You see, in the late 1960s, when I was an enormous, white infant, I was lugged to Seattle’s Sea-Tac airport by my parents and grandparents to meet a known-the-world-over, highly esteemed, somewhat legendary Baha’i. This gentleman was extra famous, because as a teen-ager he had actually spent time with the aforementioned Baha’u’llah, way back in 1892.

The man’s name and title was “Hand of the Cause Tarazu’llah Samandari” and he was, rumor has it, truly tiny. Probably like five feet on an especially long day. (I have a photo of him with my grandfather who is all of 5’3” and towered over the diminutive Persian fellow.) At nine months, I probably dwarfed him in size as I was an exceptionally beefy child.

Tarazu’llah Samandari wore a long black robe, and had a small radiant face that beamed with light. Or so I’ve been told — and seen from the photographs. Supposedly he held me briefly in his frail, ancient Persian arms right there at the Sea-Tac arrivals terminal and kissed me on my enormous, bald, baby head. (Reminder: this was during those fearless decades when you could walk right up to the airport gate with as much un-X-rayed baggage as you wanted to tote. You could even bring your water bottle, if wasn’t for the fact that no one used water bottles back then. We used canteens, made of aluminum, and only for camping and hiking. We used hoses or troughs or actual creeks when we were thirsty, dammit.)

This was the advent of the hippie days, and my young Baha’i father and mother lived in a big bohemian house near the University of Washington in 1967. They would hold regular, informal gatherings of people interested in learning more about the Baha’i Faith, called “firesides.” At one of these gatherings, the aforementioned Samandari would speak about his time with Baha’u’llah.

This fall (October 22, 2017 to be precise) is the bicentenary of Baha’u’llah’s birth and, as a Baha’i, I’ve been thinking a great deal about his life, teachings and legacy. I keep coming back to the fact that I’m a mere two degrees of separation from the man himself. Can you imagine? Can you wrap your minds around it? For a Baha’i it’s especially mind-boggling. I mean our world- encompassing faith (over five million adherents in over 200 countries) is so, so new. I met a guy who met THE GUY.

It’s like, for a Christian, as if you were in the year 120 AD or so and a giant Christian toddler sat in the lap of the guy who had catered the last supper and regaled you with stories about what Jesus ate and drank and what his hair was like and the jokes he told. For a Muslim it would be as if this essay was written by a man in the early 8th Century who was once a big Arab baby and had been in the lap of a man who had helped Mohammed tend to the sick in Medina. That’s the nearest approximation, anyway. Think of it: two degrees of separation!

You can compare the early Baha’i heroes like Mr. Samandari to the disciples of Jesus, spreading out across the globe after Christ’s passing to spread the gospel, the ‘Good News’, the coming of a divine teacher who brings a message of peace, love and unity.

There are countless stories about how this historic icon of the Baha’i movement devotedly travelled the world in service to his Faith. Through dozens of countries. Through Africa, Alaska and Korea his homeland of Iran. Sometimes on the back of a donkey. He was self-educated and yet esteemed by all for the depth and breadth of his knowledge. His tremendous passion and deep humility were legendary. Mr. Samandari was renowned for his calligraphy, which, to someone from the Middle East, is not simply fancy penmanship — it’s an ancient art form where the detail, grace and artistry of the writing mirror the personality of the artist and the beauty of the words, combining poetry with the movement and meaning of the letters themselves. Also, fun fact: he taught the Baha’i Faith to jazz great Dizzy Gillespie in Van Nuys, California who was one of the most well-known practitioners of the religion.

Mr. Samandari’s father, a close friend and early follower of the prophet of the Baha’is, Baha’u’llah, was named as one of his nineteen original apostles and had many tablets, prayers and letters written for him. In fact, their family name used to be Qazvini, until Baha’u’llah gave his father the title “Samandar” which metaphorically translates to the English equivalent of Phoenix, that mythical king of birds that rises from the ashes. That’s how special this guy was. His first name, “Tarazu’llah” means “ornament of God.” Put it all together and you get “Hand of the Cause of God, Ornament of God… Phoenix.” Pretty catchy, right?

