Two Degrees of Separation from a Divine Messenger

Dear BahaiTeachings.org readers, if you will, cast your imagination far back into the past—two centuries ago, to the year 1817.

Let your thoughts 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? O.K., let’s continue.

In this 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 messenger of God, the “Promised One” of all religious faiths:

The Revelation which, from time immemorial, hath been acclaimed as the Purpose and Promise of all the Prophets of God, and the most cherished Desire of His Messengers, hath now, by virtue of the pervasive Will of the Almighty and at His irresistible bidding, been revealed unto men. – Baha’u’llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha’u’llah, p. 5.

So—Baha’u’llah 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 who towered over Mr. Samandari.) At nine months old, I probably dwarfed him in size, as I was an exceptionally beefy child.

Hand of the Cause Tarazu’llah Samandari with writer Gloria Faizi.

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. So there.)

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, Mr. Samandari would speak about his time with Baha’u’llah.

Recently—October 22, 2017 to be precise—the bicentenary of Baha’u’llah’s birth occurred. As a Baha’i, I’ve been thinking a great deal about Baha’u’llah’s 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 Muhammad tend to the sick in Medina. That’s the nearest approximation, anyway. Think of it: two degrees of separation!