While student-teaching in Houston, Nebraskan Kerri Molczyk is keeping folks at home up to date on her experiences through “The Phony Houstonian,” a column she writes for the Spalding Enterprise in Spalding, Neb.
Her recent encounter with the Baha'i Faith, to which her roommate, also a Nebraskan, belongs, left her hopeful about the state of the world.
By Kerri Molczyk
My roommate, Kersten, belongs to the Baha’i Faith. Though there are some Baha’is in Nebraska, Kersten was really excited to engage in the Baha’i community in Houston. Always the student, I wanted to know more about her faith, so she insisted I come with her to a Baha’i program.
Kerri Molczyk I’ve always been Catholic and only Catholic. I know little about Protestantism, less about Islam, and I had never even heard of the Baha’i Faith. Discontent with my own ignorance, I climbed in Kersten’s Fit, and she took me downtown.
If I had been looking for stained-glass windows, high arches and elegant statues, the Houston Baha’i Center would have disappointed me: It’s a simple, two-story brick building circa 1960, up Fannin Street from the steeples of Unitarian, Methodist, Lutheran and Catholic churches (as well as several bail bond agencies). I was much more concerned, however, about what was on the inside of the Baha’i Center.
Sneaking inside the center’s back door, I was hoping to go unnoticed. No such luck; I was spotted, hugged and welcomed enthusiastically with a greeting I didn’t understand (later I learned it’s “Allah-u-Abha,” meaning “God is most glorious”). The three women who greeted me wore dark velvet wraps and spoke with heavy Persian accents. They directed us to a table full of breakfast foods – fruit, flat bread and cheese, traditional Persian fare.
We all shuffled into the worship area, a large room with a low ceiling, dark carpet, piano, stackable chairs and a microphone. Narrow crank-out windows high on the walls let in plenty of light. Simple.
The decor made it obvious that the most important part of the center was its people. It was the most diverse group I had ever seen; every corner of the world seemed represented. And they were chasing children, making weekend plans, drinking coffee and, best of all, smiling.
We all settled in for what I thought would be a ceremony. Nope. A few prayers were read and chanted beautifully in Spanish, French, Farsi, English. The prayers were solemn and addressed to God, asking for peace within ourselves and in the world. Nothing too different from what I pray for already, I thought.
Then a lively man with flashing eyes stood and began to speak about the Baha’i Faith, as if directly in response to the questions swimming in my head: “What is this center all about? Why are the names so funny? Why haven’t I heard of it before?” At one point, I even wondered, “Is this a cult?”
No, the Baha’i Faith is not a cult. It’s a religion, and not much unlike my own. Baha’is believe in Jesus Christ and place great value in his message of love. They also believe in the importance of the messages of Moses, Mohammed, Zoroaster, Buddha and, most recently, Baha’u’llah, a Persian (thus the unusual names and all the apostrophes), who founded the Faith in the nineteenth century. The religion is in its infancy, which explains why I’d never heard of it.
Instead of drawing lines between religious groups and making it a matter of “us” and “them,” Baha’is work to unite all people under the same God. In fact, one of the principles of the Faith states that if religion is the cause of fighting – relevant in the Middle East right now -- there should be no religion, but peacefulness instead. No wonder I felt so at home among the Baha’is. They truly believed I belonged with them, simply because I exist.
I was at the center for two hours and got seven cell phone numbers from twenty-somethings who wanted to befriend me and adults who wanted to cook for me.
That night I found myself pondering what had happened at the center. I was an outsider to their community: I’m not from Houston, not a Baha’i. I pray a different way, and I don’t understand or agree with all that Baha’is believe. The community had no reason to accept me, had essentially nothing in common with me.
But instead of responding to me with apprehension, every single face greeted me happily. I was welcomed, even fed breakfast, no questions asked. And a thousand miles from home, in the shadow of huge skyscrapers and unfriendly freeways, it was wonderful.
I still don’t know everything about Baha’i teachings or practices, but I know this: The world would be a much happier place if everyone felt as accepted, as welcome, as loved as I did that morning.