Mr. Samandari was one of the first early Baha’is to be given the title “Hand of the Cause.” The “Hands”, as they were called for short, were specially-appointed counselors to the nascent Baha’i community in the early days, and played a significant role in the spread of the Faith through the first part of the 20th Century.

To give you, dear reader, an idea of just how revered Mr. Samandari was, let’s go over a list of some of the other titles and honorifics that were bestowed upon him by early leaders of the Baha’i Faith.

Abdul Baha, the son of Baha’u’llah, referred to him as “the Divine Adornment”, “A luminous candle,” “a cause of happiness of souls,” “a mine of joy,” “ a cause of happiness of hearts.” Shoghi Effendi, the great grandson of Baha’u’llah and the “Guardian” (leader) of the Baha’i Faith for many decades honored him as “An Apostle of the Crimson Ark,” “A strong Pillar of the Luminous Faith of God,” “faithful custodian of the fortified citadel,” a “Knight of the arena of detachment,” “foremost exemplar for the righteous,” “a true herald of the Greatest Name,” and, finally, “The shining lamp among Baha’i Teachers.” You get the idea. People really dug him.

So here we are in the Pacific Northwest in 1967 or so, fast- forwarding from the airport, in a big run-down house near the university filled to capacity with a bunch of bohemian students and spiritual truth seekers from all corners of Seattle, all seated around this tiny, “strong pillar of the luminous faith of God.”

My parents are probably passing out cookies and punch to a bunch of students in John Lennon glasses, leather vests with fringe and bell bottomed jeans. I imagine that there are ashtrays everywhere and I’m on a blanket in the corner sucking on a rubber toy in a cloud of second-hand smoke. This would be only a few months before my parents would divorce, my mom would take off to live on a commune in Oakland and then to work at an insane asylum in Bismarck, North Dakota and my dad would take me to go live in the jungles of coastal Nicaragua and start an oyster farm. In other words, things were about to get cray-cray.

My uncle Ronnie, definitely not a Baha’i then and unbeknownst to my parents, is probably at our house dealing pot and acid. True story. He told me many years later that he used to deal drugs at Baha’i firesides as it was a perfect cover. No one would ever look twice at a mop-haired, shifty-eyed burnout at a spiritual gathering. Swing on by, he would say to his potential buyers, say some prayers and get hit with some groovy religious wisdom. Afterwards I’ll meet you on the porch and you’ll get a baggie of the finest herb north of Humboldt and a fistful of Orange Windowpane.

Drugs or no drugs, back then many spiritual truth seekers hung out together. Spirituality was definitely not something relegated to New Age weirdos and “Born Agains.” The idea of exploring alternative expressions of the spiritual life and the journey of the soul was an integral part of the counter-culture that was starting to spring up all over American cities, immediately preceding the upcoming “Summer of Love.”

Most progressive people believed that the answers to the problems of life could actually be addressed by spiritual insight and even by religion itself — as long as it wasn’t the religion of their parents. Remember, in only a few years The Beatles would be visiting the Maharishi, Cat Stevens would become a Muslim, Hollywood celebrities would be doing peyote with Native American shamans, Shirley MacLaine would revisit past lives and millions of young mystic wanderers would join various religious faiths in their search for truth and meaning.

During that era, tens of thousands of young Americans would become members of the Baha’i Faith, the youngest world religion. Including my parents: my dad, an artist and writer and my mom, an experimental theater actress and yoga teacher.

This was the milieu I grew up in. LONG spiritual discussions in our living room until the wee hours of the morning. Sufis, Buddhists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Sikhs, agnostics and all manner of aspiring seekers digging into life’s biggest questions and delving, questing, searching for truth and cosmic insight. Bookshelves filled with religious tomes. Bottomless pots of coffee and tea. Art covering the walls. Music everywhere. More second-hand smoke.

During these years America was at war with an enemy most Americans didn’t even really know anything about, an enemy that had never threatened anyone they knew in any way, shape or form: The North Vietnamese. Televisions were starting to show the body bags of dead young Americans being shipped home. Rumors of grotesque violence towards humble villagers were making their way stateside; chemicals that melted trees, illegal bombing campaigns, genocidal massacres. People were starting to freak out. Why all this war? What bill of goods are we being sold by our military industrial complex? Perhaps, as the Beatles said all along, all we really do need is Love?

