How I Became a Baha’i by Rod Clarken

From his Clarken Chronicles website, shared November 2022

My Story on Becoming a Bahá’í by Rodney H. Clarken

We were not the church-going, praying or any other thing to do with religion types. Religion, organized or otherwise, did not seem to interest my folks or enter into my family life. When I was older, my dad told me he had once considered being a minister, though mainly for the money. My mom told me she was quite active in the nearby Friends Church after she got married but left a couple of years later because of one of the church ladies criticized a how a poor family came dressed to church. My parents and relatives saw most church-going folks as hypocrites who thought they were better than others were. As my mom would put it, “They think their s—t don’t stink”.

Although we were not religious in the churched sense, my mom would drive me to the same church she had left, the closest church to my home, only one mile from the farm we lived on as tenants. This church was affiliated with the evangelical Iowa Yearly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends, more commonly known as Quakers. Quakers and Quaker churches vary from place to place. My church was of the more conservative Quakers, not the freethinking and socially active Quaker churches.

Because I attended Sunday School, Bible school, Church camps, youth groups and church, and I also talked a little about religion, my kin would sometimes good naturedly tease me, such as calling me “preach” or “Reverend Rod”. The point is, I was different from the rest of my family, quite different. I do not know how much influence these early church experiences had on my spiritual development, but I do find a great affinity to the Quaker principles and ideas such as peace, inner light, discernment, equality, love, community, silence, simplicity, authenticity and being guided by conscience.

I sometimes wonder why I became so interested in seeking truth and sought it in religion, when others around me could care less. I do not know the reason, but maybe it was because we did not have it that I wanted it. Maybe it was because my family wasn’t interested in religion that I was attracted to it. Maybe it was my wanting to belong when my classmates talked about their churches and asked what church I “belonged” to. Maybe it was that I wanted to be among and be one of those folks who thought they were better than us.

I do not believe I am unique. I believe everyone has this inner desire or need to know, love and grow. I believe it was this inner drive and calling, my soul awakening that first encouraged me to explore religion and attend church. I was seeking answers to those eternal questions of life: who are we, why are we here, what is our purpose, how should we live our lives? I was searching for meaning, the meaning of life. I was and continue to be fascinated by the big questions.

As I became more aware of life and other beliefs, more questions arose for which I did not find satisfactory answers. I began to read about the other religions and wondered why their followers would be doomed to hell. I began to form ideas about how things should be and wondered why they were not. In my search for answers, I would talk to and read anything that I thought might help me make sense of life. I was attracted to sincere believers of all beliefs, denominations and ideologies who seemed convinced they had the answers. I would talk to them at length to explore and better understand their beliefs and why they were so convinced about them. I wanted their devotion and faith, but could not subscribe to their thinking.

Living on a farm afforded my ample opportunity for contemplation, but little opportunity for exposure to new ideas or influences outside my school and insular community. I was a sincere seeker, but the possibilities for getting new information seemed limited mostly to popular media, which did not seem to offer much in the way of spiritual insights. There was a library seven miles from my home, but I rarely could get there and did not know how to use it when I did get there.

It was at a fair that I first heard about the Bahá’í Faith. Going to the Iowa State Fair was a new and big deal for me. Beyond one or two school trips, I had never been to a big city like Des Moines, and except for the occasional visit to relatives who all lived on farms, I had rarely travelled outside a 30-mile radius of my home. My classmate, Gene, had his pig selected to be shown at the State Fair and he invited me to go with him. Not only could I ride down with him, I could also stay in the 4H dorms. It was an opportunity I jumped at.

The fair was filled with wonders and adventures. I studied the barkers and exhibitors convince the crowds to part with their money. They invited passersby to behold believe-it-or-not wonders and amazing deals for once-in-a-lifetime low prices. I would watch some give their pitches several times, at first entranced then analyzing their method and angles watching them play the crowd. I would hang out at the booths that gave free food from the samples cut up by astonishing labor saving devises, gimmicks and gadgets. It was exhilarating.

I visited every booth of the various religious organizations in the warehouse-sized display building. I considered myself somewhat of an authority on religion, though in retrospect I realized I had only a very superficial knowledge of the various Christian denominations, and knew even less of the other world religions. However, as most people I knew, knew even less than I, or so I thought, I suspected my sixteen-year-old understandings to be highly above average. Although I did not find satisfactory answers from the Seventh Day Adventist, the Mormons, the Catholics or the other groups represented there, I appreciated their devotion and willingness to talk with me.

