on glory
[Holy He and and Holy is He far far above allall that say.] that they they say.
Quran [17:43]
One Report is spiritually-minded content for and by young people. This publication is borne from a reflection of the teachings of the Baha’i Faith and many of our contributors are Baha’is, but not all. The goal is for One Report to offer space for people from all faith backgrounds and beliefs to discuss issues of faith and spirituality. In a time of turmoil, One Report hopes to be a source of unity and collaboration. It is an opportunity for young people to learn from one another and share reflections that feel relevant, pressing, stirring, and elevated. Thank you.
One Report is edited by Anisa Tavangar. Images in this issue by Josefina Hernandez.
truth and reality Written by Nava Kavelin
My favorite way to conceive of God is as the Divine. Something forever outside of human reach, of a different realm and of a different substance, but also embedded in the heart of existence. I think of God as Truth with a capital T and Reality with a capital R. There is a thirst in each one of us for that which is true and that which is real, which I think is a manifestation of our longing to know and understand God. Much of modern life constitutes a struggle to discern truth from mirage, illusion from reality--maybe a way of finding our way to God. I also think of God as infinite Love, woven into the fabric of existence, and the essence of reality. In this way, love is what is most real, so love for God is what is most worth pursuing, and most enduring. When we are in tune with Reality, we feel inner joy that comes from the pleasure of being in harmony with something celestial and true. And when we are out of tune with Reality, we feel off— maybe angry, maybe sad, maybe hopeless, maybe lost, maybe distracted, maybe aloof. Maybe even temporary pleasure. But not real joy. Real joy comes, I believe, from a connection with the Divine and from leading lives that are attuned to the Divine Reality. God is also impossible to really know, to really grasp. But not impossible to become attuned with. So, in a way, life is a process of becoming more and more attuned to Reality and in tune with the Divine. Coming to know our true selves is coming to know God.
Find more of Josefina’s work at JosefinaHernandez.com
The christ that hangs behind me Written by Malaya Sadler I have heard it said before that belief does not simplify life. A laugh through the nose, then a sigh. I am in a cathedral in the center of Madrid. It is not ancient, in fact, it was built just last century. The stained glass spelling out “Maria” above the altar is, if we’re being honest, depressingly tacky. Next to me, my boyfriend’s mother wonders at how anybody can remain associated with the Catholic Church these days. It is a fair point, and it comes from one of the kindest people I know. But there’s more. There’s always more. I was baptized as a matter of course, because that’s what you do when you enter into this life on Philippine soil. The Christ that hangs behind me in the photo of my baptism is bigger than my father, but they have the same pink skin and brown goatee. The godparents flanking me in the picture are strangers to me now. I do not know their names. Catholicism was imposed on the Philippines in the same way it was on Latin America: a matter of course after
“I wonder what the tourists see when they look up at the stations of the cross... I wonder if the excesses and marvels of a French Gothic cathedral weigh any differently on eyes.�
Spanish conquest. Many of my mother’s relatives have become Born Again Christian. Sometimes I wonder if this turn to Evangelicalism has anything to do with a rejection of the vestiges of colonial rule, if the way my cousins’ Facebook walls read like highly performative thank-you cards to Christ Our Savior has anything to do with history. Probably not— and of course there will always be our last names. Aquino. Mercado. Gonzalez. Alcazar. Catholic names. I am in a cathedral in the center of Paris. I hear the Our Father in French for the first time in ten years, since Catholic school in San Francisco. I was insolent then; I am insolent now. The stone rib vaults fly high over a sparse congregation, mostly tiny white-haired women with soft, wrinkled cheeks, behind them a far larger flock of tourists, cameras aimed upward. I hover somewhere in between. I wonder what the tourists see when they look up at the stations of the cross, at the Pietà, at the crucifix. I wonder if the excesses and marvels of a French Gothic cathedral weigh any differently on eyes unaccustomed to the scenes of gore that Christendom has— quite literally—made gospel. I have not seen the ocean in over six months, the longest period in my life spent landlocked. The strain I feel from this can only be described as spiritual. Didn’t all the Abrahamic religions come out of the desert? Many nights I dream of standing on a rocky shore and looking out at a grey, endless horizon. I am a parody of a Friedrich painting. I can smell the waves crashing below, a scent almost as loud as the sound. I can’t remember who said it, and I can’t get it out of my mind: “There is only the sea, there is only weather.”
O SON OF MAN! Upon the tree of effulgent glory I have hung for thee the choicest fruits, wherefore hast thou turned away and contented thyself with that which is less good? Return then unto that which is better for thee in the realm on high. The Hidden Words
Placeless belonging Written by Ayesha Agarwal
I have found that arguments for religious inclination often branch off of some sort of tribal affiliation, be it ethnic, geographic or other type of natural association inherited from birth. People seek to belong. In the same way relationships allow us to belong to other people, and material objects allow us to belong to society, religion gives people a sense of belonging to a community and to a higher power. The power of religion comes from that scope of belonging. One doesn’t just belong to his or her immediate surroundings, nor to a small group of surrounding people. Religion grants belonging to a world of other devotees, spread out far and wide, as well as a higher power that transcends the ordinary bounds of space and time.