In the south and in the cities another war was being fought. African American men and women being beaten and hosed down like animals. Dogs lunging. Peaceful marchers tear-gassed by the National Guard and ruddy, angry-faced white people shouting the “N” word. All because people of color wanted to be able to sit on a bus or at a lunch counter or get an education. Or be treated with respect. What’s with all the hate? Had this been under our noses the whole time?

The time was right and ripe for revolution. If the conservative churches and clergy of our parents don’t hold any solutions, perhaps other modes of spirituality had an answer to all this madness and confusion. People started looking for meaning both outside themselves and in. Way in.

For the people who became seekers and then members of the Baha’i Faith during this tumultuous time there were several teachings of this young religion that magnetized and energized their hearts and minds.

The truly revolutionary writings of Baha’u’llah addressed the largest social problems of the day, bristling with relevancy. When I say the word “revolutionary,” I don’t throw that word around lightly. I mean, imagine it: the idea that a nineteenth century Persian nobleman could address difficult societal issues that even now, in 2017, are still at the cutting edge is truly astonishing.

For instance, the rights of women and girls. Perhaps you’re aware of the current state of the status and rights of women in much of the Muslim world. Females aren’t allowed to drive, to travel without a male relative as a chaperone, even to go out in public alone. Marriages are arranged and the state of women is often similar to that of a household slave. Women can be beaten pretty much whenever the husband wants, and stoned or killed if there’s the possibility of the slightest impropriety to the family. Can you imagine how infinitely worse it must have been in the mid-1800s? Then, women were treated like animals. Men had multiple wives and the women had no rights, no say in their lives whatsoever. They were traded like mules.

In the midst of this environment, Baha’u’llah taught that women are equal to men in every way, have the same rights and should be empowered through education. Even more he claimed that humanity would never achieve its potential and maturity unless women are honored and accorded the same rights as men.

Although Iran is bit more progressive when it comes to women than some other Muslim countries, people who fight for the emancipation of women there in 2017 are basically silenced and imprisoned. Imagine the response in the 1860s.

As a matter of fact, the first woman to remove her veil as a protest against Muslim cultural beliefs about women was an early follower and friend of Baha’u’llah, a renowned poetess named Tahirih — an acclaimed theologian who turned down a marriage proposal from the Shah himself. A renowned writer whose poetry is still beloved in Iran, she was barred from ever seeing her children and kept under house arrest by her husband and uncle. She was reviled by the Muslim and government authorities, banished to various places around Persia and had rocks thrown at her wherever she went.

Before she was strangled with her own scarf and her body thrown in a well with stones heaped upon it, she famously proclaimed to the world the clarion call of “You can kill me as soon as you like, but you can not stop the emancipation of women!” All this was happening at the exact same time as the first-ever women’s suffrage conference in Seneca Falls, New York. In fact, Tahirih may have been the world’s first modern feminist martyr.

Baha’u’llah taught the elimination of racial prejudice and the importance of social justice during a time when the brown and black races were considered literally less than human, and slavery was being practiced in every corner of the world. In fact, as a Persian nobleman, it is said that the first thing he did when he inherited his father’s estate was to free all the slaves. This was unheard of at the time. Revolutionary. The concept that we were all members of one global human family, regardless of our race or class was preposterous back then. The idea that all human beings had rights under God, and that they were equal in his sight no matter what their race or class was revolting, shocking and outrageous. For millions around the globe, it’s still threatening today. Even (especially!) here in the United States.

The social teachings of Baha’u’llah truly resonated with the impassioned youth of the late sixties. The ideas that we needed to eliminate the extremes of wealth and poverty, and that education was the key to mining the potential of the human race, had been heard before — but never posited as spiritual truths and religious teachings and applied so universally. Certainly others over the centuries had spoken of racial harmony, women’s equality, social justice and education — but no one ever explored these ideas as a divine revelation, incorporated in religious faith and a greater service to the world, a revelation that had been given to help guide humanity to its inevitable spiritual maturation.