As I made my way from booth to booth, I came across a religion I had never heard about. I did not even know how to pronounce its name. Posted on the back wall of their booth was a list of some of its basic principles: the oneness of God, the oneness of humankind, independent investigation of truth, progressive revelation, harmony of science and religion, elimination of prejudice, equality of men and women and a universal auxiliary language.

All of these ideas made sense to me, except the international language, which was a new idea and did not seem as important to me in my monolingual world. In fact, they seemed so logical, that I thought these were things most people would accept as true. The young man in the booth, Pete Farley, confidently and clearly answered the questions I had put to many others without receiving such convincing and confirming replies.

There was no need to convince me, as the teachings and his answers all made so much sense to me that I immediately accepted them. I was eager to learn more, and fortunately, for someone with little money and a tight grasp it, they had free literature. When I returned to my home, I studied these few pamphlets. I felt I had found the truth and something in which I could believe. I was attracted to its message, finding in it answers, insights and meaning. I was excited to share this newfound treasure with others.

From what I had learned from my brief visit and the pamphlets, I gave a presentation on the Bahá’í Faith to my high school social science class. One of my friends and classmates, Bryce Abel, who two-years later became a Bahá’í, remembered the strong challenge I received from another classmate, Steven, who was considered the smartest kid in the class and later obtained his doctorate in theology. Our teacher and coach, Mr. White, had to referee the discussion.

I also entered regional and state speech contests giving a talk on the central Bahá’í principles of the oneness of humankind and the elimination of prejudices. My speech focused on righting the wrongs of racial discrimination in the United States. It was heartfelt, thoughtful and evidently well presented as it received highest ratings. One of the judges asked me what my personal experience was with Negroes. I was a bit embarrassed to tell him I had none. I had never met or been with a person of a different race and would not have been able to tell you the ethnicity of anyone I knew at the time. His question challenged me. Here I was passionately talking about a people and cause of which I had no firsthand experience. It was a good talk, but I had not walked the walk and needed to follow up my own words and advice.

In the Sunday School class of junior high youth I was teaching at the Friends Church, we had engaging and meaningful discussions related to life’s big questions, considering as options the Bahá’í answers. It was a good combination of Quaker discernment and Bahá’í consultation.

That summer I lived and worked at Okoboji, the Iowa Great Lakes. It was a very popular spot and I would tell everyone who would listen about the Bahá’í ideas. Many were interested and my roommate and friend, Todd Fletcher, became a Bahá’í one year later and played a central role for about 20 youth in nearby Spencer becoming Bahá’ís.

In August, I returned to the state fair for the primary purpose of visiting the Bahá’í booth again. I wanted to connect again with the Bahá’ís and get more Bahá’í literature before going off to college. I introduced myself as a Bahá’í to Margaret Smith, a grandmotherly type with a cane, standing in front of the Bahá’í booth.

I considered myself as a Bahá’í, and a knowledgeable one at that, having been the leading authority in my community, giving several talks on it and teaching others about it. I had mixed some of my own ideas in where the pamphlets left off, including my idea that Bahá’ís did not formally sign up or become registered members. So when Mrs. Smith asked when I had declared, I confidently explained to her how the Bahá’í Faith was not like the churches that were more interested in membership lists than hearts, that you became a Bahá’í in your heart and were a Bahá’í based on your beliefs and actions, not because you had signed up.

I am not sure what she thought, but she immediately called for backup. Bob Putnam, a middle-aged businessman-type talked with me, gave me some more pamphlets and a copy of the book Baha’u’llah and the New Era. I do not remember much of the conversation, but it seems he did not challenge my miss understandings. I am guessing he sensed my sincerity and fervor and chose not to dampen my emerging spirit and knowledge. We exchanged addresses and he said that he would try to let the Bahá’ís where I was going to college know I would be there so we could get together.

Where I was going to college was the University of Southern Mississippi (USM). I had chosen USM for several reasons. I wanted to remedy my lack of experience with people of color. I wanted to be more involved in work for racial equality. I wanted to be exposed to different people and cultures. I wanted to do something new and unusual. A friend of mine had received a scholarship there, so I applied and got one as well, making it the best economic choice.

Being away from home, attending college and being in a different culture gave me many opportunities to learn and grow. With my second visit to the Bahá’ís at the fair, a few more pamphlets and a book, I was even more confident in my beliefs. I continued to teach whenever I could to whoever would listen.

