I have lots of memories of growing up Baha’i—there’s a lot of stuff I didn’t understand back then that seems a lot clearer now (naturally, I suppose). For example, my mother was on the Spiritual Assembly in the town where we lived, so I remember going with Mom to meetings now and then, hanging around in a separate room playing with toys while the adults discussed boring and serious things in the living room. Who knows? They were probably talking about the same kinds of things I did while pioneering and serving on Spiritual Assemblies in the province of Quebec, some 15 years later—correspondence, administrative procedure, the healthy growth and progress of the Baha’i community, planning for upcoming Holy Days and the 19-day Feast.
I always loved attending the 19-day Feast (well, most of the time, I suppose—everyone has their off days too). Back then, our local Baha’i community was fairly small, so Feast was always held in people’s houses, allowing different families to offer hospitality each time. And it was always so beautiful! Pleasant, restful music playing as the friends entered, prayer books in small piles on a coffee table, candles lit and softly flickering throughout. Everything was so big back then, so grand and amazing. High-topped dressers filled with books like God Passes By and Lights of Guidance, with curios and mementoes, and here and there you’d see an engraving with the ringstone symbol on it, or, up on the highest shelf, you’d see a beautifully framed reproduction of the Greatest Name of God. You’d see art from many cultures along the walls, and you’d smell perfume in the air—perhaps rose or jasmine. And then, when it was time to eat, you’d get up and walk (don’t run!) to the table at the back where the hosts would lay out platters of persian rice with tahdig (or “tahdeeg” or whatever), kookoo sabzi, adas polo, baghali polo, chicken drumsticks, and so on. I can smell it all now just writing about it. (On a side note, I’m somewhat glad the Fast is over.) Listening to prayers, either chanted in lilting tones or spoken softly, has left me with fond memories and a great love of Persian chanting. Sometimes I would recite prayers too, along with the other children. Sometimes, I fell asleep (hey, it got late, and the chanting sometimes sounds like a bedtime song).
We’ve learned a lot about the place of children in the community since I was young. “Our children need to be nurtured spiritually and to be integrated into the life of the Cause,” the Universal House of Justice wrote in its message to the Bahá’í world on Ridván, 157 B.E. (April 2000).
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