Being an Orthodox Bahá'í

By Megan Kathleen Olsen

It‘s not easy being an Orthodox Bahá'í. I should know. I’ve been one most of my life.

Being an Orthodox Bahá'í means being at odds with the world. It means never fitting in, never belonging. It means losing friends from the time you’re a child. It means losing lovers and loved ones and family members. It means being turned away at churches and shunned by church communities. It means being persecuted not for what you’ve done but for who you are.

Being an Orthodox Bahá'í means being asked to give up food and water for nineteen days once a year no matter how inconvenient or difficult the task; no matter what your schedule is or how dry the climate is where you live. It means having to explain to your coworkers, friends and family why you can’t eat lunch with them. It means strange looks of confusion and pity. It means a hasty conclusion that you are not one of them. It means you are decidedly different.

Being an Orthodox Bahá'í means you hesitate to tell people who you are, because you grow tired of the perplexed stares. You become weary of the dismissals of your explanations. You become enervated when your answers almost always dissatisfy questioning people, who suddenly become frightened by the possibility of your words.

For me, being an Orthodox Bahá'í has meant losing friends in every school I went to. It has meant crying myself to sleep at night, because I felt so alone, so unusual. It has meant being a permanent outsider no matter how hard I tried to fit in. It has meant having a Heterodox Bahá'í coworker ask not to be scheduled the same hours as me once she found out who I was. It has meant being excluded from reading a prayer at my own grandmother’s funeral. It has meant assimilating, because I was tired of standing out.

So I ask myself: Why am I an Orthodox Bahá'í?

I’m an Orthodox Bahá'í because my heart tells me I am. Because my soul knows I am. Because I come from a long line of brave, bold people who taught me the fight for the truth is worth the risk of alienation, of isolation, of pain and fear. Because I am a fourth generation warrior for a Faith worth dying for.

Being an Orthodox Bahá'í has meant finding strength when I felt weak; courage when I was scared; faith when I was in doubt, and love when I had anger in my heart. It has meant standing up before an unwelcoming world that does not understand, does not listen, does not care. It has meant standing up and standing alone, no matter how hard the winds of adversity have tried to knock me down.

I am an Orthodox Bahá'í, and I would not have it any other way.

Comments

[Concerned]

It appears that the orthodox bahai faith doesnt really put much weight behind unity...just fighting for thier own interpretation which is clearly thier only agenda after almost 50yrs. That's not a religion, that's a debate.

[Megan]

Let me ask you this: How well can you really know your yourself or the strength of your faith if it is never tested on an individual level? The Orthodox Bahais are united through such individual search for spiritual truth.

Most who deem themselves people of God and religion are not seeking such truth but rather the comfort of community. The Heterdox Bahais are no exception. You find safety in numbers. Your unity is one built on ignorance and deception.

Oh, and your last statement is nonsensical.

That's all.