There is a quote from the Baha’i writings that I really
love: “Truthfulness is the foundation of all human virtues.” I love it because
it is so all-encompassing, yet simple. Think about it: how can we really, truly
develop kindness, empathy, love, knowledge without truthfulness? If we are
being honest, many of the teachings of the Faith I hold dear do not come easily
and naturally to me. I am almost proud of my level of ongoing personal rebellion,
I typically live my life in excess, I come by honestly my disgusting propensity
for picking out what I dislike about others, it takes me a fairly long amount
of time to forgive…in many respects, my belief in the Baha’i faith is in spite
of my less than sterling qualities, not because of.
HOWEVER, truthfulness I can get behind pretty easily. It
comes naturally. I am a terrible liar. It makes me all clammy and sick to my
stomach and I inevitably end up smiling when I do not mean too. Plus, my eyes
well up with tears for no reason. What kind of a reaction even is that?! I am
also in possession of an inability to not be heard, so speaking my mind (a form
of truthfulness) is not something with which I struggle.
I typically get one of two opposite reactions to my speaking
the uncomfortable truth: “Do you really have to rock the boat? Maybe it’s just
you.” or “I’m so glad you said something! Now I know where I stand.” Is there a
place and time for holding your tongue out of politeness? You bet! Am I
referring to the words that rise immediately out of anger, the ones that taste
so ugly in your mouth you know you should not let them out? Hell no. That is
not the kind of honesty I am talking about. That is self-serving honesty. That
is not speaking the truth or even your truth, it is being childish. You may
feel better having spoken them, but they do not contribute to the overall good.
I am talking about the honesty that comes from reflecting on how you feel and
understanding that even if what you have to say will be difficult to say and
hear, it will contribute to the greater unity and understanding of the group or
the relationship.
It is a little harder for me to be honest with members of my
faith community, mostly because I am deeply self-conscious of my own ability to
be a “good Baha’i” and in the last few years, I am finding it harder to fit a
particular mold I see. I desperately want my faith to grow and change with the
needs of the society in which it exists. I want it to welcome all people and
experiences and just plain be better. But we are learning. We do not always get
it right, but we are learning and I think that is why I stick with it: because
in was other religion am I able to speak the way I do to those in power, say “I
disagree,” and be heard and consulted with love? How often do we admit our
mistakes as a community and move forward? We are still learning how to do that,
but it is the ultimate goal, which I appreciate. We value the process, not just
the product. So I stick with it and I speak up. I speak out when something is
not right, when I get a feeling in my gut. I (try) to do it kindly and I am not
always successful, but I do not walk away from the discomfort because I care
about what happens.
Sadly, in all that community learning and growing, my heart
has been hurt fairly often. As Baha’is, we have a lot of teachings about the
life of the soul and life after death and the importance of detachment and
sacrifice and how tests help us grow. It is also a wonderful ideal and
standard, but in the day to day, we are still human being struggling to do what
human being try to do: live successfully. And losing your mother…dude. It’ll
test that very human of human things we do.
On the day my mother died, I posted on Facebook and a Baha’i
literally commented, “I’m so happy for her!” Another Baha’i who had called to
ask me to be on a committee told me to take all the time I needed, but decided
a couple weeks was enough and why wasn’t I doing what I needed to do? Other
Baha’is asked too many personal questions of me and my family, feeling entitled
to details. I was told she would not want me to grieve, that I should be
thankful I had her at all. Once I confided in someone I love very much about
four months after my mom died that I was having a hard, sad day and she said to
me, “Why? Oh, you’re still sad about that?” I have talked a lot about empathy
here, so there is that and blah blah blah, but I am just trying to say that it
hurt. And I so, so want us as Baha’is to do better! So after months of saying
nothing, I got a comment, fairly innocuous, that I could not let go. I chewed
on it for two weeks and then I wrote an email.
I explained that my feelings were hurt and why and my
concern at even sharing my hurt feelings, but that I want people to do better
so I share. And you know what I got back? The most genuine, loving apology via
email and then a phone call with another genuine apology and time spent consulting
with me about how things could go better and how I could feel better about my
role and what should have been said and again, a heartfelt apology and
embarrassment at having said what was said. Honestly, the grace, compassion,
empathy, and humility this person displayed was breath-taking. She should teach
classes on how to do what she did. And I felt so heard and understood.
I have realized in recent months that speaking uncomfortable
truths is actually one of my life missions. It is my goal to bring to the
forefront the things of which people are uncomfortable to talk, endure a
moment’s awkwardness, then feel the relief of everything being at the surface
and begin the work of muddling through it. Because if we cannot acknowledge
those uncomfortable truths, are we ever really being genuine with one another.
And if not, what is even the point?
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