I gave a talk on the Faith in my speech class. The speech evidently impressed my professor, as she had me talk to her department head, who then had me talk to the whole department. I shared the Bahá’í teachings with the chaplain of the university. He asked me to give a short presentation on the Faith to tea with the campus leaders, and later, to a group of campus ministers. I convinced my allied art professors that a talk on the Bahá’í Faith should be included in their class of one- to two-hundred students.

Each of these presentations consisted primarily of the basic facts and principles the Bahá’í Faith, as that was all I knew. Although I had little knowledge, everyone else had less, and therefore, I was not challenged when I filled in gaps with answers that made sense to me. I truly felt these teachings offered answers to the pressing questions and problems we faced individually and collectively.

I think what most attracted those who heard about the Faith, was the beauty and power of the teachings: the promise, wisdom, justice, truth and love they contain. I think it spoke to their souls, and like me, it resonated with their sense of what was true and right. I believe some of them also wanted to assist in spreading its message of peace and goodwill.

I am sure I was helped by the heavenly concourse. I was naïve, but sincere and believe to the extent my heart and motives were pure, I was inspired to say what the listeners needed to hear in a way that they could hear it. I thought I had what the world needed, and was on a mission to share it to them. Also, my talks were rather simple and straightforward, presenting basic principles with which most thinking people would agree. There was no intent to convert, indeed, I did not think conversion was an option. If you believed and it helped you, fine and good, if not, that was fine as well.

Though there were good things happening in college, including a Western Civilization professor who described the positive influence the founders of the world religions had on civilization, by the end of the second quarter, I was ready to move on. USM was a 99% white college in a very segregated and biased area, so I had little opportunity to actually be involved in the lives of black people.

Though I was taking honors courses, they were not satisfying my hunger for truth and my being there was not furthering my desire to save the world. I felt the need to deal with real-life and significant issues, to do something that would make a meaningful difference, to get on with my life. College was not fulfilling or challenging me. I wanted to further my understanding of and contributions to life, spirit, and God. I decided to see what I could learn living in an ashram in New Orleans.

The second quarter of college was over that week and I was just waiting for the exams to be over so that I could leave. Most students were cramming for finals, but not me. I was looking for something to do in the hall of my dorm when I overheard a student I did not know asking one of my floor mates if he wanted to see the films he had made for his cinematography class. When my dorm mate declined, I volunteered. We rode across town to the house he rented with other students. After viewing the films, I wandered around his house while he rewound the films. There was a guitar in a back room with a button on its strap that read “Bahá’í”.

I was both taken aback that the Bahá’ís would be together enough to make a button and thrilled that I might have found another Bahá’í. I hollered from the back room to ask whose guitar it was, and then, how could I get hold of him. He told me it belonged to George, his roommate, who he thought may have just pulled in the drive.

George came in a back door and made a phone call before his roommate could tell him that I wanted to meet him. When I told him who I was, he looked down at the paper, which had my name and phone number on it. He had just tried to call me!

Bob, the man I had met at the Iowa State Fair seven months ago, who had said he would try let the Bahá’ís in Mississippi know I was going to college there had apparently contacted the National Bahá’í office to get information on who to contact in Mississippi to let them know about me. This evidently took some time to get an answer. Eventually he got contact information for the Local Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of Jackson, Mississippi, and they informed George Johnson, a student at the University of Southern Mississippi, who was just now trying to call me while I was sitting in his house.

I told him about the things I had been doing on campus. He had been hearing about me giving talks on the Faith on the campus, but could not understand why he did not know about this Bahá’í. He told me that some Bahá’ís would be singing in the basement of the student union the next night. We decided to go together to hear them and talk more.

The next day two long haired and bearded guys moved into a dorm room two doors from mine. I was intrigued with them and I was looking forward to meeting and getting to know them. That night I did. They were the Bahá’í singing group: Seals and Crofts. This was February 1970, shortly before they became popular singing stars. The concert was great and Seals and Crofts were great. They introduced the two Bahá’ís and myself as their Bahá’í brothers, then gave a short introduction on the Faith to the sixty people in attendance. Afterwards, Seals and Crofts spent several hours discussing the Faith and other matters with the few who wanted to learn more.

At this same time, an adjunct professor in black studies from New Orleans shared with his students that he was a Bahá’í during his last class and told them a little bit about the Faith. Several of these students were contacting me for more information. All of this was happening while I was preparing to leave. It was an exhilarating and full few days with people wanting to learn more and become Bahá’ís.

It was also at this time that I read Baha’u’llah and the New Erafor the first time. I wrote back then, “dug it, began new life”. It remains the most influential book of my life. It was my primary manual for life and source of answers and inspiration for several years and multiple readings, during my early Bahai formation.