What Baha’u’llah offered was a cause, a mission, a new way of seeing the world and changing it. It wasn’t simply “another religion.”

For the unwashed, peace-loving, lost souls gathered together to hear Mr. Samandari speak, the idea that there was, in fact, only one religion made total sense. Baha’u’llah’s proclamation that he was the latest, most recent, divine teacher or prophet truly resonated with those particular open-minded misfits. He wrote at great length about how he was the most recent messenger from God in a great linked chain of special, luminous souls that included Krishna, Abraham, Buddha, Moses, Jesus and Muhammad. He spoke about the fact that all religions are actually ONE religion, ever-updated, refreshed, renewed. He called religion “The Changeless Faith of God, Eternal in the past, eternal in the future.” He said that God wanted humanity to progress spiritually and had always sent teachers to help with its maturation — and that there would be more of these messengers, like him, like Jesus, that would continue to come in the future.

But back to the hippie house. We sang songs, I’m sure of it. Jerry Lew was probably there, a sweet, long-haired Chinese hippie intellectual who always carried a guitar. I remember his song from when I was a child, lyrics taken directly from the writings of Baha’u’llah and sung with tremendous atonal gusto: “Glory not in this that you love your Country. Glory rather in this that you love mankind! Unity. That’s how the world must be!” In the Baha’i world singing and music are an integral part of celebration, prayer and congregation.

Try to picture, in this milieu, a tiny, beloved, nonagenarian Baha’i from a farming village in Persia, who had hung out with the prophet and founder of this rapidly-spreading religious movement. Visualize it if you can: this donkey rider, calligrapher, world traveler, radiant speaker, is sitting in a chair at my parents’ house, holding fat baby me in his miniscule lap and speaking in effusive Farsi about Baha’u’llah, the Glory of God, his son translating.

Draped on the window sills and radiators and cushions and floor are dozens of bohemians, like I said, people who regularly used the words “deep” and “groovy,” people who still believed (before we became as cynical as we are today) that world peace was possible. They were packed into my parents’ crowded house, listening raptly, drinking in everything that remarkable man said, flabbergasted, all young idealists who had probably never been in a room with a Middle-Easterner before — people who had probably never even tasted hummus.

Perhaps they thought they were coming to see some kind of guru. He was most definitely not one of those. He had no following, accepted no money, wrote no books or treatises, and in no way sought to draw attention to himself, his story or personal philosophy — but instead always directed his attention and praise to the person and revelation of Baha’u’llah.

My parents later spoke to me (when I was of speaking age) about spending time with such a saintly, radiant personage, and told me about one aspect of him that truly touches my heart. This man, this tiny man, this man with so many titles and names and honors, this man who has travelled the world, met with religious leaders and dignitaries, heads of state and countless well-known Baha’is, this man who is revered wherever he goes, looked up to by so many and lauded in so many ways — how does he act, this man?

This man is the most humble person you’d ever want to meet. My dad relayed to me that even when the great unwashed of Seattle’s university district were coming to hear him speak, no matter what the questions people asked of him, how ridiculous, offbeat, or how specific to that time period in American cultural history, that Mr. Samandari treated every single person with the utmost respect and dignity. He treated no person differently. He showed zero signs of self-importance, but moved through the world as a humble servant.

Mr. Samandari wrote in a short essay about his memories of Baha’u’llah; about having the honor and privilege of being present while he revealed holy writings and tablets. Think about it, a man describing first hand, divine revelation moving through a sanctified human vessel, a messenger. He described the scene in 1892 in Akka, Palestine, as follows:

“Twice I had the honour of being present in His room during the revelation of the Holy Verses. No one was there except His secretary… On these two precious occasions… as Bahá’u’lláh paced the room and chanted verses, I could gaze upon Him and contemplate His luminous face, and behold the vision of the majesty of God and His divine Kingdom. This was indeed a great blessing. As He revealed the verses of God, His face was radiant. Sometimes, He would gesture with His hands while He looked through the window onto the sea.