I am somebody who has never belonged, tribally speaking. I grew up in many spaces, each powerfully different from the other. That placelessness, however, never exempted me from the human desire to belong, or rather, the desire to believe in something beyond me. As an adolescent, I struggled with those competing realities. I desperately sought something to believe in, but couldn’t get past the apathy of tying myself to an ideology that felt arbitrary. To choose a religion out of thin air felt like making a random decision out of yearning, and the pragmatic cogs that run my mind wouldn’t condone such a lapse in rationality. Over time, I found a different power to believe in, one that was contextual to my upbringing and offered a sense of belonging in its own way. While some people believe in a realm beyond the world, my religion became the world itself, and my beliefs today center around the power of the universe and the humanity it contains. I’ve become the person I am because of the diversity around me, both in people and place, and I believe that the world has an autonomous rhythm that wields incredible power over all human existence. My community comprises of every soul around me, and in that I have found a strong and lasting sense of belonging.
Elevator, 8:30 A.M. Written by Camillia Brown
O how amazing would it be If I were not amazed by Thee! -Bahá’u’lláh, Gems of Divine Mysteries. two weeks ago, panicked i turned to the woman next to me on an elevator and asked: do you pray? she held my arm and before i knew it words melted off of this strangers tongue and for less than a minute/three floors her prayer filled what is typically a silent barren box. you see, i could say i think of You when i see flowers or the mountains or the ocean but most of all i meet You in the ordinary misfortunes of everyday life when You remind me that a stranger will stop in an elevator and pray for me to make it where I need to go… thank You.
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In the Old Testament we read that God said, “Let us make man in Our own image.” In the Gospel, Christ said, “I am in the Father, and the Father in Me.” In the Qur’án, God says, “Man is my Mystery and I am his.” Bahá’u’lláh writes that God says, “Thy heart is My home; purify it for My descent. Thy spirit is My place of revelation; cleanse it for My manifestation.”
All these sacred words show us that man is made in God’s image: yet the Essence of God is incomprehensible to the human mind, for the finite understanding cannot be applied to this infinite Mystery. God contains all: He cannot be contained. That which contains is superior to that which is contained. The whole is greater than its parts. Things which are understood by men cannot be outside their capacity for understanding, so that it is impossible for the heart of man to comprehend the nature of the Majesty of God. Our imagination can only picture that which it is able to create. ‘ABDU’L‑BAHÁ
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When all else seems lost Written by Garrison Turner
At the risk of sounding a bit extra, I think God is what’s left when all else seems lost. He was the book of prayers sitting at my bedside after I learned my brother had passed. He was my aunt coaching me to breathe at the burial when even that seemed too much. I imagine He was there when my father, a divorcee with two kids working for the state and delivering pizza, asked my mother, a mom with a toddler and no high school diploma, to marry him; whispering in their ears, calming their fear, kindling their love, and keeping their bank account above $0. I’m convinced He was behind the O’Charley’s kids eat free policy, a true God-send for a family of four boys. For me, recognizing His presence in such moments and phases helps me cultivate love for Him. That love is everything. It’s definitely a practice and not an emotion. It involves studying the sacred Word and trying to live my life by it. It’s all the little choices I make to pursue health and hope and what I believe to be right, even when fear and sorrow seem too much. The love of God keeps me moving, onward and, God-willing, upward, towards home.
Dios; God Written by Darinelle Merced-Calderon Dios. God. My conception of God is hard to put into words. I grew up in a Protestant Christian household. The Christian guilt that accompanies me, an adult who does not follow or believe in all the teachings I was taught, is one that others from Christian homes relate to when trying to find their own path in adulthood. However, this guilt contains additional dimensions that augment it, seeping into other parts of my being. By moving further away from the Protestant conception of God, I am move away from my family. I am moving away from Puerto Rico, where most of my family lives and where my uncle is a pastor; the island where I spent so many summers speaking Spanish at church summer camps; the island where I spent 4 hours at church every Sunday morning. In church, the ritual of communion, where the whole congregation celebrates the body and blood of Jesus Christ, is an act of remembrance. Like communion, church in Puerto Rico was the congregation, consecration, and union of my body as una de las de afuera, one of the ones who grew up outside of the island, uniting with my blood, with mi familia, on the island. Some of the starkest differences between my family in Puerto Rico and my life in Florida were highlighted within the church––the constant complaints of my mother saying church in the States no es lo mismo, that it isn’t the same, plague my memories. Protestant people in the States worship their God in jeans and, sometimes, crocs. Protestant women in Puerto Rico worship Dios in dresses and heels; men in well-ironed button downs and leather shoes. Services in the States
last an hour. Services in Puerto Rico last four hours. Sometimes people converse and enjoy each other’s company during a post-service luncheon in the States; in Puerto Rico, this is commonplace every Sunday. My conceptions of God within the same faction became stratified by these cultures; between geographic, linguistic, and familial boundaries. The God in the States seemed more laid back. While in Puerto Rico, Dios demanded more reverence and showed that family, blood-related or not, was created in the church. As a young adult, I have become aware that I belong to identities and beliefs that do not fully adhere to the teachings I was taught. And what I believe seems to offend Dios more than God. Today, Dios and God for me live beyond institutional religion and the teachings of the Bible are an anchor and a starting point for my relation to faith. But, I have built my own spiritual path––a path that builds a bridge between Dios and God.
Songs on Glory Playlist by Naomi Tewodros
Incantation (Moses Sumney) Nochs (Kelsey Bulkin) Amazing Grace (Aretha Franklin) Oh, What A World (Kacey Musgraves) Ultralight Beam (Kanye West) The Color Purple (Reprise) (Cynthia Erivo) Glory (Common, John Legend) You Brought The Sunshine (The Clark Sisters) Wonderful (Pastor T.L. Barrett and the Youth for Christ Choir)
Listen at bit.ly/songsonGlory
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