I went to New Orleans to live in the Bodhi Sala ashram. It was a place of meditation, love and “being a humble brother in the Great Family of Humanity”. It was also a place located on the edge of the French Quarter. Both places attracted a diverse group of people, many with lifestyles I had not been exposed to. While I was seeking spiritual enlightenment and detachment from worldly things in the ashram, those in the Quarter were seeking more worldly answers and attached to worldly pleasures. Both worlds were new to me and opened my eyes to realities I had never experienced before.

However, after a couple of months I felt I had learned what I could from the ashram and felt the call to move on. I had contacted the Bahá’ís to get together with them, but was told that nothing was going on at the time, so I did not meet them. I had met several members of Hog Farm commune and others back to the earth types who were living wholesome lives off the land, communing with nature and God. I decided to follow their and Thoreau’s example, to live simply in nature. In April, I moved back to a Iowa to a small two-room house, planted what I thought I would need to live on, to sell or barter.

This experience was also short lived. About a month into my back to nature adventure, my parents received a letter that I was drafted into the military. I applied for conscientious objector (1-O) status and presented my case orally to the local draft board: I was opposed to war and my Bahá’í, Quaker, Bodhi Sala and other activities and beliefs supported this position. They were not too kindly disposed to such views and tried to poke holes in them. I put myself in God’s hands, vowing to abide by His will. They gave me A-1 status, eligible for military service. I accepted it, trusting in God’s wisdom, but wondering about it as well.

Two days later, my father got a call from the secretary of the draft board asking me to resubmit my application. As dealing with conscientious objectors was new to them, they had not followed the proper procedures. First, I had to fill out forms and get reference letters to support my claims. I asked the pastor of the Friends Church in which I had given sermons and taught Sunday School. I wrote to Kumi Maitreya, the founder of Bodhi Sala religion, who had recently ordained me as a guru in her ashram. For the Bahá’í letter, I asked Bob Putnam, who I had met at the state fair to write a letter on my behalf. Each of these faiths had strong positions opposing war. I thought with such a combination, I was sure to get conscientious objector status.

Bob’s response to my letter requesting his support and explaining my position stunned me as he challenged my understanding of the Bahá’í teachings. He said that if I was serious about being a Bahá’í, I needed get some things clear. He recommended I go meet John Para, a Bahá’í who lived about eighty miles from me. That was a long way for me to go, but I was sincere, so I borrowed my father’s truck for the journey. John, was a fatherly figure with a powerful personality and a heavy Czech accent. We spent several hours talking and he sent me away with several Bahá’í books he thought I should read.

After talking with John and reading more, I realized that my position regarding military service was more extreme than the Bahá’í position. By this time the draft board had granted me 1-0 status, but with my new found knowledge, I did not feel I could accept it. I contacted the board and resubmitted my application with my change views. My status did not change: I could do alternative service in a non-military setting. In the meantime, John had contacted the National Bahá’í center to have them send me the official statement on Bahá’ís serving in the armed forces.

When I read it, I saw that even my revised statement did not accurately reflect the Bahá’í position. I took the official Bahá’í statement to my draft board requesting that my file be reconsidered in light of my new understanding: I was a Bahá’í and wanted to be classified as a Bahá’í would. They retained my 1-0 status. In retrospect, I suspect they must have wondered about me by this time, however; whenever I would meet the secretary to the board in the community, she would greet warmly. We had developed a close relationship through all of this, and I think she recognized and appreciated my sincerity, if not my sanity.

I began searching for alternative service opportunities, but in the newly formed lottery for the draft on July 1, my birthday was far down the list of those who had to serve. That whole process encouraged me to do two things: 1. Go back to school and 2. Officially register as a Bahá’í.

It also confirmed me in deepening my Bahai beliefs and brought me into contact with Bahá’í communities and institutions. With my background and personality, I found it difficult join a religion. I still had prejudices about religions and the hypocrisy of their members. However, if I was a truly Bahá’í and truly believed in it, why would I not fill out a registration card that says so. Someone had given me such a declaration card and sometime in July or August I filled it out and sent it to Bob with a note saying I believed and if he accepted that I did and wanted to be a Bahai, here was my card.

It was 1970, I was 18 years old and I was beginning my life as a declared Bahai, after two years of becoming and thinking of myself as a Bahai. But that is the start of another chapter in my ongoing life story of becoming a Bahai. It is another story for another time.