The verses were revealed sometimes in a melodious voice, and sometimes with majesty and power — depending on the content of the revealed words. For instance, when the subject was prayer, a heavenly melody was heard; while admonitions and words of warning were uttered with the power of the Lord of lords!

Bahá’u’lláh Himself tells us that day and night the verses descended like torrential rain. From this, whoever is mindful will ask: What can He mean, that the verses descended like torrential rain? This means, without thought… without deliberation. At the highest possible speed, without any premeditation, these utterances would be revealed.

This is the first attribute of the holy Manifestations… As the Blessed Beauty [Baha’u’llah] says: ‘This thing is not from Me, but from One Who is Almighty and All-Knowing.’”

Outrageous, right? It’s like someone was there when the Buddha was revealing wisdom to his followers under the Bodhi tree, Muhammad was dictating the Quran or Jesus giving the ‘Sermon on the Mount.’ For me, a member of the Baha’i Faith, for one who believes that the words and revelation of Baha’u’llah were divinely bestowed, this recollection feels incredibly profound.

My father tells the story about one especially patchouli-soaked fellow with dirty blonde tresses and bare feet who sat on the floor. This young hippie was a regular at this and other local spiritual events. When it came time for questions, he raised his hand and asked Mr. Samandari a question.

“Hey maaan, I’m just wondering, what will the world be like in the future?”

He listened with his usual gentle deference. Then, Mr. “Ornament- of-God-Phoenix,” beamed at him radiantly and held out his hands in front of him, together, palms down.

“Today,” he said, “the world is like this.”

He then turned his hands over, palms up, open to the ceiling. “Tomorrow? It will be like this.”

The room went silent. The attendees drank in the simplicity and profundity of that statement.

Now, I’m sure you’re asking yourself at this point. “Wait a minute here. I thought he was holding you, a bulbous baby, while he spoke. How did he do the thing with the hands without dropping your enormity on the floor?”

Good question, stalwart listener. I have no idea. I might have been in my mother’s arms or put away in a crib at that point. I was probably dreaming of milk and kittens and moonlight in a blissful infantile sleep, unaware of the spiritual conversation around me.

Mr. Samandari passed away less than a year after speaking in our home. He died very near the Baha’i Holy Land in Acco, Israel, a few mere miles away from where he had spent time with Baha’u’llah as a youth.

Oh, and that patchouli-soaked dude with the bare feet who asked the question? Apparently, he became a devoted Baha’i for the rest of his life.

We’re no longer in those crazy, revolutionary, spirituality-fueled “hippie” days. The times are quite different but I honestly believe today, more than even the late sixties, we are in need of a transformation of the world from one of distrust and greed to one of peace and cooperation. It’s true “The Who” sang “We Won’t Get Fooled Again” in response to the hypocrisies of the counter- culture — and we won’t. True change needs to come not through drugs, “hug ins” and generalities about love. We need a plan and some hard, specific work.

Baha’u’llah’s birth two hundred years ago means many things to me. His writings have helped me on my journey from giant infant to slightly overweight middle-aged man — a journey that has been fraught with much pain and difficulty, as all of our journeys have. The Baha’i writings have given me solace as well as purpose.

I’m honored to witness my fellow Baha’is all around the globe, humble people of every race and class, working for unity and love and fighting for the rights of the downtrodden — helping the palms of humankind turn from down to up. The meek actually inheriting the Earth. I am, most of all, honored to have been the fat baby on the tiny lap of that gentle man, Samandari, who spent time with Baha’u’llah, the Glory of God.

When I think of Samandari today, the resonance of his metaphorically rich demonstration lingers.

Think of the palms extended, down. Then rotating. Turning. Up.

What does it mean? I’m not really sure, but I’ll share a thought. On one hand, the world will be turned upside down — we’re already seeing that painful, chaotic process begin to occur.

On the other hand, what was closed, shut-down and facing the ground will be opened, like hearts, to the sky. Rebirth. Evolution. Transcendence. Things completely different from the way they are now. That pain of transformation will lead us, perhaps, to a world based not on self-serving but one of harmony, compassion, service and an aching kindness, one to another.