Faith

Faith in the “And”: Bahá’í, Islam, and Learning to Love What I Don’t Fully Understand

My father was Bahá’í. My mother converted to Islam and learned more of the Sunni way.

I love the Bahá’í Faith. Its core is what my father lived: the oneness of humanity, the call to love one another, and the work for justice. Bahá’u’lláh taught that the earth is one country and mankind its citizens. That hit different for a girl who was told she had to choose Black or White. Bahá’í told me I could be both — that unity doesn’t mean sameness. It means bringing the whole, complicated self to the table.

My mother chose Islam. The Sunni way of peace and understanding. She veiled and covered. At my younger age I could not understand that. I saw fabric and rules. I saw stares at the grocery store in Walnut Creek, Ca.

I didn’t get it. And a lot of people are fearful of the unknown and things that they don’t understand. I was, too.

But now I have more understanding of why she felt that path was better for her. The veil wasn’t hiding her — it was freeing her from being looked at as a body first. The five daily prayers weren’t control — they were structure when life felt chaotic. The word Islam means peace through submission to God. I watched her find peace. I didn’t have the words for it then. I do now.

I can understand the Bahá’í Faith religion that my father was. I love its focus on independent investigation of truth. No clergy telling you what to think. No blind faith. You’re supposed to read, ask, wrestle. That fits me. I’m a free thinker. Independent. I work well alone and with others. I don’t do well with “because I said so.”

But more than either label, I understand faith better where my personal relationship is. My Bible is a living translation, not a weapon for arguments. My prayer is me and God, talking. Asking for forgiveness.

What I learned from both my parents is this: God is bigger than fear. Bahá’í teaches progressive revelation — that Muhammad, Jesus, Moses, Buddha, Krishna, Bahá’u’lláh are all teachers from the same God, for different times. Sunni Islam taught my mother discipline, community, and surrender. Different paths. Same mountain.

People fear what they don’t understand. They feared my mother’s veil. They fear the word “Islam” because of what they’ve seen on the news. They fear Bahá’í because they’ve never heard of it. I feared it too, when I was young.

But fear is a lazy substitute for curiosity.

Now I ask. Now I listen. I learned that “Alláh-u-Abhá” and “As-Salaam-Alaikum” are both greetings of peace.

My mother found God in the Sunni way. My father found Him in the Bahá’í Faith. I found Him in the in-between.

My religion is personal. It’s Bahá’í and it’s the respect I have for Islam. It’s the belief that we work for justice not because a book said so, but because people are hurting right now.

I don’t have to pick one to be whole. I am my mother’s daughter. I am my father’s daughter. I am God’s.

And the way forward, for all of us, is to love one another — especially when we don’t understand. That’s the real holy work.